To Be a Slytherin
by Morgana Deryn
Summary: Like every sister, I love my brother no matter what. Even when he's an idiot. Even when he's in the spotlight and I'm forever waiting in the wings. That's life as Lorena Potter. Can't complain, really. At least I don't have a psychopath out for my head. OC-centric DracoXOC
1. Prologue

_His feet splashed lightly into puddles as he walked, robes swishing around him. A chilly breeze blew through the street, his cloak protecting him from the worst of it. Two Muggle children waddled across the lane dressed as pumpkins, curly vine hats pinned to their heads. His lips curled in disgust at the Muggle trappings of a holiday, almost mocking a world they should fear._

 _Power and triumph flooded his veins as he walked. Here at last was definitive proof of his success. Despite the efforts of both Potters, Albus Dumbledore, and the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix, the boy couldn't be kept from him. The child prophesied to defeat him would not live long enough to so much as lift a wand._

" _Nice costume mister!"_

 _He raised his head and the Muggle boy who was hurrying in the opposite direction got his first glimpse under the hood of the cloak. The child's face went three shades lighter, fear coloring his expression. He enjoyed watching that, the way fear started in the eyes and spread outwards, eyebrows furrowing and mouth dropping open._

 _He fingered his wand, contemplating, but decided that murdering this child was unnecessary. He had far more important prey to hunt tonight, and it wouldn't do to attract attention. Certainly a crowd of angry Muggles couldn't so much as rip his robes, but it would be an inconvenience he didn't need, and someone would undoubtedly notice a child simply dropping…_

 _So the child would live._

 _His destination loomed in front of him, a cottage with a fire flickering in the windows. Such a charming, safe scene, but the place was no longer safe. The cottage's occupants sat inside, blissfully ignorant of how pitifully exposed they were, their Fidelius Charm shattered to nothing. Nothing stood between them and him anymore._

 _He paused by the dark hedge, staring over it. The curtains weren't drawn…_

 _The tall black-haired man sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he flicked his wand, little puffs of smoke bursting from the tip. The baby in his blue pajamas snatched at them, giggling happily. The baby in pink was nestled in her mother's arms at the other end of the couch, eyes shut and legs kicking softly._

 _The mother said something and the father stood up, taking the boy into his arms. He tossed his wand onto the couch carelessly and yawned. The mother smiled and said something that made him smile back as he passed the boy over. She moved from the room, the wand still resting uselessly on the sofa._

 _Their last defense, the core of the little power they had left, abandoned. Such fools…_

 _His grip on the gate tightened and the gate itself creaked slightly as he pushed it open and strode up the lane, but James Potter didn't notice. His second mistake…_

 _His wand slid from his pocket and with a flick at the door he was inside. James came flying into the room but he was still unarmed. This was really too easy… no challenge for something so important…_

" _Lily, take Harry and Lorena and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

 _With what?_

 _He was chuckling as he stepped over the corpse of James Potter, the green flash fading from the room. Upstairs he could hear her screaming as she tried to barricade herself into the nursery. It would seem she had no wand on her either. And yet she still thought she had a chance?_

 _Perhaps she did. She, at least, had nothing to fear. So long as she was sensible. He had promised to spare her if possible and he kept his promises, particularly if they were to servants as loyal as Severus Snape had been. It was his information that had brought him here tonight. Snape was the reason he was now so close to his goal, mere minutes away from destroying the thing that could possibly stop him._

 _With another flick of his wand the nursery door burst open, sending her meager barricade flying against a wall. Baby toys spilled across the floor and a rocking chair broke apart, wooden spindles rolling in all directions. One even rolled to rest mockingly beside her foot…_

 _She stood in front of the crib containing both children, arms spread. Her eyes were blown wide and fixed on him as she tried desperately to find words to save her children, babble falling from her lips._

" _Not them, not Lorena, not Harry…. Please, not them!"_

" _Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now."_

" _Not my children, please no, take me, kill me, kill me and not them!"_

" _This is my last warning-"_

" _Have mercy… have mercy!" she moaned desperately. "Not Harry! Not Lorena! I'll do anything!"_

" _Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

 _He could have forced her away from the crib, tossed her into the wall as easily as that rocking chair. But he had given her several chances, yet she still stood between him and what he desired._

 _Green light flashed and she dropped, the ghost of her desperation and fear still lingering in her glassy eyes. The two children were silent in their crib, staring at him. The boy had risen up, clutching the bars and watching in interest._

 _The girl, on the other hand, merely sat where her mother had placed her minutes before. She just stared. Not looking terribly interested. Just staring, her head tilted curiously as if to say 'oh, it's you?'_

 _He stepped closer to the crib, letting his wand lower slightly. The boy began to cry, making him frown. He'd never been able to listen to the small ones cry at the orphanage without wanting to wring their scrawny necks…_

 _But he could stand it for a while. He had time; no one knew he was here, no one was coming. He could take a moment to contemplate, to savor his victory, the moment so close he could taste it._

 _And, of course, there was still one last thing to decide…_

 _His wand was stowed in his pocket and he reached out, lifting the female infant from the crib, holding her at arm's length. She, at least, was no danger to him. She was almost interesting. She was still simply observing him, like she was waiting for something. Even as her brother cried, she didn't make a sound, just stared at him with green eyes so similar to her recently-deceased mother._

" _You are no danger to me," he said aloud. "So the question becomes… what is your fate? Your father had to die, he was in my way. Your mother… she chose her death. And your brother, he will go. But you pose no danger. Should I kill you as well?_

" _It would almost be a kindness," he contemplated, turning the thought over in his head. "Orphanages are never kind to their occupants. You would learn that quickly, but not if I kill you here and now. Perhaps you would find your family in whatever afterlife there is."_

 _The girl blinked at him. Her chubby little hand reached out towards him. He reared back, surprised. But the girl just continued to stare at him, hand stretched out. Slowly, cautiously, he drew her closer, watching with some sort of fascination to see what she would do._

 _When she was within reach, she laid her chubby palm on his cheek and, for the first time that night, made a sound. A cheerful gurgle, almost a greeting, like she was pleased to see him. Would she be nearly so pleased if she were old enough to comprehend what she had just witnessed? Would she reach out of the man who would murdered her family if she knew that he had just stepped over her father's corpse and left him to cool downstairs?_

 _It was an intriguing idea, in its own way. To see what would become of the orphaned Potter girl. The one who, but by an accident of birth, might have been untouched by him. But now she would grow up steeped in the legend that he would become. The sister of the one who would have destroyed him if he hadn't killed the boy first._

 _She could become a trophy of sorts. He had always been fond of trophies. The girl whose life he had ruined, who he could perhaps have his servants raise to stand by his side. What a sight that would be: the daughter of the self-righteous Potters at his side. If that wouldn't crush the morale of those who would oppose him, nothing would._

 _But she could not escape tonight unscathed, no. Mother, father, brother dead and she without a mark on her? No, that wouldn't do._

 _He took the child in one arm. His free hand drew his wand from his pocket once more. He imagined he could feel a savage pleasure from the instrument at what it was about to do, the damage, both physical and emotional, it would wreak upon the baby._

 _He placed the tip of his wand against her left cheek. Her little mouth turned down as if she were annoyed. He dragged the wand in a large, elegantly curved S, the same as the one emblazoned on the locket of his ancestor. Where his wand touched, skin parted as smoothly as butter. Blood seeped from the thin wound._

 _Finally, finally the child reacted to him in a normal way. She screwed up her face and began to cry, trying to pull away from his wand, but he held her head tightly in place until he was finished. Her tiny hands clenched into fists in her irritation, face going red as she wailed her pain with all the gusto her tiny little lungs could muster._

 _The boy cried louder and harder at the sound of his sister's wail. His mouth turned down in a scowl once more as their voices drilled into his ears._

 _He set the wailing, bleeding girl down in the crib. He would return to her later. Now he turned his wand upon the boy, the reason he was here. It was almost comical to think that this screaming lump of flesh might one day destroy him, the greatest wizard who had ever lived, he who had delved farther into the mysteries of magic than anyone else ever had. And yet no chances could be taken._

 _He inhaled, aimed his wand at the child's face, and said the words._

 _The energy leeched from his body with breathtaking speed as he was ripped apart from the inside out. He staggered against the crib, the girl's face inches from him, watching him accusingly as his vision blackened. He had just enough time to realize he was dying before he was shattered._


	2. The Zoo

The banging on the door was what woke us up, as it had for the past decade of our lives. I groaned and stretched carefully as Harry removed his bony knee from my back. One had to be careful when you had two people crammed into a twin bed. One wrong move and you ended up on the floor, which had happened to me more than once. Thankfully, both of us Potter children were skinny and small, otherwise the situation would have been hopeless.

Harry crawled over me and straightened up as well as he was able under the stairs, yawning widely as he fumbled for his glasses. I curled into a ball and groaned, one hand reaching out to pick up the broken frames of his glasses and pass them to him. Harry took them and nudged my shoulder.

"Come on, if you don't get up it'll be cold chicken noodle soup again," he grunted. I let out a louder groan, but rolled out of bed, stretching my hands towards the sky. They stopped about half-way up, connecting with the stairs. I sighed and lowered my arms, rubbing my bleary eyes. The blurry image of thin frames appeared in front of my eyes and I took my own glasses from Harry, sliding them onto my face.

Like my twin, they were thin wire frames, but his were round and mine were thin rectangles. In fact, aside from the different hair colors and genders we could have been the same person. Harry's hair was a solid, deep black, and mine was a thick, dark red. We even had the same cowlick that made our hair extremely messy.

I moved to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Aunt Petunia had given it to us years ago, probably in a desperate hope that we would put a little more effort into managing our hair, but it didn't work. Harry's simply couldn't be contained, the I only put in enough effort to run my fingers through my long locks a couple of times in the morning.

Which was actually quite a bit of effort. My hair was waist-length. Harry's hair was cut whenever it began to get long, simply because it wouldn't do for him to run around looking like, as Uncle Vernon put it, 'some beatnik hippie asking for spare change.' Because I was a girl, and long hair was therefore acceptable for me, I never got the luxury of haircuts. Apparently they were far too expensive, and despite the fact that my hair was long enough to get in the way, I'd never quite gotten up the courage to take the kitchen scissors and whack it short.

I gave up hope of making my hair neat and just arranged it with a large chuck hanging over the left side of my face, covering it almost entirely. It made Aunt Petunia furious, but at the same time, the Dursleys could never quite figure out which was worse: me having my hair in my face, or exposing the S-shaped scar on my cheek. Usually I'd get away with it, but every now and then Uncle Vernon would go on a kick and start making me pull my hair back. Then someone would ask about my scar and I'd be allowed to cover me face again.

I cast a jealous look at Harry's bangs. If my scar was on my forehead, life would be so much simpler.

Harry reached for a too-big sweatshirt courtesy of Dudley and tried to tug it on. His head and shoulders were swamped in the excess fabric and he flailed around, staggering into the bed. I sighed and took advantage of his confusion to grab my own pair of huge jeans, belting them tightly at my hips to keep them from dropping to the ground. I tucked in the too-long camisole I'd been sleeping in and buttoned up a stretched-out lavender cardigan of Aunt Petunia's over it.

Harry had managed to fight his way free of the sweatshirt and get it on right and was trying to buckle his belt, fighting his way through the extra fabric to get at the buckle. I snorted as he got it fastened and the sweatshirt dropped to his knees, he sleeves dangling over his hands.

"Nice sweater," Harry retorted, and I scowled, my one visible eye glaring. I swatted at Harry as I went past and opened the door. We scuttled out of the cupboard under the stairs, sliding into the kitchen and trying to make our entrance subtle enough not to attract attention.

Aunt Petunia passed the bacon off to Harry before thumping a cookbook down in front of me and opening it to a bookmarked page. On it was a picture of a moist, triple-layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, chocolate shavings, rosettes of whipped cream, and maraschino cherries. I got a tooth ache just looking at the cake, but my mouth also watered at the sight of it.

I scoffed to myself. Like I'd be allowed a piece.

"My Dudders has decided that he wants this cake for his birthday," Aunt Petunia hissed to me. "You're going to make it, and it's going to look just like the picture, or you can both forget meals for the next week!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," I said, already scanning the recipe. My eyes widened at the amount of sugar in the recipe, but then, I shouldn't be surprised. Dudley liked anything that was bad for you, the more sugary the better. It was the main reason why he was roughly the size of a young killer whale.

"Good," Aunt Petunia said, stepping away from the counter, already totally focused on Dudley, who was plowing his way through a pile of pancakes that could have fed a small African country. "Everything's going to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!" she cooed, pinching Dudley's cheek fondly. He smacked his mother's hand away, chins wobbling as he continued to eat.

"I wanna open my presents!" Dudley announced loudly. "And I want more bacon!"

"Of course, Dudley," Aunt Petunia simpered, but her beady little eyes were glaring at Harry, snapping at him furiously and pointing to Dudley's plate. Harry hustled over to the table with the bacon he'd just finished and deposited it onto Dudley's plate. He hurried back into the kitchen, whispering to me as he passed, "Have you seen the pile?"

No, I hadn't. Because if I looked, then I'd be even more bitter about the toothpicks I got for my birthday last year.

Sure enough, when I turned around, there was a huge pile dominating the corner by the fireplace. Boxes – some of them as big as me – covered most of the room, piled on top of each other in neatly-wrapped bows and gleaming wrapping paper. I eyed the pile in wonderment, trying to tally up in my head what each gift might be and how much each one cost.

I was getting into a truly alarming number of zeroes when Dudley demanded, "How many are there?"

"Thirty-six. Counted them myself," Uncle Vernon said smugly, like his counting to thirty-six was some big accomplishment.

"Thirty-six?" Dudley whined. "But last year there were thirty-seven!"

Aunt Petunia had developed this kind of sixth sense. I would have actually been kind of impressed by it if its necessity wasn't completely stupid. She could tell when Dudley was about to throw a mother of a tantrum and sweep in with just the right thing to say.

"Yes, but here's what we're going to do," she said, kneeling down beside Dudley's chair. "When we go out, we're going to buy you two new presents, isn't that lovely?"

Dudley screwed up his face. "Then then I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-eight," I filled in without thinking. Dudley whipped around, glaring at me with his piggy little eyes.

"Who asked you?" he demanded. I quickly pretended to be absorbed in scrubbing the breakfast pans, knowing better than to talk back to Dudley. That always ended in me taping my glasses back together and sneaking out of the cupboard in the night to ice whatever bruises I had. Besides, we were running low on tape.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth!" Uncle Vernon announced proudly. "Just like his father! Good boy, Dudley!"

Aunt Petunia made an escape when the phone rang, hustling out into the hallway to answer it. I tried to sidle closer to the doorway, ears pricked to listen. Uncle Vernon saw and gave me a dirty look. I hastily scuttled back towards the sink, where Harry had taken over the scrubbing and took up a dishrag, drying the pans.

"So can you make the cake?" Harry whispered to me softly. I nodded and worked my dishrag into a thin glass, wiping out the inside and setting it aside.

"Nothing too complicated, except for the decorating," I replied. Harry shook his head.

"I don't know why they trust you to bake and not me."

"It's because I've never set the toaster on fire, I expect," I said.

I still vividly remembered the time Harry had attempted to make us Pop Tarts at midnight to celebrate our birthday one year. He put them in the toaster. The filling leaked out and caught fire. Needless to say, when the fire alarm started blaring and the Dudleys came down to find us frantically trying to put out the toaster, they weren't pleased. Uncle Vernon screamed at us until one and then locked us in the cupboard without food for three days.

Harry flicked some bubbles at me and I wiped them off, giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

"One time," Harry grumbled into the sink.

Aunt Petunia ventured back into the kitchen, looking a bit unsteady on her feet.

"Who was that?" Uncle Vernon asked, looking up from his paper.

"Mrs. Figg," Aunt Petunia began weakly. "She's broken her leg. She… she says she can't take them."

Harry and I both froze, hardly daring to breathe. We simultaneously pricked our ears up to listen and kept our heads down so as not to look hopeful. That was a sure-fire way to get our dreams crushed. Anything would be better than going to Mrs. Figg's. She was nice enough, but there were only so many stories you could tell about your cats before it started to get a little sad.

" _What?"_ Dudley was clearly on the verge of exploding, his wide face going red in his anger. "They can't come!" he wailed.

"We can leave them at home," Aunt Petunia attempted.

"I'm not leaving them home alone," Uncle Vernon said sharply. "We'll come back to the house blown up."

"We wouldn't blow up the house!" Harry muttered indignantly.

"Could Dudley's birthday actually be a good day for us?" I wondered, awed by the very idea. Dudley's birthday usually meant free rein for him to do whatever he wanted to us, which usually meant punching.

"Fingers crossed," Harry said, lifting one hand out of the soapy water and showing his crossed fingers. I did the same.

"They can't come, they'll ruin my birthday!" Dudley wailed, chin wobbling as he threatened tears. Aunt Petunia's hands fluttered helplessly as she tried to figure out what to do.

"No they won't, Dudders!" she cooed soothingly. "We won't let them!"

Somehow, by some strange act of a benevolent god, merely an hour later, Harry and I found ourselves crammed into the backseat of the Dursley's car. Despite Dudley's best protests, which included screaming his head off, crying loudly, and flailing randomly while Aunt Petunia frantically called around for someone to watch us, nothing could be done. He'd thankfully shut up when his friend Piers showed up, but he'd taken to glaring at us hatefully every few seconds.

The back of the Dursley's car was not meant for four people, particularly not when one of them was the size of Dudley. Dudley took up half of the backseat by himself and Piers was no stick either. Harry ended up squished against the door with me in his lap, struggling to breathe.

"You okay?" I whispered to him, shifting in his lap and trying to take as much of my weight off of him as possible. My voice triggered another series of glares from Dudley. If Aunt Petunia hadn't been watching her and Harry out of the corner of her eye, I would have made a face at the boy, but as it was, I wasn't going to ruin what could possibly the best day Harry and I had had in… well, forever, really.

"I'm good," Harry assured me, although he looked a little squished. I shifted once more, bracing a hand against the door and a foot against the floorboard.

"Motorcycles," Uncle Vernon grunted from the front seat as one roared past them. "Swerving everywhere… making noise… hooligans… disturbing the peace."

"I had a dream about a motorcycle once," Harry recalled, blurting it out without thinking. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly wrecked the car. I had to cling to Harry to keep from sliding across the back seat into Dudley's lap. He whipped around, glaring at Harry's shell-shocked expression, face an alarming shade of puce.

"Motorcycles! Don't! Fly!" he roared. In the seat next to me, Piers snickered. Aunt Petunia was distracted frantically turning her husband around so that he was looking at the road, and I managed to worm my foot across the floorboard and stomp my heel onto Piers's foot. The boy hissed and glared.

"You're gonna pay for that," he grunted. I responded by sticking my tongue out.

"I know they don't!" Harry said indignantly. "It was just a dream!"

Other than that, the ride to the zoo was pretty quiet. No one seemed to want to talk much, all of us suffering under the combined annoyance on the part of the Dursley's directed at us. Harry and I kept our mouths shut to keep from setting Uncle Vernon off again. One more time and he might leave us in the car while he and Aunt Petunia took the boys in.

We got out into the warm sunshine and Aunt Petunia hustled off with Dudley and Piers to purchase tickets. Harry and I made to follow, only for beefy hands to encircle our arms and yank us back, tossing us against the car. Uncle Vernon shoved his beet red face close to us, growling quietly, " _Any_ funny business from you two… _Anything_ at all, and you won't have meals until _Christmas!_ "

"We won't do anything," Harry promised.

"We never do," I agreed.

That was true. Things just tended to happen around us. Like the time Aunt Petunia had tried to send me into picture day in one of her old dresses, a floaty, floral, pastel monstrosity that was too tight in some places and too loose in another, the whole thing hanging low because I was too short. I had looked around at all the other girls in their nice-fitting skirts and their neatly pinned hairstyles and wished that just once I could have a good photo. That afternoon, I came home in a neatly-pleated maroon skirt and a creamy button-front shirt, my hair tamed into a low braid for once, and no idea how it happened.

I'd gotten a week with no food for that one, but Harry had snuck me what he could from his own meager meals, and I'd snuck out once to smuggle a few slices of bread and a couple grapes out of the kitchen.

Also, things tended to blow up when I was angry. I wasn't an arsonist, but when I was annoyed, things blew. I remembered being really angry at Dudley for breaking my glasses again and punching a wall inside of our cupboard. The moment my fist connected, the light bulb dangling inside exploded in a shower of sparks. And once at Christmas when Dudley got all kinds of expensive presents and Harry and I got an expired package of cocoa mix, the fire in the grate suddenly burst out of hearth and lunged at Dudley.

But even if something did happen and we ended up starving in the cupboard, Harry and I were determined to enjoy our day as much as physically possible, and it started out really well. Piers and Dudley got large chocolate ice creams when they went in and, because the lady was looking at Harry and I expectantly, Uncle Vernon bought us both cheap lemon ice pops to keep up appearances.

They weren't half-bad, either, I mused as I licked mine, staring in interest at a cage full of exotic birds, trying to match each bird with the little plaques of information in front of the display. The Dursley's were a few exhibits away, watching as monkeys chattered in an artificial tree, and Harry was staring at a gorilla.

We maintained our distance as the day wore on. Dudley and Piers had seen all of the big carnivores by then, so they were starting to get bored, and at any moment they might start taking casual swings at us.

Our moods still couldn't be dampened, though. At the zoo restaurant, when Dudley's knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on it, Uncle Vernon bought him another and we got to split Dudley's first one. For a couple of kids who routinely kept themselves alive on bread, water, and smuggled fruits from the fridge, it was pretty much the best thing we'd ever eaten.

Afterwards they went to the reptile house. I was glad I had put on my cardigan that day, because the inside was cool and dark. I tugged the sleeves down over my hands and pressed close to Harry as we trailed a display behind the Dursleys. It was pretty easy to keep our distance, considering that Piers and Dudley were skipping over a lot of the lizards and going straight for the biggest snakes.

I actually kind of liked it in here. It was pleasantly cool and just dim enough to make normal things look interesting in the muted light. There was an almost soothing quality to the place, and the greenish lights that hung over head made everyone look a little different. The whole place just looked mysterious.

"Make it move!" Dudley ordered his father, giving a frustrated look to a huge boa that was curled up in the shade of a fake rock, dozing.

"Move!" Uncle Vernon barked at the snake, drumming his fingers on the glass.

"Do it again!"

Uncle Vernon complied, but the snake didn't so much as flinch. I felt sorry for it. I knew that had to be loud, and the poor snake was just trying to take an afternoon nap.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned, moving off to pester a poisonous cobra that was sunning itself inside its enclosure.

"He's gorgeous," I cooed as we stood in front of the boa's enclosure, admiring the gleaming brown scales.

"I feel bad for him," Harry admitted. "Imagine having people staring at you all day, tapping on the glass."

The snake moved suddenly, uncurling slightly. It raised its head up to our eye level very slowly, one vertebrae at a time. Then it closed one eye in what was unmistakably a wink.

Harry and I exchanged incredulous looks.

"Can he-?" Harry began, winking back uncertainly.

"Can you-?" I stared at the snake. Its head bobbed up and down in a nod. My eyes widened and I beamed happily. I was talking to a snake!

The snake flicked its tongue out and gave a soft hiss, bobbing slightly like it was laughing. It sent a look towards Vernon and Dudley and then rolled its eyes. As well as a snake could, anyway. It was very clearly saying 'I get that a lot.'

"Must be annoying," Harry murmured in reply. The snake nodded vigorously. "Where are you from?"

The snake lifted its tail, jabbing it at the small sign in front of its tank. _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?" I asked curiously. The boa jabbed its tail at the sign again and I looked at the line below that. _This specimen was bred at the zoo._

"So you've never been to Brazil?" Harry said sympathetically.

"You'll never believe what this snake is doing!"

Piers and Dudley came scampering across the room. Dudley punched Harry in the ribs, sending him crashing to the concrete floor. Piers gave me a shove, sending me down into Harry's lap. My elbow connected with his stomach and I head-butted him in the chin. He let out a moan.

"Sorry," I murmured, pulling back and glaring over my shoulder at Piers and Dudley, who had pressed their faces and hands up against the glass, staring at the snake who was back to looking bored.

It happened without any kind of warning. No bang, no puff of smoke, no flash of light. Just one second the glass was there and then the next second it wasn't. Dudley and Piers howled and recoiled as the snake uncoiled itself. The thick snake dragged itself out of the cage, slithering along the floor and sending people screaming for the exits. It nipped playfully at Piers and Dudley as it passed them.

"Brazil, here I come," the snake hissed as it passed us. "Thankssss amigossss…."

I smiled at the snake, and Harry gaped.

"N-No problem," he stammered. I stretched out a hand, letting the smooth, dry scales slide under my fingers as the boa wormed its way to freedom.

The zoo, of course, was terribly apologetic about what had happened. The director himself made us all tea in his office while Piers and Dudley jabbered, blabbering about how the snake tried to bite them and crush them. Privately, I figured that our new snaky friend probably had better taste than to take a bite out of something as ugly as Dudley, but they wouldn't be swayed.

The worst bit was when Piers calmed down enough to say, "They were talking to it, weren't they?" and Dudley nodded along with him.

For the sake of their reputation, Uncle Vernon waited until Piers had been picked up by his mother, which, going by the shade of red his face was, had been quite difficult for him. He managed to growl out, "Go cupboard… stay… no meals… a week…"

He toppled backwards into a chair, and I had to actively restrain myself from yelling "timber!" as Aunt Petunia rushed off to get him a brandy. Instead, I felt Harry's hand slip into mine and let him drag me off towards our cupboard. I slid inside, shutting the door quietly. When it came to Uncle Vernon in a mood, it was best not to make any extraneous noise that could draw his attention.

I sagged backwards onto our bed, letting my legs trail off the edge. I kicked them lightly.

"Well that went downhill fast," I announced as Harry lay down next to me, shoulder pressed against mine. I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, wrapping an arm around Harry's scrawny ribs and burrowing my face into his arm. Harry patted my arm comfortingly, staring at the ceiling disinterestedly.

I mumbled something and Harry looked down at me. "What?"

I lifted my face out of his sleeve long enough to repeat, "You think the snake's okay?" before nuzzling back into his shoulder. Harry snorted.

"Rena, I'm pretty sure that thing could eat a bus. It's fine," he swore.

We lay on the bed, muttering back and forth as the night dragged on. Harry kept checking his watch with the cracked face to see if it was late enough to go sneak food.

"Think it's late enough?" he asked for the fourth time a little after eleven, offering his wrist to me.

"I'm going for it," I said, standing up. "Wait here."

I crept from the cupboard and tiptoed into the kitchen in my socks. I had learned over the years that the key was to get in and get out as quickly and quietly as possible. I could move almost silently in the shadows.

In under two minutes I had snagged an apple from the fruit bowl, grabbed a few granola bars from a forgotten package in the back of the cupboard, and snagged two cans of soup from the cabinet with pull tops. After adding a water bottle to the pile, I wrapped it up in my cardigan and crept back into the cupboard.

"What'd you get?" Harry asked, sitting up interestedly as I returned, shutting the door quietly behind herself. He had changed into the too-big t-shirt he usually slept in. I set down my bundle and opened it up.

"I figured this way we can get through tomorrow," I said, lifting the water bottle and taking a drink. We split the water and the apple, ate a granola bar each, and then stored the rest in a little cubby behind our bed frame.

I quickly stripped down to my stretched out camisole and underwear and slid under the covers with Harry. There was no heat under the stairs, so it tended to get pretty cold at night. Harry placed our glasses on the tiny table next to our bed and then huddled closer to me in a knot of limbs for the sake of warmth. Our blanket had passed thread-bare two years ago.

"Do you think it'll be like this forever?" Harry asked softly. I snuggled my head into his bony shoulder and hummed noncommittally.

"Well it can't get any worse," I said optimistically.

Truthfully, it probably could. They could take the bed we had away. They could start feeding us nothing but bread and water. They could pull us out of school, they could beat us regularly instead of just when we did something really bad. Usually accidentally. If it wasn't accidental, it was usually me.

I hated it here, and I loathed the Dursleys for all they'd put us through. For the time we'd had to sneak a look at the computer in Dudley's room to figure out how to set a broken nose after Dudley's gang had gotten a hold of Harry when we were five. For the time Aunt Petunia had beaten me with a wooden spoon when she found me sneaking food in the middle of the night. For the time Uncle Vernon locked me in the tiny upstairs linen closet for two days with no food or water after I lost it and hit Dudley back one day.

There was some little bitter part of me that wanted to get up one night, grab a knife out of the kitchen, and make them feel a little bit of the fear they'd inflicted on us. There was no reason we should worry about where our next meal was coming from. There was no reason our clothes didn't fit. There was no reason Harry and I had to routinely mop each other up after Dudley laid into us, other than that the Dursleys didn't care about us.

It was a horrible feeling, knowing your own family didn't care.

()()()()()(()

It was thanks to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon heading into town for a function at his company that Harry and I were able to steal a few moments of freedom in the midst of our punishment. Dudley was out with his friends, which gave us the house to ourselves. However, after spending nearly two weeks shut in the house, Harry and I weren't exactly keen to stay inside.

"I want to run," I announced as Harry and I entered the park. I was bouncing with pent-up energy at this point.

"Go ahead," Harry said, moving to the one swing that still hung properly. It was the only one Dudley and his friends hadn't managed to break yet. "I'm going to sit for a while."

I nodded. Harry moved to the swing and I took off running around the track that circled the whole of the park. It wasn't a particularly large track, but it was big enough that I would be out of Harry's view for part of the time, which was the reason I'd told him where I was going before taking off.

I wasn't much of a runner, to be honest. But after spending so many days staring at the same walls I just wanted to move. So I took off sprinting as fast as I could around the track, my too-big sneakers making me slip a couple of times. By the time I'd done one lap – waving to Harry as I passed – I was winded and there was the beginning of a stitch in my side. I wasn't willing to stop yet though, particularly when I knew I was going to be locked back up once we left.

I decided I'd take a brief rest in the few yards of trees that concealed a bit of the track. I'd rest against one of the trunks and breathe for a few seconds, stretch my legs a bit, and then keep going.

I made it to the trees alright, and settled on one with a particularly wide trunk, perfect for leaning against. I ran towards it.

A foot thrust out across the track. I yelped as I hit it. I tripped and went flying, trying to catch myself. The grit ripped into my palms. My elbow gave out and I hit the ground hard, scraping my chin and knees. I let out a moan as everything gave a synchronized throb. The cuts on my palms, knees, and chin were stinging and I knew I was screwed. The Dursleys would notice, they'd ask how I'd managed to scrape myself up so badly if I had stayed in the house like I was supposed to.

But there was still one question left. Who tripped me?

The laughter coming from behind me was familiar, and the huge shadow falling over me clinched it. I knew at once that it was Dudley and his stupid friends. That skinny leg that tripped me probably belonged to Piers. I flipped over onto my back, hissing when I braced myself with one hand against the ground. Sure enough, Dudley was looming overhead. Piers was snickering next to him, and the pair of them were flanked by Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon.

"Watch where you're going, orphan!" Piers sneered down at me.

"My apologies," I grunted, starting to get up. Dennis stepped forwards, grabbing me and wrenching my arms behind my back. I snarled over my shoulder at him as Dudley came forwards.

"I know it was you," he scowled, his many chins wobbling as he glared. "What did you do to the glass ay the zoo?"

I scoffed. "I didn't do anything, it just wasn't there anymore!"

I was well aware that, while it was true, it wasn't going to matter to Dudley. He'd made up his mind that I was the one who'd set the boa loose, so he was going to make me pay for it in the way he knew best – by beating me up. And he'd brought his friends along to cheer him on.

Sure enough, a meaty fist slammed into my stomach. I grunted as the breath was blasted out of me. I felt disgusted at myself as I dangled limply in Dennis's grip, panting frantically to try and get air back in my lungs.

"Piers was there, he knows you did it too!"

"Yeah!" Piers wasn't willing to get within arm's reach of me, apparently. He stretched out his foot and kicked me in the knee. His shoe scraped painfully across my already-existing cuts. I swallowed a whimper. I wasn't going to give these idiots the satisfaction. "What'd you do, freak?"

"I. Did. Nothing," I spat back, glaring at the lot of them from behind my hair.

"You're lying!" Piers was getting braver, apparently. He stepped forwards and punched me across the cheek. He didn't hit nearly as hard as Dudley, but it was still enough to snap my head to the side. My teeth cut into my cheek and I felt blood fill my mouth. I scowled at him viciously. "Tell the truth!"

"That is the truth, you stupid weasel!" I growled out. Dennis yanked my arms painfully, digging the tips of his fingers in maliciously. There would be bruises there too. Lovely. By the time I got out of this not a bit of me would still be skin-colored.

And then, horror of horrors, Harry came venturing up the track, calling out curiously, "Rena? Are you back here?"

"Harry! Run!" I shouted desperately. I was fine, I'd take my beating and get on with my life as usual. As of right now, Dudley seemed content to take his frustrations out on only me, but if Harry was around, he'd get the same. I wanted to spare him that, if possible.

Harry rounded the trees and saw me sagging in Dennis's grasp, bleeding and bruised, with Dudley and his friends surrounding me.

"Run, you idiot!" I shrieked at him. Harry hesitated, looking like he desperately wanted to help me, even though we both knew he couldn't.

"Get him!" Dudley ordered.

Harry's reluctance to leave me to them cost him. He'd only taken a few uncertain steps away when Malcolm leaped on him, dragging his skinny, struggling self over to the rest of us.

"Was it you?" Dudley demanded, getting in his face. "Did you set that snake on us?"

Harry's eyes clearly betrayed how afraid he was, but he managed to set his jaw and say, "I didn't do anything, and neither did Lorena. Now let us go."

"Let us go?" Dudley laughed. His cronies were quick to cackle along with him. "Let us go, he says! We're not gonna let you go until you apologize for setting that snake on us!"

"Teach him a lesson!" Piers goaded. Dudley swaggered forwards and slugged Harry right in the nose. His glasses broke. Or rather, they popped free of the tape that held the two broken halves together and dangled limply from his ears. His nose spurted blood, dripping down into his mouth.

That reminded me of the blood filling my own mouth. I turned and spat it at Piers furiously. He recoiled and gave me a disgusted look.

"She spit at me!" he exclaimed indignantly. Like he didn't deserve that and worse. "Did you see that? She spit at me!"

Piers kicked me again, followed by a backhand to one cheek.

"Stop I-" Harry didn't even get his whole protest out before Dudley buried his fist into his stomach twice in rapid succession. Harry doubled over, wheezing for air.

"Let him go!" I shouted. Dudley whipped around to look at me. I straightened up as well as I was able to and glared at him thunderously. "Let him go, he didn't do it, I did!"

"Rena… no…" Harry panted, but he didn't have enough oxygen back to really protest.

"See?" Dudley said triumphantly, staring around at his gang. "I told you she did it! Now, you've gotta apologize."

I gritted my teeth at him and spat another globule of blood onto his shirt. "Like hell I will," I growled. "You deserved it."

The sight of Harry panting, nose bloody, glasses destroyed, fed my rage. That was why I'd spoken up, even though I had no idea what had happened to the glass. I certainly hadn't done anything, but if Dudley wanted to believe it was me, then fine, I'd let him if it would get him away from my brother.

I was starting to mildly regret my decision, however, when Gordon got in his first hit, slugging me. My head snapped to the side again. My neck was starting to get sore, but it was nothing compared to my face, my shoulders, and my knee.

"Heh, there's that ugly scar."

My stomach knotted when I realized the toss of my head had knocked away my hair, revealing the S-shaped scar on my cheek to Dudley's gang. I watched Dudley's eyes zero in on it, his piggy little face lighting up maliciously. He knew how much I hated that scar.

"Heh, no wonder she hates her face!" Piers sneered. "It's so messed up!"

He reached out a hand, poking the scar pointedly. I snarled at him as he started to trace it. I jerked my head to the side and bit down hard on his finger. Piers screamed loudly as I broke skin and felt his blood join my own in my mouth.

"Get her off! Get her off!" he howled.

Dennis let go of me, taking a step to the side. He was going for my hair, to wrench my head away from Piers's hand. But he'd made the mistake of not keeping a grip on me. I loosened my jaw and spat Piers's blood in Dennis's eyes. He yelled in protest, scrubbing his face furiously. Piers was howling, cradling his injured hand. Dudley took a step closer to me.

There was one good thing about spending so much time dodging his hits and things he tossed at me from across rooms, trying to hurt me. I was small, skinny, and I was fast. I twisted away from his reaching hands and tripped him like Piers had me. He went down with a curse. Malcolm let go of Harry to grab at me. I jerked away from him as well and grabbed Harry's hand.

"Come on!" I yelled desperately, tugging him. We took off running as fast as my knee would allow, holding hands. I was limping and every step was agonizing – I think I'd sprained my ankle when I went down – but I was at least outpacing Dudley, who couldn't move very fast thanks to the fact that he was carrying two extra people's worth of fat on his frame.

By unspoken consent, we headed for the house. I threw open the front door. Harry sprinted in after me, slamming the door behind him. We flung ourselves into our cupboard and started barricading the door with anything we had. Working together, we managed to shift our bed at an angle, jamming it up against the door.

Only a moment later a huge weight collided with the door, making the hinges creak alarmingly. Dudley was pounding on the door, screaming about how he was going to make us pay, how we'd regret this, how much he was going to hurt us. Harry and I huddled together against the bed frame, panting wildly as the cupboard rattled around us.

The mirror came loose from the wall. By some miracle it didn't break, just slid down the wall and came to rest leaning at an angle against the wall. I could see us reflected in it – two skinny, bloody kids curled around each other in the darkness. My lip was split and there was a cut across my cheek. One of my eyes was already swelling up. My knees, palms, chin, and nose were all bleeding. Harry looked downright pristine compared to me, which is what I was hoping for.

It took all of five minutes for Dudley to get bored hammering on our door and screaming. He wasn't going to win any intelligence competitions, but he was at least smart enough to realize that he didn't have to get at us. All he had to do was tell his parents and we were finished.

"I shouldn't have tripped him," I muttered to myself, wrapping my arms tighter around Harry's waist. "He's gonna be out for blood."

"He deserved it," Harry said with a surprising amount of spite. I looked at him in surprise. Green eyes blazed with fury, not pain as I'd originally thought. He pointed to the mirror angrily. "Look what he did to you."

"I'll be fine!" I insisted. "I just need a couple of days to heal and an ice pack and I'll be perfect."

For a moment, Harry was silent, and then he asked, "And how long will that last?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't, because I didn't have an answer, and that fact made me shudder. Sure, I'd get over these bruises, and then I'd get more, because after this Dudley was definitely going to come after me twice as bad as he had today.

I cursed myself. I should have been smarter, I should have thought before I acted. If I had, maybe I would have been able to get us out of there without putting myself at the top of Dudley's hit list. But when I saw Harry hanging there limply, ready to accept his beating just to get it over with… well, I'm ashamed to admit that I lost it a little bit.

Harry and I stayed curled together for several hours. When the door opened signaling Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's return, we heard Dudley run up to them and sell us out almost immediately. Outside the door we could hear Aunt Petunia cooing over Dudley's injury – apparently he'd cut his palms, poor baby – and Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps. We both flinched when he knocked on the door with an ominous calmness.

"Get out here," he growled. Harry and I were fast to comply. We knew it would only be worse if we hesitated. We shoved the bed out of the way and stepped out into the hall way. Uncle Vernon grabbed the pair of us by the back of our necks and hauled us into the living room, tossing us onto the couch. I could see Aunt Petunia pressing ice to Dudley's palms tenderly as he pretended to sniffle. He looked over his mother's shoulder and gave a malicious grin.

"So, setting a poisonous snake on my son wasn't bad enough, you decided to try and beat him up?" Uncle Vernon demanded, face purple with rage.

I couldn't help but be incredulous. Harry and I were both bleeding down our fronts and he was mad at us for what happened to Dudley? Of course, I wasn't surprised at all. Uncle Vernon would likely be more concerned about a paper cut on Dudley than if Harry and I were bleeding out on the floor.

"What happened, Diddy Dinkydums?" Aunt Petunia cooed at Dudley.

"Yes son, tell us exactly what happened," Uncle Vernon ordered, giving Harry and I a triumphant glare as if to say 'here comes the evidence.'

"Here, sit down Diddums," Aunt Petunia said, helping him into a squishy armchair across from me. Dudley kept up his fake sniffling.

"W-We were in the park!" he sobbed over his wobbling chins.

"They left the house?" Uncle Vernon asked sharply.

"Y-Y-Yeah!" Dudley wailed. "I was with my friends when they w-w-walked up. A-A-All Piers did was a-ask about her sc-sc-scar and she attacked him, and H-H-Harry came at m-m-m-me! My f-f-friends tried to pr-protect us!"

"You attacked my baby for something like that?" Aunt Petunia asked furiously, clutching Dudley to her chest. She glared at Harry and I viciously.

"That's not true!" Harry protested weakly, but we both knew there was no hope. No way wound the Dursleys believe us over Dudley.

"So now you're calling my son a liar!" Uncle Vernon boomed.

"We went to the park, but they attacked me," I deadpanned. It wouldn't help, but I might as well tell the truth. At least that way I hadn't done anything wrong. If I couldn't have a victory, I'd take the moral high ground. "I only tripped him after he and his friends came at Harry and I five to two."

"You started it!" Dudley blubbered.

"So you admit you tripped him!" Uncle Vernon announced smugly. I gaped at him.

There was no possible way a human could be that thick. This had to be the most extreme case of delusion I'd ever seen.

"Only after he and his friends attacked me for no reason," I repeated slowly.

"N-N-Not true!" Dudley howled, throwing his act to new heights. "Harry h-h-hit me first!"

I snarled at him, "As if you'd feel Harry hitting you under all that fat, you stupid, malicious tub of lard!"

"M-M-Mummy!" Dudley screamed. "Sh-sh-she insulted me!"

"Like you insulted my scar?" I shot back.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed at me warningly, but I was having none of it. I was so sick of Dudley getting whatever he wanted while Harry and I got kicked aside like we were some kind of mangy cats that kept coming around begging for scraps.

"The difference is I can't help that. You can help the fact that you're roughly the size of a killer whale, but for some reason you can't stop stuffing your face long enough to look in a mirror and realize how disgusting you are!"

"Enough!" Uncle Vernon roared. "Another two weeks for you both! No food! No leaving the cupboard! Nothing!"

Harry grabbed my hand and dragged me from the room in fear of what I might say if I stayed there any longer, but before we left the room, I managed to give Dudley one last look that promised death.


	3. Hagrid Arrives

By the time we were released from our punishment – which was far longer than two weeks – Harry and I had each lost about three pounds we really couldn't spare, and Dudley was once again in the spotlight. Not that he ever really left it. This time it was because he'd been accepted to Smeltings, Uncle Vernon's old private school, where the students beat each other with knobby sticks to build character. For the first time, Harry and I would be free of Dudley in school, which was a good thing. My injuries had mostly healed, but my ankle still throbbed now and then.

We entered the kitchen one morning to find Aunt Petunia stirring a huge vat of what looked like dishwater on the stove.

"What's that?" I demanded before I could stop myself, repulsed.

Aunt Petunia gave me a dark look. "I'm dying some old things grey from your uniforms. It'll look like everyone else's."

"Doubt it," I muttered as Harry brushed past me to start on breakfast.

" _What was that?"_

"Thank you," I hastily corrected before making my escape to the juicer, preparing the orange juice.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley seemed about as thrilled with the smell coming from the uniforms as Harry and I were when they came in. They took seats at the table and Harry hastily supplied them with scrambled eggs and sliced fruits before starting on his own plate. He and I ate in the kitchen, sneaking bites as we manned the stove, scrambling more eggs when Dudley inevitably asked for seconds.

There was a sharp snap from the front door, signaling the arrival of the mail.

"Mail's here," Aunt Petunia announced unnecessarily.

"Get the mail, Dudley."

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley do it."

"Whack him with your Smelting stick Dudley."

Harry dodged a swipe from the stick as he passed the table, heading for the front door. I watched him go and then turned back to the eggs, swirling them half-heartedly in the pan. I was surprised when, moments later, Harry returned to my side and dropped a letter onto the counter next to me.

A letter addressed to me. _Miss L. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._ That was me.

I looked from it to him incredulously and noticed that Harry had his own letter clutched firmly in his hand, staring at it in awe. I snatched my own up greedily. The envelope was made of thick yellowish parchment that felt creamy in my fingers when I ran them over the green ink of the address. I flipped it over in trembling hands to see a purple wax seal holding it closed. It was a coat of arms with a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle around a large, ornate H.

I dimly heard Uncle Vernon say something as I slit the wax seal with a finger and tugged the actual letter free. I set the envelope aside and was about to unfold the parchment when Dudley yelled, "Dad, dad they've got something!"

In a surprising feat for someone so large, he'd managed to creep up behind us, probably because we were both so focused on the letters in our hands. He wrenched us around and snatched the letters from our hands, holding them over his head triumphantly as he waddled back towards the kitchen table.

"That's mine!" we protested in sync as Dudley proudly presented the letters to Uncle Vernon.

"Who'd be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered, flipping one letter open. He froze, his face going from green to red to grey in the space of a few seconds. "P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to snatch the letter from his father's hand, but Vernon held one out of his reach while passing the other to Petunia. She paled and grabbed onto the cabinet like she needed support.

"Vernon… oh my goodness Vernon!" she gasped.

They seemed to have forgotten that there were other people in the world, just staring at each other in horror. Dudley whacked his father with his Smelting stick and whined, "I want to read it!"

"Seeing as they're _our_ letters-" I began, narrowing my eyes dangerously.

" _-we_ want to read them," Harry finished furiously. Uncle Vernon stuffed the letters back into the envelope.

"Get out, all of you," he ordered.

"Let me see it!" Dudley protested.

" _Give us our letters!"_ I shrieked. I felt something rise up in me and burst out. There was a hissing pop and one of the bulbs in the chandelier over the table exploded, raining down glass into the breakfast below. Aunt Petunia screamed and sagged against the wall, sliding down it weakly. Uncle Vernon looked like someone had just presented him with a dead animal.

"Out!" Uncle Vernon roared. He shot to his feet and seized Harry and Dudley by the backs of their necks, shoving them to the door. While he struggled with them I grabbed the envelope and shoved it down my shirt. Then Uncle Vernon turned back for me. I braced myself by the stove as he came at me.

"Who's writing us?" I demanded.

"No one, it was a mistake," Uncle Vernon snarled, reaching for my arm. I yanked it back, reaching behind me for something to fend him off with. I screamed as I inadvertently placed my hand down on the burner that had been used to make the bacon. It was still burning hot. I ripped my hand free and clutched it to my chest, eyes watering. Uncle Vernon took that opportunity to grab me by the hair and haul me towards the door, hurling me out into the hallway.

So much for not being injured anymore.

I smacked into Harry and we rammed into the wall. I gave a sob as my injured hand connected with the corner of a table. By the time we'd righted ourselves, Dudley had claimed the keyhole, so we were reduced to crouching on the floor listening at the gap below the door, with me still clutching my hand to my chest and trying to hold back whimpers. I was in pain, but no way was I missing out on this.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia asked shakily. "Look at the address. How do they know where he sleeps?"

"Spying… watching the house… maybe following us," Uncle Vernon mumbled in response.

"Should we write back, tell them we don't want-?"

"No, we won't do anything. Just ignore them, that's best… Yeah… leave them alone…"

Aunt Petunia didn't sound convinced. "But-"

"I'm not having two in the house! Didn't we swore when we took them in that we'd put a stop to that nonsense?"

Uncle Vernon's shoes came closer to the door. Harry and I wisely fled into our cupboard. In the hallway, they could hear Dudley demanding to read the letter while Uncle Vernon told him to be quiet.

"I hate Dudley," Harry muttered spitefully, glaring at the floor as he stood in darkness. I tugged on the string of the little bare bulb that lit our cupboard with my good hand and flung myself down onto the bed, digging down my shirt with the same hand.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked, confused. I lifted up the envelope triumphantly. Harry grabbed at it desperately, looking it over. "It's got our cupboard on it."

"I know," I nodded. " _Someone_ knows where we are. Someone wants to talk to _us._ "

Harry held out the envelope to me. "Do you recognize this coat of arms?" he asked, pointing to the seal. I shook my head helplessly.

"I've got nothing."

Without thinking, I put my hand palm-down on the sheets. Immediately I let out a whine and tugged it back, clutching my wrist in my free hand and looking at the pink skin in distaste.

"Lorena!" Harry exclaimed. He tossed the envelope onto the bed carelessly and sat down next to me on the sheets. He gingerly tugged my hand towards him.

"I'm fine," I assured him.

"No, you're not!" he disagreed. "You need some… some aloe or something…"

"Right, like they'll let me get some," I scoffed.

Harry shook his head. "Wait here," he said, and headed for the door.

"Harry!" I hissed at him. It was stupid to try something when the Dursleys were already mad. But he was already gone. Not two minutes later he came back, holding a wad of toilet paper slathered in aloe gel and a bit of gauze.

"They'll see the gauze!" I hissed at him. "Are you stupid?"

"I'm mad," he countered, green eyes flashing behind his glasses. He sat down next to me again and took my hand, laying it in his lap. He was careful as he gently wiped it with the aloe. I sighed in relief at the pleasant cooling feeling.

"Feels amazing," I moaned.

"Right," Harry said, staring at the long length of gauze he'd smuggled out. "Let's see…"

In the end he wrapped my burned fingers individually and then my palm, knotting the ends behind my hand. It looked pretty clumsy, but for a couple of ten-year-olds it was a pretty decent patch job.

"Thanks," I said softly, leaning over onto Harry's chest and tugging my hand into my stomach. "That feels way better."

"What happened?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Was stupid. Accidentally put my hand down on the stove."

"It wasn't Uncle Vernon?" he checked. I shook my head again.

"No, just me."

But that was a lie, in a way. It was Uncle Vernon. If it weren't for years of systematic abuse my immediate reaction to someone reaching for me wouldn't be to find a weapon. If he hadn't come at me like that, I wouldn't have had my hand anywhere near the stove. Yet another injury to add to the tally the Dursleys had caused.

Uncle Vernon himself turned up at our cupboard that night after he got back from work, which was definitely a first. He had to squeeze through the door, almost filling the entire cupboard with his bulk.

"Where's my letter?" Harry demanded, holding me close to his side protectively. He was still mad about my hand.

"Who's writing us?" I pressed.

"No one, it was a mistake," Uncle Vernon said sharply. "I've burned them."

"It had our cupboard on it!" Harry protested angrily. "It wasn't a mistake."

"Silence!" Uncle Vernon snapped. He flinched and plastered on a smile. It looked in all honesty like he was being tortured. "Listen about… about this cupboard. Your aunt and I talked and… you're getting too big for it so… you'll be moving into Dudley's second bedroom."

I reared back, startled. "What?"

"Just take this stuff up there now!" Uncle Vernon ordered, making his escape from the cupboard before he could anything else that might be construed as nice.

"He didn't say anything about you stealing the gauze," I noticed, staring down at my hand.

"I know," Harry agreed.

"Something's really wrong."

'This stuff' was just clothes and a few cheap toys the Dursleys had given us over the years, things like bouncy balls or broken toy soldiers. We got it all upstairs in a matter of minutes.

Dudley's second bedroom was really just storage for all the things Dudley had broken but refused to let his parents throw away. There were shelves upon shelves of broken toys and gadgets, probably enough money combined to rent a flat. It made me angry just to look at it all. One of these things was probably worth more than everything Harry and I had ever owned, combined.

I tossed my clothes onto the floor in frustration and flung myself onto the bed, pulling out the envelope from up my sleeve. It was folded and bent a little now after a whole day hidden in my clothes, but the green ink still glimmered and you could still make out most of the details on the wax seal.

"Why didn't I put them in our cupboard before I came into the dining room?" Harry bemoaned as he sat down next to me, staring at the envelope longingly.

"You didn't know," I replied absently. I tucked the envelope under the pillow of the slightly larger bed and looked around at all the shelves. I stood up and ventured closer to the one shelf holding books. They were in pristine condition. "Look on the bright side." I jerked a thumb at them. "Reading material."

Harry snorted.

()()()()()()()

The next morning Dudley was shell-shocked. Despite him pulling out all the stops and throwing the tantrum to beat all tantrums, Harry and I hadn't been made to vacate his second bedroom. It was probably the first time in his life he'd ever been refused something. I couldn't help but be a little smug as I gave him his eggs the next morning.

"I slept really well last night!" I announced. Dudley glared up at me and tried to whack me across the shins with his Smelting stick. I leapt over it lightly and sashayed back to the kitchen.

"That's nice," Uncle Vernon said, sounding as if he thought the exact opposite. But he seemed to be trying to be nicer to us, so when the mail came, he made Dudley go get it. Dudley smacked his Smelting stick into things in the hall as he made his way to the door.

"There's another one!" he shouted suddenly _. "Mr. and Miss Potter, the Smallest Bedroom-"_

Uncle Vernon yelled and leapt to his feet, scrambling for the mail. Harry and I were hot on his heels. He tackled Dudley trying to get the letter from him and Harry wrapped an arm around Uncle Vernon's neck, trying to haul him free so that he could get at the letters. The Smelting stick swung wildly, nailing everyone at least twice. I took a certain vicious pleasure in angrily kicking my uncle and cousin.

Sadly, Harry and I were malnourished and skinny. We didn't stand a chance. Uncle Vernon emerged victorious, holding the letters above all of us.

"Potters, to your cupboard... I mean bedroom," he corrected hastily. "Dudley... go, just go…"

Bitter and sore, Harry and I trooped back up to the bedroom. I didn't even make it to the bed. I just flopped onto the carpet and growled, digging my fingers into the strands.

"What could be so bad?" I hissed. "What don't they want us to know?"

Harry slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, box springs creaking slightly. "You don't think…" he began slowly, then shook his head. "Nothing, never mind."

"What?" I pressed, rising up on my elbows to look at him. "What're you thinking?"

Harry was biting his lip, green eyes lowing behind his glasses. "Could it be… dad's family maybe?"

I went quiet. We knew for a fact that Aunt Petunia was our only family on their mom's side. But our dad was a bit of a mystery. I could count on one hand the number of times the Dursley's had mentioned him, and it had always been to insult him, not to impart any kind of useful information. For all we knew, we might have other uncles and aunts, maybe even grandparents.

When we were little, we used to amuse ourselves with fantasies straight out of a film. Some rich grandparents sweeping us away from Number 4 to live in a mansion, the Dursley's gaping after us as we drove off. Some kind of eccentric uncle coming back from an adventure in the Amazon to claim us, having just found out we existed.

Then there were the more realistic dreams. Some clean-cut, friendly man appearing on the doorstep with our poor vision and Harry's dark strands. A woman with two children hiding in her skirt demanding to see her niece and nephew.

In all of our dreams though, one thing was the same: we left. We left Privet Drive far behind and never looked back. We went from scrounging for crackers and sneaking into the kitchen at night to wandering in and making a sandwich whenever we wanted. We had our own rooms, our own possessions, things that hadn't belonged to other people first, things that actually fit. We had actual lives instead of being the Cinderella to the Dursley's Evil Stepmother.

"We will get our hands on one of those letters," I swore. "If they keep coming, sooner or later we'll get one, and then we'll know."

Harry brightened, leaning over to the alarm clock we'd managed to repair one summer. He set the clock to ring a little before six.

"We'll go down before anyone else and grab the mail when it comes through," he explained to me. I nodded approvingly.

"We will get those letters," I repeated.

The next morning our alarm went off just like Harry had set it. I shut it off to keep the beeping from waking up the Dursleys. We quickly dressed and crept downstairs in the darkness, heading for the mail slot. Harry took one final step and recoiled with a yelp.

I screamed as a huge shape loomed in front of us. I quickly realized it was Uncle Vernon, the sleeping bag still knotted around his legs. He'd passed out in front of the door to keep us from doing exactly what we'd planned.

The screaming lasted half an hour. It only stopped when the mail came through the flap and landed at Uncle Vernon's feet. He'd scooped up the three letters each addressed to us and was shredding them before Harry or I could even demand that he hand them over.

That day he stayed home, nailing the mail flap shut and whistling 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips.' But the nailed-shut letter flap didn't perturb whoever was writing the letters. They were shoved through the cracks in the doors and even through the window in the bathroom. Then the letters came in somehow pristine eggs that their milkman had passed through the window. Aunt Petunia shredded those in her food processor.

By the time Sunday came around, battle lines had been drawn. I was glaring at the Dursleys any time one of them was in my line of sight and I was making snotty remarks I usually wouldn't have dared to. Even Harry was getting short. He'd snapped at Aunt Petunia the other day to 'carry her own groceries' before stalking up to our bedroom and shutting himself inside. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking wrung out, and Dudley was still pouting over the fact that he hadn't been allowed to see the letters either.

"No post on Sundays," Uncle Vernon muttered at the breakfast table, looking happier than he had in days. "Not a single letter-"

A single letter came rocketing out of the fireplace and gave him a paper cut across the back of the head. The fireplace began to spew letters, thirty or forty at first, them more. I dove to the floor, scrambling to get my hands on one. Uncle Vernon grabbed a handful of my hair and wrenched me to my feet. Aunt Petunia had hustled out of the kitchen with Dudley and our uncle threw Harry and I out into the hall after them, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

He yanked frantically at his moustache, face rapidly alternating between red and white in a way that couldn't be healthy. "Go upstairs and pack… only the essentials… we're leaving in five minutes!"

He looked so close to a heart attack that none of us said anything. Harry and I had no trouble packing up our clothes and climbing into the back seat of the car, but Dudley didn't take it nearly so well. Uncle Vernon hit him around the head when he tried to pack up the electronics in his room.

Harry looked out the window at the night sky as we sped down the highway. I sat in the middle, leaning my head on his shoulder sleepily. Dudley was pouting in the last seat, giving us dark looks every now and then.

We stopped for the night at a gloomy hotel. Dudley, Harry, and I had to share a room. Dudley snored loudly in his sagging twin bed, but I curled up in the sheets and joined Harry on the windowsill, staring out at the cars passing by.

"Do you think the letters will keep coming?" I whispered, leaning my forehead on the cool window.

"They haven't stopped yet," Harry replied. I touched the envelope, which was hidden up my sleeve. It was like some kind of silent prayer: please keep coming. If the letters kept coming, then eventually we'd get a hold of one. Eventually, we'd find out who wanted to talk to us so desperately.

The next morning's breakfast was toast and cold tomatoes. As we were eating, the owner came up and asked, "I'm looking for H and L Potter? I've got 'bout a hundred of these at the front desk." He held up one of the letters. I opened my mouth desperately, but Uncle Vernon was already on his feet, hustling the man away and loudly announcing, "I'll take them!"

Our impromptu road trip didn't get any better. Uncle Vernon stopped the car several times, got out, looked around, shook his head, and took off again. They did this in a forest, the middle of a field, the top of a parking garage, and an abandoned parking lot. Finally he stopped by the coast and locked us into the car, vanishing into a store.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley mumbled. Aunt Petunia hissed at him to hush the front seat. "I want to stay somewhere with a hotel!" he whined. "It's Monday, the Great Humberto's on tonight!"

I blinked. Dudley always knew the date because of the truly staggering number of TV shows that he watched religiously. And if it really was Monday, then that meant…

My hand reached out, settling on top of Harry's.

"We're almost eleven," Harry whispered, following my train of thought.

"Tomorrow," I agreed.

Our birthdays were never fun. We didn't get to go to the zoo like Dudley did, we didn't get huge chocolate cakes, and we didn't have any friends to invite over. Last year on our birthday, Harry had gotten a travel package of tissues and I received a pair of Aunt Petunia's old stockings full of holes.

This year we definitely wouldn't get anything, even something that bad. But still, at least we'd gotten to go somewhere, I mused. It may not have been fun sitting in the awkward silence of the Dursley's car as Uncle Vernon drove frantically and muttered, "Shake 'em off…" but I had Harry and there was some pretty countryside to see every now and then, so all in all, it wasn't the _worst_ birthday we'd ever had.

Uncle Vernon returned then, and this time he was smiling widely and holding a long, thin package and a grocery bag. I couldn't decide if the smile was a good sign or a bad one.

"Found a place for us to stay tonight!" he announced, thrusting a finger proudly towards a rock way out to sea with a broken-down old shack on it. "And this fellow," he gestured to the toothless old man who had followed him to the car, "has agreed to let us use his boat."

The sea spray dampened our clothes as we rowed out to the rock, making the wind that whipped around us seem even colder. Harry and I were made to take point, so we took most of the spray. We huddled together desperately for warmth, but it didn't help much. By the time we arrived at the rock, we were shuddering with cold.

The shack itself wasn't anything special, and it definitely didn't have a television. In fact, it didn't even have electricity. There were only two rooms and a fireplace to provide warmth. The cracks in the walls rendered a fire pretty much useless though. The whole place reeked of seaweed and old fish.

The grocery bag held a bag of chips each and four bananas. We ate quietly, turning over our chip bags when we'd finished to Uncle Vernon, who tried to use them to start a fire. They just smoked and curled.

"Shame there's a storm forecast! We could use some of those letters now, eh?" he announced jovially. Clearly, he was relying on the bad weather to keep the post from getting through to us.

I narrowed my eyes at him angrily and raised my banana peel. Harry caught my wrist hastily and yanked the peel away from me.

"I wasn't gonna actually throw it," I mumbled, glaring at my uncle.

"Can never tell with you," Harry countered.

We bedded down that night in some moldy blankets that Aunt Petunia found in the second room. It was a bedroom, which she and Uncle Vernon claimed. Dudley took the couch, burrowed under thick blankets. Of course Harry and I were left with a thin, ragged sheet and a patch of floor for our beds. We curled up together in a corner that was mostly free of holes to try and preserve as much warmth as possible.

That night the storm came. Between the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls and rattling the windows, the thunder that rolled in around ten, and Dudley's snoring that could have woken the dead, there was no way we were getting any sleep.

"This sucks," I muttered, draping one leg over Harry's side and scooting closer, trying to fight off the shivers that had started up again. "Think if I grabbed one of Dudley's blankets he'd notice?"

"Uncle Vernon would in the morning," Harry pointed out. I huffed, then did it again when my breath warmed up my fingers.

"Right," I grumbled. I sent a glance over my shoulder towards Dudley. "But if we freeze to death it won't matter," I pointed out, emerging from the sheets. I shuddered as the parts of me that I'd managed to keep warm immediately froze in the cold air. I crept closer to Dudley, hand outstretched towards his top blanket.

"Lorena, don't!" Harry hissed.

"I've got it!" I snapped back, taking the top of the blanket and pulling it down slowly. Dudley grunted in his sleep and grabbed the blanket away from me, clutching it to his chest. "Greedy pig," I growled, thwarted. I glanced down at the hand holding the blankets, wondering if I could work them free of his sausage-like fingers.

"We're eleven in ten minutes," I commented.

"Great, now get back here," Harry said, lifting the sheet up. I hustled back to our corner and joined him under our ratty blanket, tucking the end under my side so that my back wasn't exposed. Harry wrapped his arms around me protectively and I cuddled into his skinny chest.

"Do think they'll even remember?" I mused aloud, absently twisting a bit of my red hair around a finger.

"Doubt it," Harry murmured back. "I didn't see anything else in the grocery bag."

I snorted. "I'm sure they're just holding out to surprise us!" I chirped sarcastically.

"Right," Harry scoffed. We were silent for a moment, and then he asked, "D'you think the letters ever stopped shooting out of the fireplace?"

I giggled. "Maybe when we open the door we'll get drowned in letters. We could definitely get a hold of one then." I fingered the envelope, which was tucked into the waistband of my pants for safekeeping.

Please don't stop, I silently begged.

I flinched, turning ,y head towards the door.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I could have sworn…" There is was again, the crunch of gravel outside, and a slapping sound. "Listen!" I hissed, sitting up. Harry sat up as well, both of us staring at the door and trying to hear over the sound of the storm and our cousin.

BOOM!

The knock on the door rattled the whole cottage. Harry and I curled into balls in our corner, trying to make ourselves as small as possible.

BOOM!

It came again. Whatever was outside wanted in.

BOOM!

Dudley jerked awake, muttering stupidly, "Where's the cannon?"

Uncle Vernon burst out of the bedroom with a rifle held in his hand – the mysterious package explained – and Petunia huddled behind his bulk.

"I warn you, I'm armed!" he yelled towards the door. His voice had gone about two octaves higher than normal.

There was a pause, and then-

SMASH!

The door flew off its hinges and crashed against the floor, sending up a crowd of dust. In the empty frame loomed a giant of a man with wild, curly hair and beard, glittering beetle-black eyes, and hands like shovels. With surprising gentleness, he eased his bulk through the entrance. When he straightened up he was even taller than the door frame.

"Couldn' make a cuppa, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey?" he announced, like he'd been expected. His eyes settled on the couch. "Budge up," he requested.

Dudley gave a squeak of fear and tumbled off the couch, sprinting to take cover behind Uncle Vernon as fast as he was able.

"An' there's the twins!" The giant beamed at us, huddled in our corner. My eyes widened. This man knew us? I snatched Harry's hand for support as he continued, "Las' time I saw yeh you were both jus' babies. Spittin' image o' James an' Lily, you are, but with Lily's eyes."

"I demand that you leave at once!" Uncle Vernon ordered, swelling up with indignation and brandishing his gun threateningly. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Dry up Dursley, yeh great prune," the man scoffed, reaching over the back of the couch to snatch the rifle away from Uncle Vernon. With a screech of metal he bent the barrel into an L and tossed it into a corner.

Uncle Vernon squeaked. I gaped in awe.

"Got summat for you," the giant continued, nodding to Harry and I. "Migh' be a bi' squished, bu' it should taste alright." He dug into his black overcoat and tugged out a white box that was indeed slightly squished. He offered it to us.

Slowly, I got to my feet, the sheet falling around my ankles. I felt Harry stand up next to me and take a few steps out of the corner. I followed him as Harry stretched out a hand and took the box. He held it out for me to see. Curious despite years of being told not to except gifts from stranger, I peeked into the box as Harry opened it. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with oddly chunky green icing that read _Happy Birthday Harry and Lorena!_

I choked on my breath in surprise. The Dursleys probably didn't even know it was our birthday, so how did this man that we'd never met before? Why did he care enough about us to go through the trouble of baking a cake? He even iced our names on it for god's sake!

"Who are you?" Harry breathed, sounding as startled as I was. I took the box from him and closed it, setting it on a nearby windowsill. We'd come back to it later.

The man chuckled good-naturedly. "True, I haven' introduced myself yet. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He reached out and clasped both of our hands between his ginormous mitts, pumping them up and down enthusiastically. "Now, how 'bout that tea?" he boomed. "I wouldn' say no to summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

He looked at the fireplace and snorted at the shriveled chip bags. He was tall enough that he only needed to lean forwards to reach the hearth. His bulk concealed whatever he was doing, but when he leaned back, there was a fire blazing in the grate. Warmth filled the room and I sighed in relief as my shivers finally abated.

The giant began to dig in his huge coat again. He pulled out a teapot and tea bags, a package of sausages, a kettle, a couple of mugs, and a poker. He set about making tea and put the sausages onto the pokers. Soon the sound of sizzling and the smell of cooked meats filled the shack, and it didn't seem quite so dreary.

Dudley whimpered as Hagrid tested one of the sausages and, finding it fully cooked, plucked it free.

"Don't take anything he gives you, Dudley!" Uncle Vernon snapped.

Hagrid snorted. "Yer son doesn' need any more fattenin' up, Dursley," he scoffed, and passed the sausage to Harry. I eagerly took the one he handed me and bit into it, whimpering happily. We rarely got hot food unless we snuck it while cooking, and I was hungry enough that the sausage tasted like heaven, even if it was hot enough to singe my fingers a little.

"Sorry," Harry finally said. "But I don't really know who you are." I nodded in agreement.

"Call me Hagrid, everyone does," Hagrid invited. "An like I said, I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Yeh'll know all abou' Hogwarts."

Harry and I exchanged looks. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what Hogwarts might be, nor why it had enough keys that they required a keeper. Harry shook his head and I shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, no."

Hagrid bristled angrily. "Sorry? It's them that should be sorry!" He rounded on the Dursley's, who cowered back into the corner Harry and I had recently vacated. I smiled slightly at the abject fear on Aunt Petunia's face and Dudley's continued whimpers.

"I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters, but I didn't know yeh didn't know about Hogwarts. Did yeh never wonder where yer mum and dad learnt it all?" he asked.

I stared at him blankly.

"All what?" Harry asked.

"All what?" Hagrid thundered incredulously. "Yeh mean ter tell me that these kids – these kids – don' know nothin' abou'… abou' nothin'?"

"Hold on!" Harry protested indignantly. "We can read and do math and all that!"

Hagrid waved that away like it was nothing. "I mean about our world. Yer world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?" I demanded, frustrated with the fact that we were making so little progress. I wished Hagrid would just come out and say what he was dancing around instead of asking what we _didn't know._

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Hagrid swelled up with rage and roared, "DURSLEY!"

Uncle Vernon said something very close to "Mimblewimble."

Hagrid looked at us earnestly. "Yeh must know abou' yer mum and dad, I mean, they're famous! Yer famous."

Harry blinked incredulously, and I was right there with him. When Aunt Petunia spoke about her sister, she always talked like Lily Evans had run off with a bum to live some sub-par life. And this man said they were famous?

"Our parents… were famous?" Harry asked blankly.

"Yeh don't know, yeh don't know!" Hagrid seemed bewildered. He just stared at us, finally asking, "Yeh don't know what yeh are?"

Uncle Vernon finally found his voice. "Stop it!" he commanded. "I forbid you to tell them anything!"

Hagrid gave him a look that would have made a brave man cry for his mummy. "Yeh never told 'em what was in tha' letter Dumbledore left all those years ago? I was there, I saw him leave it! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

I leaned forwards, clenching Harry's arm in a vice-grip. He didn't seem to care, eagerly asking, "Kept what from us?"

"I forbid you!" Uncle Vernon shouted desperately.

"Go boil yer heads," Hagrid scoffed. "Harry, Lorena… yer magic."

Silence, and then I repeated faintly, "M-Magic?"

"A witch and wizard," Hagrid nodded. "An' thumpin' good'uns I'd wager, once yeh've been trained up a bit. Anyway I reckon it's about time yeh read yer letters."

He reached into his coat again and pulled out two parchment envelopes identical to the one I had hidden in my pants. He offered them to us, and we stepped forwards and snatched them up eagerly. I stared at the address.

 _Miss L Potter, The Floor, Hut-On-The-Rock, The Sea._

I couldn't help but smile at the address for a second before I ripped the envelope open and tugged the parchment free. I held my breath as I finally opened the letter. My eyes widened at the letterhead.

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Underneath it was the Headmaster, with a list of titles that I had never seen before. It was the Dumbledore Hagrid had mentioned earlier. The letter itself was signed by a Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress. It was an invitation to the school. Behind that was a list of equipment. Spell books, robes, cauldrons, and telescopes.

The _magic_ school.

"What does it mean they await my owl?" Harry asked, pointing to the last line.

Hagrid smacked a hand to his forehead. "Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me!" From inside his overcoat he plucked an owl. A living, breathing, distinctly annoyed owl. He tugged out a parchment, quill, and ink and scribbled a letter to the headmaster, saying that he'd given us our letters and was going to take us to get our supplies. I looked back down at the list of supplies eagerly.

Hagrid attached the letter to the owl and tossed the bird out into the storm as if it was perfectly normal, then returned to the couch. I reached over and pushed up on Harry's chin, closing his mouth.

"Now where was I?" Hagrid mused.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have finally regained his courage. He stepped forwards, ashen-faced, and managed to grit out angrily, "They're not going!"

"Oh, and I suppose a great Muggle like yeh's gonna stop 'em," Hagrid said, unimpressed.

"Muggle?" I repeated, liking the vaguely insulting tone of the word.

"Wha' we call non-magic folk," Hagrid explained. "It's yer misfortune yeh grew up with some o' the biggest Muggles I've ever seen."

"We swore when we took them in that we'd put a stop to it!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "We swore! Magic indeed."

I rounded on our aunt and uncle as Harry demanded, "You _knew?"_

" _Knew?"_ Aunt Petunia shrieked. "Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was! She got the same letter and ran off to that- that school! She'd come back over the summer with frog spawn in her pockets, turning rats into tea cups! Our parents were so proud, it was always Lily this and Lily that!" Aunt Petunia heaved a breath, like she'd been bottling that up for years, and continued. "And then she met that Potter at school. They got married and had you and I knew you'd both be just as strange, just as… as abnormal. And then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up, and we got landed with _you two_!"

"Blown up?" I demanded. "You said our parents died in a car crash!"

"A car crash?" Hagrid demanded. "A car crash, kill Lily an James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry an' Lorena Potter not knowin' their own story when every child in our world knows their names!"

"But why?" Harry pressed. "What happened?"

Hagrid now seemed to deflate from angry to concerned. "I never expected this. When Dumbledore said there migh' be some trouble getting' a hold of yeh, I never realized how much yeh didn' know. Ah, I don' know if I'm the righ' person to tell yeh… But someone's gotta, yeh can't go off to Hogwarts not knowin'."

He gave a dirty look to the Dursleys before staring into the fire. "It's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh… Mind yeh, I can' tell yeh ev'rythin'. It's still a great myst'ry, parts of it. It starts, I suppose, with a man called… but I can't believe yeh don' know his name, ev'ryone knows…"

"Who?" I pressed.

"I don' like sayin' his name if I can help it," Hagrid admitted. "No one does."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Gallopin' Gargoyles, people're still scared! Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was a wizard who went… bad. Bad as yeh can go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…" Hagrid gulped, like the word was stuck in his throat.

"You could write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah, can't spell it." Hagrid shook his head. He took a great breath, steeling himself, and then whispered, "Alright… Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered violently, making the couch shake with him. "Don't make me say it again. Anyway, this wizard, about twenty years, he went lookin' fer power. Got it too. Started gatherin' followers. Some wanted power, some were afraid. It was dark times, yeh understan', dark times. Yeh didn' know who to trust. People were vanishin' an' turnin' up dead. He was takin over. 'Course, some stood up the him. An' he killed 'em. Horribly. Only safe place was Hogwarts. I reckon it's because he was always scared o' Dumbledore.

"Now, yer mum and dad were as good a witch and wizard as they come. Head boy and girl at Hogwarts in their day! I s'pose the myst'ry is why he didn't try to get them on his side. Prolly know they were too close ter Dumbledore to get them on his side.

"All anyone knows fer sure is that he turned up in the village yeh were livin' in ten years ago. Yeh were only a year old. Maybe he wanted them out o' the way. Maybe he jus' liked killin' by that point, but…"

Hagrid suddenly tugged a huge handkerchief from inside his pocket and blew his nose like a trumpet. I flinched at the sudden loud noise after Hagrid's hushed voice.

"Sorry, it's jus' that sad," he apologized. "I knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn' find. Anway, he killed, an' then – an' this is the real myst'ry – he tried to kill yeh." Hagrid nodded at Harry. "Maybe he wanted to make a clean slate of it, maybe he was jus' in a mood. But a scar like that," he thrust a finger at the scar on Harry's forehead, "only comes from bein' touched by a powerful curse, an evil one. That spell took care o' both o' yer parents, yer house even, but fer some reason, he couldn't kill yeh. Only a baby, an' he couldn' kill yeh. No one lived after he decide to kill 'em… no one, 'cept you."

I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Behind my eyes flashed a brilliant green light. I could hear a high, cold voice laughing, hear it whispering softly in my ear. The words were indistinguishable, but the malice in them… it drove the warmth from my bones and chilled me to the core.

Pain suddenly lanced through my left cheek. I clapped a hand to it, wincing. Hagrid looked at me sympathetically.

"An' that's another myst'ry," he said, nodding to my cheek. I ducked my head self-consciously. My hair had been concealing the large s-shaped scar on my cheek this whole time, but I got the feeling Hagrid knew it was there.

"Did he try and use that spell on me too?" I asked softly.

"No," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "An' no one can figure out why. Near as we can tell, he cut that mark into yer face, then set yeh aside and turned on Harry. No one knows why he stopped or didn' try to kill yeh. Maybe he just wanted to do Harry first?" Hagrid shrugged. "I pulled yeh from the house myself an' brought yeh ter this lot, Dumbledore's orders-"

"Load of old tosh." Once again, Uncle Vernon had gathered enough courage to speak up. Now, it seemed, he had a good head of steam up, because he started ranting, "You listen here, brats. I admit there's something off about you – probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have fixed. But as for your parents –well, they were weirdos, no denying, the world's better without them in it – they deserved what they got, getting mixed up with those wizarding types. Just as I expected, always thought they'd meet a sticky end-"

Hagrid lunged to his feet, brandishing as pink umbrella like a broadsword, but I beat him to it. I stepped forwards now, glaring hatefully at Uncle Vernon as my anger surged. I felt heat bathe my back and heard the crackle of flames as the fire blazed higher behind me.

"Shut up," I hissed. "You shut your fat face, you ass!" Uncle Vernon swelled with rage, but before he could say anything, I swept a hand through the air angrily. I felt the fire behind me shift, lunging in the direction I'd pointed, and he immediately backed down, eyes widening in fear. "Those are _my_ parents you're talking about and I don't care what they did, wizards or not, they have to be better than you! All my life you treated me – _us_ \- like there was something wrong with us, like we were something shameful. Now I see though. Every time I blew a light bulb, every time you tried to cut Harry's hair and it grew back – you knew what was going on! You knew we were doing magic! You beat us down because you were afraid of us! Of what we might do to you!"

Behind me, I heard Hagrid chortling. "Tha's the way it usually is with Muggles, scared o' what we magical folk could do."

I was panting heavily and glaring at the Dursleys. I paused as a fragile hand slid into mine and squeezed.

"Lorena," Harry murmured. I slumped, exhausted by my rant and the emotional roller coaster the night had turned into. I took a step back, leaning against Harry's shoulder wearily.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked quietly. "What ever happed to Vol – to _him?"_

"Good question." Hagrid nodded approvingly, still looking at the successfully-cowed Dursleys in amusement. "Disappeared. Vanished, same night he tried ter kill yeh. Same night he tried ter kill yeh. It's part o' why yer famous. Soemthin' about yeh finished him. Some say he died. Codswallop in my opinion. Don't know if he had enough human left in him to die. Most of us reckon he's out there still, lost his powers too weak the carry on. Somethin' happened that night – no one knos what – but somethin' abou' yeh stumped him that night."

Hagrid stared at us, warmth and respect blazing in his eyes. I hunched in on myself. I didn't feel like I deserved any of it. Whatever had made that Voldemort tuck tail and run, it was Harry who'd done it, not me. What had I managed that night? Getting my face sliced open? It was hardly something to be proud of.

"Just yeh wait!" Hagrid said proudly. "Yeh'll be famous at Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon put in a last stand. "Haven't I told you?" he growled. "They're going to Stonewall High and be grateful for it. I've seen the things they need. Cauldrons… spell books… nonsense!"

"If they want to go," Hagrid said slowly, "a great Muggle like you won' stop 'em! Lily an' James's kids not go to Hogwarts! They'll be goin' to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there an' they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort fer a change and they'll be studyin' under the finest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen-"

"I am not paying for some crackpot old fool to teach them magic tricks!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

Hagrid yelled and jumped to his feet, brandishing his umbrella once more. Uncle Vernon retreated on pain of death by impalement.

"Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!" Hagrid roared. He brought the umbrella swinging down. There was a flash of violet light and a sound like a squealing pig. Dudley yelped and clutched his bottom, a curly pink pig's tail bursting from the seam in his pajamas. Aunt Petunia wailed and clutched her son. Uncle Vernon gave Hagrid one horrified look and dragged his family back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

Hagrid observed the door thoughtfully. "Meant to turn him into a whole pig," he admitted. "But I guess there wasn' much left." He glanced at us, flushing slightly. "I'd appreciate it if yeh didn' mention that to anyone at the school. Strictly speakin', I'm not allowed to use magic outside o' the school. I was allowed to do a bit ter keep up with yeh and get yer letters to yeh – one of the reasons I was so keen ter take the job."

"Why can't you do magic outside of the school?" Harry asked curiously.

Hagrid winced. "Oh, er, I was at Hogwarts myself but I… got expelled," he admitted. "In me third year. They snapped my wand an' everythin'. Dumbledore let me stay on as groundskeeper. Great man, Dumbledore!" he blustered.

"Why were you expelled?" Harry pressed curiously. I nudged him violently with an elbow.

"Got a long day tomorrow!" Hagrid announced loudly. "Lots ter buy, gotta go into town fer yer supplies." He tossed his overcoat at us. It took both of us to catch the thing without being bowled over. "Yeh can kip under that. Don' mind if it wiggles, still got a couple of dormice in the pockets."


	4. Diagon Alley

I wrinkled my nose in distaste as I heard a tapping. Why couldn't Aunt Petunia let me sleep in and savor my dream for once? It was a good one, too. Some giant came and told me that Harry and I were magical, and that we got to go and learn spells at some school called Pigfarts or something…

"Alright, I'm getting up," I heard Harry grumble. He pulled away from me and stood up. I let out a quiet groan of distaste as I lost his body heat and clutched my blankets closer.

Except these weren't my normal blankets. I'd gone to sleep last night under a threadbare sheet. This thing felt much thicker and sturdier. There were no holes and no thin spots. In fact, this felt like treated canvas, the kind that repelled water. It was really warm…

I opened one eye a slit and peered down.

I snapped upright, eyes coming open, and ran my hands over the huge overcoat I was sprawled under. It was the same one from my dream… that apparently wasn't a dream. Hagrid was snoring softly on the couch and Harry was slumped tiredly at the window where an owl was waiting with a newspaper tied to its leg.

He looked up and saw my expression, the way I was clinging to the coat, and smiled slightly. "Yeah, not a dream."

"So I noticed," I said, eyes flicking from Harry to the owl to Hagrid. "Erm, Hagrid? Hagrid!"

Hagrid groaned in response. The owl swooped into the window and dumped the newspaper on Hagrid's face. He gave a small shout of surprise and opened his eyes. I blinked in shock as the owl alighted next to me and pecked at the material of the coat expectantly.

"I don't know what you want," I said helplessly.

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted as he sat up straighter.

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"He wants pay for delivering the paper," Hagrid said, unrolling said paper. "In the pocket."

Hagrid's coat was nothing more than a conglomeration of pockets, it seemed. I stared at them all helplessly for a moment before beckoning Harry over to help. We came up with dog treats, keys, string, tea bags, and an odd looking root that pulsed unnervingly in my hand when I pulled it out. I hastily shoved it back into the pocket.

"Got it!" Harry said, tugging free a bunch of strange coins. "Erm… how much?" he asked, staring at the gold, silver, and bronze coins helplessly.

"Five Knuts," Hagrid said, opening the paper up.

I looked from Hagrid to the coins. "How much?" I repeated.

"The little bronze ones," Hagrid explained. Harry quickly picked out five of the knuts and passed them over to me, who was closest to the owl. I reached out and tucked the coins into the pouch on the owl's leg before giving it a little stroke on the head. The owl hooted happily and took off out the open window.

However this brought up an interesting point.

"Hagrid," harry said, shooting me an uncomfortable look as I passed Hagrid back his coat. "We don't have money."

"Course you do," Hagrid said dismissively, shrugging his coat on and tucking the paper into it.

I reminded him, "You heard Uncle Vernon, he said he won't pay-"

"Blimey, d'you think yer parents left you with nothin'?" Hagrid chuckled.

"But I though the house-" Harry began uncertainly.

"Well they didn't keep their money in the house! They kept it in a bank!"

"Wizards have banks?" I asked interestedly, standing up and stretching.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

I choked midway through a yawn. Across from me, Harry paled slightly and whispered, "Goblins?"

"Yeah, so ye'd be mad ter try and rob it. Nasty creatures, goblins. In fact, I've got ter go to Gringotts anyway, an errand fer Dumbledore. He sends me to do lots o' important things," Hagrid said proudly. "Goin' ter Gringotts, fetchin' you two. Knows he can trust me, see."

After a quick breakfast of cold sausages, we took off. Hagrid said he'd flown to the island, but we took the boat back. Hagrid magicked it to row itself along while he read the paper and Harry and I clustered together, eyes bright with interest while he explained a few random things about the magical world to them. The Ministry of Magic, dragons, Gringotts and its defenses.

When we got to the train station, Hagrid definitely attracted stares. He was huge, for one, and he pointed at normal things and remarked on how odd they were. When we finally got on the train, Hagrid took out a pair of knitting needles and began working on what seemed to be a bright yellow camping tent but could have been a sock for him.

"Can we find all of these things in London?" I asked, scanning my list. I'd been going over it constantly, trying to imagine it all; waving a wand, striding around in wizard's robes, sending letters with my very own owl, bending over a cauldron and cooking up a potion.

"If you know where to go," Hagrid said with a conspiratorial wink.

'Where to go' turned out to be a grimy pub called the Leaky Cauldron, situation between a record store and a book shop. The Muggles who walked past glanced over it like it wasn't there. I got the distinct impression that, to them, it wasn't.

Hagrid said that the place was famous, but it certainly didn't look like it. Inside it was small and smoky. There were only a few people scattered around: some witches with their shopping, a twitchy young man, a guy with a top hat, and a wrinkled, toothless old bartender. Everyone looked up and waved when Hagrid entered.

"The usual, Hagrid?" the bartender called in a friendly way, reaching for a glass.

"Can't Tom, official Hogwarts business," Hagrid said proudly. He pushed Harry and I forwards so that Tom could get a better look at us. The old man's mouth dropped open.

"That can't be-" Tom gasped. The bar went still and silent as everyone turned to look at us. I shifted uncomfortably and we pressed closer, a solid front.

"Harry and Lorena Potter," the bartender whispered. I flinched. Hagrid had said that we would be famous, but I wasn't sure how I felt having some random old man I'd never met greeting me by name.

I was sure, however, that I didn't appreciate the flood of clients who rushed forwards to greet us.

"Doris Crockford, such a pleasure to meet you!"

"Welcome back!"

I found my hands scooped up and shaken enthusiastically. The man in the top hat bowed and his hat fell off. My eyes widened as it triggered a memory.

"You bowed to us in a shop once!" Harry exclaimed, surprised. He'd clearly remembered the same thing. The man in the top hat grinned so wide it looked like his face might split.

"He remembers me, you hear, he remembers me!"

I didn't much like the attention, the way all these wizards and witches were beaming at us like we were particularly adorable kittens Hagrid had just brought in. But I did notice that most of them contented themselves with a brief greeting and a handshake when it came to me. Doris Crockford kept coming back to shake Harry's hand and people seemed much more interested in speaking to him than me.

I smiled slightly and hugged myself. Well, I didn't defeat the biggest bad the wizarding world had faced in the last century, did I?

That was true for most people. Not the twitchy young man though.

"L-L-Lorena P-P-P-Potter, such a pl-pl-pleasure!" he announced. I plastered on a smile – it wouldn't do to be impolite – and offered him my hand. He recoiled as if I'd just tried to stab him, giving a weak smile.

"Ah hah, I-I'm not m-m-much for sh-sh-sh-sh-shaking h-hands," he explained.

"Professor!" Hagrid greeted jovially. "I didn see yeh there! Harry, Lorena, this is Professor Quirrell! He'll be teachin' yeh Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"F-F-Fascinating subject," Quirrell stammered, though he looked like he would have rather said 'f-f-frightening.' "N-Not that y-you n-need it, e-e-eh?"

Hagrid let the other patrons have us for a few more minutes before whisking us off into the back alley behind the pub. Trash littered the area. Hagrid pulled us to a stop in front of a brick wall.

"Told yeh," he said pointedly, tugging out his umbrella. "Yer famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' to meet yeh. Mind yeh, he's usually tremblin'."

"Does he need some kind of medication?" I asked.

Hagrid explained something about him getting in trouble with some vampires while on a sabbatical, but I pretty much tuned him out after the word 'vampire,' taking the chance to process it. When I stopped imagining a Dracula monster sinking its fangs into my neck, I looked up to find Hagrid tapping his umbrella against the bricks on the wall. My eyes widened as they began to spin around each other, pulling back to reveal-

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said grandly.

Witches and wizards bustled everywhere, some tugging children along. Some seemed eager to get on with tier shopping, but some were lingering and chatting happily. A cluster of young witches were gathered around a clothing store, cooing over some glistening black beaded robes. A young boy was pointing at a sweet shop hopefully. A few old men were gathered in the shade of a patio outside of a little café, talking about the Ministry. A couple of guys in their mid-twenties clustered in front of a shop, staring at a gorgeous, streamlined broomstick in awe.

It was like a normal street, but… magical. Vapors and sparks drifted from the doors of some of the shops. Owls fluttered overhead, lighting on lamp posts. Some of the shops had floating signs outside that repainted themselves with sales every few seconds. The people were walking around in robes and pointed hats, a few even twirling wand absently as they walked.

It was gorgeous.

And so was Gringotts, I mused as Hagrid guided us towards it. It was made of snow white marble with a pair of bronze doors, people filtering in and out casually. Past the bronze doors was a set of silver ones with a poetic warning against thievery – basically steal anything and we kill you, I observed – and standing beside those doors in a red and gold uniform was

"Yeah, tha's a goblin," Hagrid confirmed.

The goblin had a pointed beard and a clever face. It was a head shorter than I was and it had very long fingers and feet. It seemed oddly disproportioned, I mused, and I vaguely wondered how he kept balanced.

Past the silver doors were more goblins. Some tottered around under piles of records as large as they were. A few were dealing with customers. Some were weighing coins and gemstones carefully against a series of weights, and my eyes widened at a pile of rubies the size of her fist. Still more goblins bent over thick ledgers, making notes every now and then with quill pens.

Hagrid approached one of the free goblins and cleared his throat. The goblin looked a little irked as he set aside his quill and asked, "Yes?"

"The Potter children wish to make a withdrawal," Hagrid explained.

The goblin leaned over his counter, looking at us calculatingly. "And do they have their key?" he asked as he sat back, sounding unimpressed.

"Oh, uh…" Hagrid fumbled in his pockets. He pulled out a live dormice and some dog treats before finally plucking out a golden key. He held it up triumphantly, stuffing the dormice back where it came from. The goblin took the key and examined it, looking infinitely pleased as Hagrid removed the dog treats from where he'd dropped them on the counter.

"An' I've got a letter from Dumbledore about the thing in vault 713," Hagrid added, thrusting out his chest importantly as he offered the letter to the goblin. He scanned the letter through, nodding to himself before passing it back.

"Everything seems to be in order," the goblin said. "I'll have a goblin take you to both vaults. Griphook!"

Another goblin ventured forwards and gestured for us to follow him.

"What's in vault 713?" Harry asked curiously.

"Can't tell yeh," Hagrid said mysteriously. "Hogwarts business, very secret. Dumbledore trusted me with it. More'n my jobs worth ter tell yeh."

I had expected to be led into a labyrinth holding rows and rows of vaults. Instead, we entered a cavernous chamber that dropped away under my feet, going so far down that if it weren't for the torches running down the walls at varying depths, I wouldn't have even been able to see all of the way down. Mine cart tracks ran around the place wildly, like some kind of ride at a theme park. Dimly, I thought I could hear water rushing.

"Get in," Griphook ordered as a mine cart rolled up to us. Hagrid looked a little green as he crammed himself into the back. Harry and I climbed in front of him, and Griphook took point. The cart lurched under us and we were off, whizzing down the track, making turns on its own and taking us deeper and deeper.

"What's the difference between a stalactite and a stalagmite?" Harry mused aloud.

"Stalagmites got an m in it," Hagrid groaned. "I hate these carts, they make me sick."

"Stalagmites are the ones on the ground," I recalled, observing Hagrid. His lips were pinched together like he was trying to hold back vomit. At the risk of being sprayed with what could potentially be buckets of sick, Harry and I kept quiet and didn't ask him any more questions.

We ground to a stop by a little door in the wall. Hagrid got out to lean against the wall, steadying himself. Griphook climbed out as well and took the key, sliding it into the lock and turning it. He opened the door and a puff of green smoke exploded out. When it cleared, I stared in awe.

Heaps of gold, columns of silver, and piles of bronze. Faintly, I wondered what the exchange rate from wizard to Muggle currency was, and whether it fluctuated with the prices of gold and silver. No matter what the rate was, I was positive I was looking at more money than I'd ever seen before. The idea that I had this vault full of precious metals and… yeah, I saw some jewelry cases sitting on a table, barely visible in a heap of Knuts.

"If the Dursleys had any idea they'd lose their minds," Harry murmured.

"I think we might be richer than they are," I said, smothering my laughter in a hand. The idea that I had to beg and plead for new clothes from the Dursleys now seemed hysterical, when I could probably buy their whole house several times over.

Hagrid helped us shovel some money into a bag for each of us, explaining as he did so, "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. Righ', that'll be enough for a couple'a terms. We'll keep the res' safe here fer yeh. Vault 713 please, and can we go a bi' slower?" Hagrid almost begged the goblin.

Griphook smiled unpleasantly. "One speed only."

We went even deeper into the vaults, the air getting colder and damper around us. The torches seemed to be a little more infrequent, leaving us in short patches of darkness. When we stopped beside vault 713, Harry and I both looked forwards eagerly. After our vault, we were expecting something equally impressive. Perhaps mounds of precious jewels or secret spell books or ancient artifacts.

"Stand back," Griphook ordered. The door had no keyhole, but when Griphook stroked it with a long finger, the door simply dissolved into nothing. "If any but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked inside and trapped."

I couldn't resist asking, "How often do you check to see if anyone's in there?"

Griphook gave me a nasty grin. "About once a decade."

I wished I hadn't asked.

Inside was rather anticlimactic. No jewels, no books, no artifacts. In fact at first it looked totally empty, not even a forgotten Knut sparkling from the corner. But then Hagrid stepped forwards, scooping up a grubby little package about the size of my palm. It was tied with brown twine. Hagrid shoved it into his pocket before we could really notice anything else beyond that.

"Bes' not mention this to anyone at the school," Hagrid advised. "Now come on, back in the bloody cart, and don' talk to me on the way back. I think I migh' vomit."

When we emerged into the sunlight, I felt a bit of sensory overload. After the dark vaults the bright sunlight and bustling noise of the street was a little dizzying. The pouch of money was heavy in my hands and I was debating about where to run first. There were so many things I wanted to look at. A little junk shop nearby with a lovely chess set in the window, a shop sporting brooms in its display case, a pet store that let off growls, howls, chirps, and hisses every few seconds.

"Migh' as well get yer robes first," Hagrid said, pointing to a nearby store, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Yeh mind if I pop off to the Leaky Cauldron for a pick me up? I hate those Gringotts carts."

Harry and I exchanged glances. We would have preferred to have Hagrid go with us on our first errand, but we could both tell that he still wasn't feeling exactly fresh. His skin was no longer green, but it was a lot greyer than normal, and his eyes were slightly glazed. Besides, we wouldn't exactly be alone, either.

"Go ahead," I approved, squaring my shoulders. Hagrid gave a grateful smile and hustled off towards the pub. I reached over for Harry's hand.

"It's just clothes shopping," I assured myself. "Should be boring, right?"

"Magical clothes," Harry pointed out. "They might… I dunno, try and strangle us or something."

I scowled at him. "Thank you Harry Potter. I was thinking more about getting stuck with pins, but now I'm worried about homicidal jumpers too."

"Sorry," Harry apologized as we stepped inside.

A squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve hustled up to us, presumably Madam Malkin. "Hogwarts, dears?" she guessed before we could say anything. "I've got the lot here… Another young man being fitted just now, in fact."

Standing in the back of the shop was a pale, pointy-faced boy, a second witch hemming up the robes he was dressed in. Madam Malkin ushered us towards two other footstools and helped us up. A blonde witch bustled out with two sets of black robes in her hands. Madam Malkin took one, unfolded it with a grand flip, and slid it over Harry's head. The blonde witch tugged another set over my head and set about pinning it up properly.

"Hogwarts?" the boy asked. He had a drawling kind of voice.

"Yeah," Harry said. I just nodded, observing my reflection. The robes would definitely take some getting used to, but I actually quite liked the breezy way they fell around my wrists and ankles. And besides, anything was better than the ill-fitting second-hand stuff Aunt Petunia usually gave me.

"Me too," the boy said. "My father's next door getting my textbooks and my mother's looking at wands. Then I think I'll drag them off to look at racing brooms. I think it's so unfair that first years aren't allowed to have them. I think I'll bully father into buying me one and smuggle it in anyway."

I glanced sideways and saw Harry staring at the pale boy, nonplussed. I caught his eye and puffed out my cheeks, screwing up my face into a pout and holding out my hands to illustrate fatness. It was a passable interpretation of Dudley. Harry bit his lip to keep from snorting and nodded in agreement.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy asked.

"No," Harry replied, and I echoed him.

"Do you play Quidditch at all?"

We exchanged completely lost glances before shaking we heads. The boy didn't seem to require an answer, because he went on to say, "I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for the house team, and I must say I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry said, and by now I was feeling like I was listing to the pale boy speak French. Although, judging by the snooty way he talked, he might very well know some French too. The wizarding world apparently had its own terms that I was completely ignorant of. Like Quidditch. It sounded like a sport, I gathered it was played on brooms, but personally I thought it sounded more like an uncomfortable sort of rash.

"Well no one really knows until they get there, obviously," the boy said, although there was nothing obvious about it. "But I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin, all my family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff!" he scoffed. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," Harry said noncommittally. I amused myself with imagining what 'Slytherin' and 'Hufflepuff' sounded like they could be. I'd just settled on Slytherin as a mouthwash and Hufflepuff as a children's toy company when the boy suddenly announced, "I say, look at that man!"

I turned to see Hagrid smiling at us through the window, waving and pointing at three ice creams held in his hands to show why he didn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said, smiling back at the gamekeeper. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him," the boy sneered, turning up his nose. "He's like a servant, isn't he?"

"He's the Keeper of Keys and Grounds," I corrected, speaking out loud for the first time.

"Yes, exactly," the boy nodded. "I heard he's sort of savage – lives in a hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and every now and then he gets drunk and sets fire to his bed."

"He's great," I said sharply, narrowing my eyes at the boy. He turned to look at me and narrowed his eyes condescendingly.

"Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Harry said shortly.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said dispassionately. "But they were our kind, right?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," I snapped, getting increasingly annoyed. I wondered if there was a spell that would set the boy's robes on fire. Or maybe not on fire, maybe just make them smoke a little. Or if I could just levitate a pin from the cushion on Madam Malkin's wrist and make it stab him right in the rear…

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in. They're just not the same, they haven't been brought up to understand our ways. Some haven't even heard of Hogwarts until they get their letters, I imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway? Are you two related?"

Harry opened his mouth. I opened mine, too, intent on giving the boy a verbal thrashing. I may not have understood half of what he was saying, but I understood condescension very well, having been on the receiving end for a lot of my life.

"That's you done, dear," Madam Malkin said to Harry, and the blonde witch working on my robes patted my leg and told me I could get down too. I obliged, saving the boy from diatribe that likely wouldn't have been very polite.

"See you at Hogwarts," the boy said as we moved off.

Madam Malkin made the necessary adjustments to our robes and wrapped up a few spares as well before passing them over. We paid for our purchases and headed for the door. Harry quickly exited, claiming his ice cream from Hagrid and frowning to himself. I had no doubt he was deep in thought about what the boy had said.

He seemed like the smug sort that had been raised to think that because he could trace his family back a couple of centuries people should bow at his feet. But I also had an ace up my sleeve. I was a Potter. My father and mother were James and Lily Potter, who from what Hagrid had said were both very impressive. My bother defeated the big bad You-Know-Who, and even I'd faced him down and lived to tell about it.

"Hey, you," I called back to the boy as he hopped off the footstool. He looked a little nonplussed at being called 'you,' but he straightened up and asked, "What?"

"To answer your question," I began. "We're siblings. Twins, actually. And our surname? It's Potter."

I took a moment to delight in his gob smacked face before sweeping from Madam Malkin's, feeling rather smug.

We took shelter in the outside patio of a small café. Hagrid distributed our ice creams. I took mine happily, looking around the café with interest. There was a sign advertising a butterbeer latte and firewhiskey chocolates sold inside.

Harry bit into his chocolate and raspberry ice cream with nuts, giving out a loud crunch. Hagrid had already polished off his triple scoop of chocolate and I was quite happily lapping at my own cookie dough ice cream.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked suddenly. "What's Quidditch?"

"It sounds like a rash," I added absently.

"Blimey, I keep forgettin' how much yeh don' know!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"You're not helping," I pointed out. Harry explained to him about the pale boy from Madam Malkin's and all that he'd said, ending with his opinion on kids from Muggle families.

"Yeh're not from a Muggle family," Hagrid corrected. "If he'd known who yeh were – he'll have grown up hearin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. Look at how people were like in the Leaky Cauldron. Anyway, what does he know? Some o' the best witches and wizards came from Muggle families. Look at yer mom and what she had fer a sister."

Harry nodded, looking a little happier. I was privately smirking to myself, reveling once again in the look on the pale boy's face when I told him who we were. Oh yes, he knew who we were.

"So what is Quidditch?" Harry asked again.

"It's our sport, played on brooms up in the air. It's like soccer, ev'ryone follows it."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Harry pressed.

"Sounds like mouthwash and a toy company," I said, sharing my thoughts from earlier. Harry snorted into his ice cream and Hagrid smiled.

"School houses," he explained. "There's four. Ev'ryone says Hufflepuff's are a bunch o' duffers-"

"Bet I'm a Hufflepuff," Harry said glumly.

"Now, we will be in the most awesome house," I said, licking my ice cream and looking down my nose in mock superiority. "Our presence will make it so."

Harry gave me a look and I snickered into my ice cream, breaking the act.

"Better a Hufflepuff than a Slytherin," Hagrid said darkly. "Not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn' in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol- sorry, You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?" Harry corrected himself quickly.

"Years ago, yeah."

After we finished their ice cream, we headed into a shop called Flourish & Blotts. I gaped. I loved to read, but I never got to unless I got books from the school library, and Dudley's gang usually stole them before I got to finish them. I'd learned to read very fast if I wanted to get through them. Like a kid in a candy store, I stared at the different books bound in exotic silks and colored leathers, some with runes or gems embedded in the covers.

Harry and I ventured through the shelves and around other students shopping, collecting their textbooks. I stared down at the titles happily. I supplemented it with a few titles I saw that looked interesting. Things like _Beginner's Magizoology, How Not to Kill Yourself with Herbs, Wand Care and Maintenance, Seers Through History, Basic Mediwizardry for the Accident-Prone,_ and _Wandlore for the Curious_ were added to my pile, despite the fact that I could barely support the large stack of books. It was definitely more than I should have spent, but could I really be blamed for wanting to read up on things that looked interesting?

"I was trying to figure out how to curse Dudley."

I looked up from a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and found Hagrid escorting Harry down the aisle.

"I'm no' sayin' tha's not a good idea, but yer not allowed ter do magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," Hagrid warned. "'sides, it'll be a while before yer ready for spells like that."

Harry looked a little disappointed, and then his eyes landed on me and my pile of books. By this point, it was about half as tall as I was.

"Are you buying the whole shop?" he demanded pointedly. I glared, smacking the book in my hand down on top of the pile pointedly.

"I wanted to do some background reading," I said loftily.

"Can you even pick all of those up?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Uhh…" I frowned and bent down. After some awkward maneuvering, I managed to worm my fingers under the bottom of the stack and pick it up. My arms trembled and I had to tuck the top under my chin, but I was holding it. Over the top of my pile, I stuck out my tongue.

"So take that, brother dear."

Next we went to the north side of Diagon Alley. At Potage's Cauldron Shop Harry and I picked up our pewter standard size 2's, despite Harry's interest in a golden cauldron. We got scales and a telescope each from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. I had looked around that shop with interest, examining different Astronomy equipment that I had no idea how you might use.

We passed a place called Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions. A few small cauldrons bubbled merrily in the display, signs advertising them as skin-clearing, wart-removing, and pimple-popping. There was also a display of Impervious Lipstick – _It Never Wears Off !_ – and some Color-Change Eye shadow – _Matches Your Outfit!_ I shook my head. Maybe in a few years, but not now.

Hagrid took us into Amanuensis Quills to get our writing equipment. Harry and I gaped outright at the idea of writing with quills and parchment, but at the same time, I was eager to try it. We wandered around, staring at the different feathered quills and the various colors of ink. I admired some gold-leafed parchment while Harry examined a peacock-feather quill. I snorted at the size of it. I couldn't help but think that would be kind of obnoxious to write with. I did splurge on some ink that changed color depending on the writer's mood. I imagined watching the color get steadily redder as I wrote a particularly difficult essay for some class and couldn't resist.

I was fascinated by Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. Harry was too. We ran around, holding our breath as much as possible to block out the horrid smell, peering into barrels of slimy things and examining the labels on jars of herbs. We got basic potions kits, which came with phials, utensils, and starter ingredients in a hard case to protect them.

Once we left the apothecary, things were starting to get tricky with all of our packages. I was starting to regret getting so many books. I was also cursing whoever required us to have a pewter cauldron and that damned potions kit. Those things were heavy.

Hagrid consulted our supplies lists again thoughtfully. "Jus' yer wands left – and I need ter get yeh a birthday present."

I looked up at him in confusion and Harry blushed.

"You don't have to," Harry assured him.

"Yeah, the cake was amazing enough," I added. "It's better than anything the Dursleys have gotten us."

"Tha's not sayin' much," Hagrid snorted. "I know I don' have to. Tell yah what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went out of fashion years ago. Yeh'll be laughed at. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' ev'rythin. I'll get yeh both owls."

I was awed at the inside of Eeylops Owl Emporium. It was full of glistening eyes and fluttering feathers. I'd stared in awe at all the different kinds of owls and the different things that went along with them: bronze cages, owl treats, claw care products, and little pouches for holding small objects.

When we left, Harry and I were stammering our awed thanks, gaping at our new owls. Harry had picked a gorgeous snowy owl with an imperious gaze. I had selected an elegant barn owl with black eyes, and was busy trying to figure out what to name her.

"Don' mention it," Hagrid said gruffly, but he seemed pleased that we loved our gifts so much. "Jus' Ollivander's left now. Only place fer wands, and yeh've gotta have the best wands."

I glanced at Harry, a smile spreading across my lips as my eyes fairly glowed. This was what I'd been waiting for – a magic wand. My mind kept alternating between the classic black and white one used by stage magicians and the elaborate carved stick you saw in fantasy movies. I tried to imagine what my wand would be like.

Ollivander's was fairly unassuming. It was narrow and shabby, with peeling gold letters over the door reading _Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C._ Displayed in the front window was a single wand on a dusty cushion of purple velvet. I stared at it curiously and wondered why it was the only one sitting out.

A bell tinkled and they stepped inside. My breath caught ant the rows and rows of long, thin boxes. Dusty floated in the air. The whole place had a sort of quiet energy, like a library. Something about it made me soften my steps like I would if I were trying to sneak food from the kitchen during a punishment.

"Good afternoon," said a quiet voice. Harry whipped around and I let out a soft yelp of surprise. From one of the stacks emerged a hunched old man with big, silvery eyes. I watched in slight awe as he easily maneuvered around the piles of wands on the floor. He looked like he was either blind of close to it.

"Hello," Harry said awkwardly. I gave a small, awkward incline of my head in greeting.

"Ah yes," the man said quietly. "Yes, yes. I knew I'd be seeing you both sometime soon, Harry and Lorena Potter. Lorena, the spitting image of your mother, and Harry, you with her eyes. I seems like only yesterday she was here buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Good for charms work." He stepped closer, observing us carefully. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for charms work. Well, I say your father favored it… It's really the wand that chooses the wizard, after all."

Mr. Ollivander was close enough that I could feel his breath on my left cheek. It stirred the hair that was always pulled forwards the cover the scar. Mr. Ollivander raised his hands. One pressed against Harry's forehead over his scar, flicking his bangs aside to get at it. The other crept under my red locks, finding the pale, slightly raised S carved into my cheek.

I hated my scar. It set me apart, drew eyes. For as long as I could remember, I'd worn my hair with at least half of it falling over my left shoulder. Usually it covered the left half of my face from the middle over. I could see through the strands, but no one else could. Occasionally I'd pull it all over my shoulder and braid it or put it in a ponytail starting at my chin, but my cheek was always, always covered.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," Mr. Ollivander mused. "Yew. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Powerful, very powerful. If I'd known what that wand would go out into the world to do…" He shook his head, catching sight of Hagrid, who was seated very gingerly on a spindly-legged chair in the corner. "Ah, Rubeus Hagris. Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir," Hagrid nodded.

"Good wand, that one. But I supposed they snapped it in half when you were expelled?" Ollivander seemed more present in the conversation than he had thus far, as if they very idea of destroying a wand was a personal affront. Then again, he seemed to see people as the wands he'd made, the wands that chose them, so maybe it was.

"Er, yes, yes they did," Hagrid admitted. "But I've still got the pieces," he added brightly.

Ollivander's eyes sharpened. "But you don't use them?"

"Oh, erm, no sir," Hagrid said, tugging his flowery umbrella closer. I narrowed my eyes at the umbrella. That would explain why he'd brandished it when threatening Uncle Vernon and why he used it to tap the bricks behind the Leaky Cauldron. I was pretty sure that the pieces of his wand were in that umbrella.

"Hm." Ollivander didn't look convinced either, but he turned back to Harry, tugging a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. "You first, I think. Which is your wand hand?"

"I'm right-handed?" Harry said, holding up the hand uncertainly. Ollivander went to work, measuring him from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, knee to ground, around his head… all kind of different things that I couldn't for the life of me figure out how they might be relevant. Actually, it was more accurate to say that the tape measured him, because Ollivander had moved off into the shelves, mumbling to himself.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance," he explained. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. That's enough, now her," he added to the tape measure, which was measuring between Harry's nostrils. It switched to me and I held out my right hand obligingly. "Now Mr. Potter, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit. I watched interestedly, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try this…"

Harry had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

I watched the growing pile of wands with awe. Wands of walnut, ash, and cedar were tossed aside. Some were bendy, some unbendable. Nothing seemed to satisfy Ollivander, and I couldn't quite tell if he was getting increasingly excited or frustrated as the pile grew larger.

"Tricky customer, eh?" the old man observed. "Not to wonder, we'll find the perfect match somewhere… I wonder… Holly and phoenix feather, quite an unusual combination. Eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand from Ollivander, looking a bit weary from all the wands he'd been testing. But almost immediately, I could tell that something was different about this one. He straightened up, looking down at the wand in surprise. Red and gold sparks shot from the tip like fireworks. Hagrid applauded and Mr. Ollivander smile, but there was something behind it, almost like the reaction unnerved him.

"Bravo, yes, very good. Curious though… very curious… Curious, curious… Miss Potter, I wonder… I wonder… Very curious indeed," he murmured, pinning me with those eerie saucer-like eyes of his before moving off into the stacks. Instead of combing the shelves, he went straight for one box, plucking it from its resting place and opening it up. Mr. Ollivander returned to the front and offered the box to me.

I looked inside, curious and also slightly wary. Mr. Ollivander seemed tense now, like he was expecting something, but he wasn't sure whether it was good news or bad yet.

No matter the wandmaker's reaction, I had to admit that the wand inside was gorgeous. A slim, elegant white wand speckled with black spots above a handle carved with curving patterns. When tilted one way they looked like vines, but then the light caught it a different way, they could have been some kind of runes.

I reached out and pushed away the thin gossamer fabric laid over the wand. I reached inside, hand trembling slightly, and took the handle in my fingers, lifting it up. I held it between the tips of my fingers, then shifted my grip so that my pointer finger extended along the shaft. The wood felt smooth and welcoming against my skin. A strange sort of warmth welled up, tingling my palm, and I knew what had caught Harry's attention when he'd picked up his holly wand.

"Give it a wave," Mr. Ollivander sighed. I felt like I'd been jerked out of some kind of trance by the old man's voice. It was now lower, almost suspicious. The old man had fixed his eyes on me intently. I turned away from him and flicked my wrist elegantly. Sparks burst from the tip of mine, but unlike Harry, mine were gold and silver. I smiled, raising the wand again so that it was parallel to my face.

"What's it made of?" I asked curiously.

"Twelve and a quarter inches. Very supple." He paused. "Yew, with a phoenix feather core."

My head snapped up, recognizing the last two qualifications. My hand jumped to my cheek. "Y-You said-" I began uncertainly.

Ollivander nodded. "I remember every wand I've ever sold," he said slowly. "It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand, Mr. Potter, gave another feather. Just one other. I find it curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar. And Miss Potter… wand wood is hard to come by. You can't simply cut a tree and turn it into dozens of wands. At most you can get a few branches from the same tree. The yew from your wand came from a particularly fine specimen of a yew tree… several centuries old, in fact. I got exactly two branches from that tree. One is in your wand-"

"And the other is in his," I finished for him, staring down at my wand. I looked up at Mr. Ollivander. "But the core-"

"From a different phoenix," Mr. Ollivander assured me. "I have heard of wands with cores from the same animal coming against each other… but there is precious little information on wands with wood from the same tree."

I looked at my wand with a new respect. The wood from this wand was the same wood that had killed my parents. But for an accident of fate, this wand might have been the one that took me parents from me. The wand, which had originally seemed elegant and lovely, suddenly took on a slightly more menacing cast. I realized that, pretty as I found my wand to be, it was still a _weapon._

"It's curious how these things happen," Ollivander said, looking between us. "The wand chooses the wizard. We must expect great things from the both of you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things… terrible, yes… but great."

Mr. Ollivander seemed almost awed by what the wand he'd created – the wand that had killed our parents – had gone on to do. I shuddered, placing my wand back in the box and wrapping the fabric over it again. I took the box from Mr. Ollivander and put the lid back on, holding it close to my chest.

I wasn't entirely sure Mr. Ollivander was a good man.

We paid seven Galleons each for our wands and left. Left the shop, left Diagon Alley, left the Leaky Cauldron, left the magical world behind. I didn't pay much attention to the eyes that lingered on our large, oddly-shaped packages and owls got on the Underground. I sat with the box holding my wand in my lap, trailing my fingers up and down it thoughtfully.

"Lorena?"

I looked up and realized we were in the train station. Hagrid pushed a hamburger towards me, looking concerned.

"You both're quiet," he observed.

I looked back down at my wand, which was still in its box on my lap, and ran my finger the length of it. This had been my best birthday ever: a pet, a wand, a ticket to a magical school, information about my parents. So much that I hadn't realized how desperately I wanted until I had it.

And yet there was the matter of my wand. Mine, Harry's, and Voldemort's. The way Ollivander spoke of wands was almost like a proud grandfather cooing over his many grandchildren. He talked like they were alive, like they had their own distinct personalities and quirks. And while that may be true… what did it mean that our three wands were all connected?

It had to mean something. It was too much of a coincidence not to, and I couldn't come up with a positive spin to it. The idea of having a connection to the man who'd taken my parents from me and almost taken my brother… He'd already carved a sign of his presence into my flesh, and now the instrument of my magic had a touch of him to it as well.

And yet I couldn't bring myself to hate the wand. I almost felt defensive of it. Such a beautiful wand, and such beautiful magic I'd done with it too. I could still see those silver and gold sparks dancing behind my eyelids, lighting up the shop and making the dust motes in the air gleam like drop of ichor. It didn't deserve to be tainted by the ugly reputation of Voldemort's wand.

And suddenly it clicked. I wouldn't allow it to be. This wand may have a connection to Voldemort, but it was mine. I would direct and it and tell it what to do. This wand would bring me power, but not through murder. It would make me strong in a different way – whatever way I saw fit.

"Everyone thinks we're special," Harry said suddenly. I tugged myself from my thoughts, removing my hand from the box. "All those people at the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander, but I don't know anything about magic. We're famous for something we can't remember. I don't know what happened that night, I don't know what I did. How can they expect great things from either of us?"

Hagrid smiled kindly. "Don' worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Ev'ryone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts. Jus' be yourself. Yeh've both been singled out, an' tha's hard. Yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts. I did. Still do, 'smatter o' fact."

Hagrid escorted us to the train that would take us back to the Dursleys. Before we parted, he handed us each an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts. First of September, King's Cross Station… It's all in there," Hagrid explained. "If yeh've any trouble with the Dursley's, send yer owl, she'll know how to find me."

He bid us adieu. I looked down at the wand in my lap once more, and when I looked out the window next, Hagrid was gone. I reached over to Harry and he took my hand willingly, holding them locked together on his lap.

"We'll be okay," I whispered. "We will."


	5. Hogwarts Express

Harry sat in the living room, absently staring at the television. The Dursleys had stopped telling us off for joining them to watch the evening news. In fact, they'd stopped talking to us altogether unless absolutely necessary.

"This is depressing," Harry muttered to me. We were both sitting in a wide armchair. The Dursleys had taken up residence on the couch and were determinedly staring at the television screen, despite the fact that it was currently showing an ad for a fruit slicer. Dudley shot us fearful glances every now and then.

"I think it's great," I whispered back. The Dursleys had been too afraid of Harry and I to punish me for my outburst back at the hut. I could tell Uncle Vernon wanted too, though. Whenever he caught my eye these days he turned an ugly shade of purple.

I loved it.

"Watch this," I hissed, grinning mischievously. Harry took in my expression: narrowed eyes and a wicked smile. He blanched.

"Whatever it is, don't do it," he cautioned.

"I won't do anything, Harry," I said soothingly, but it had the opposite effect. Harry sat up straighter. My face must not have looked quite as innocent as I hoped. "Be right back."

I slipped out of my chair and from the living room. Moments later I was back, holding my wand in one hand and a book tucked under my arm. Harry shook his head frantically, but I ignored him, reclaiming my seat and opening the book to a random page.

"Hey Harry," I said at normal volume. Aunt Petunia twitched violently. "Did you know that sometimes residual magic can build up in your wand and discharge at odd times?"

Uncle Vernon's face was slowly going red, which I watched delightedly. Dudley squeaked and pressed up against Aunt Petunia, as if she was going to protect him. He glanced over his shoulder at me and gave a yelp as he saw that I actually had my wand in my hands, twirling it absently around my fingers.

"Something wrong, Dudley?" I asked innocently.

"We're going to bed!" Harry announced loudly, grabbing me and my book and dragging me up the stairs towards our bedroom. I had to smother laughter as I staggered after him. "Are you crazy?" he hissed as we went. "They're edgy now, let's not make it worse!"

"Why not?" I countered. "When did they ever treat us right? I think a little payback isn't totally unjustified. Besides, did you see Uncle Vernon's face?" I laughed. "He looked so mad, but he was too scared to try and toss me in the cupboard!"

"Lorena!" Harry said sharply as we stepped into our bedroom. He shut the door behind us and turned on me. "What's going to happen when they're not nervous anymore? It's not like we can actually use magic here."

"Then I'll back off," I said with a shrug.

"Uncle Vernon's probably keeping a running tally of things to punish us for!" Harry pointed out. He grabbed my upper arms. "Come on, Rena, you want to eat at some point next summer, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, and I will!" I snapped, tugging free of him. "But in case you've forgotten, they've lorded it over us for all of our lives! And now that we actually have the chance to turn the tables, even for a little while, you're _scared!"_

"I'm not scared, I'm practical!" Harry disagreed. "It's not like we can actually do anything to them!"

"Maybe not, but I'll settle for them being afraid of me while I can make it last," I said, turning to face the window and staring out at the street. I was still twirling my wand around in my right hand. My free hand came up, rubbing my right upper arm. There was a long, pink scar running down the back.

I remembered when I got it. I was six. I had tripped over the hem of the too-big jeans I'd been wearing and caught myself on a table. I was fine, but I knocked off a vase that had belonged to Uncle Vernon's mother. Small and skinny even then, Uncle Vernon had lifted and thrown me bodily into the cupboard and shut the door. I'd collided with the corner of our bed frame and ripped open my arm. The Dursleys had refused to take me to get stitches.

I had usually taken the worst of the Dursleys anger, and I knew why. It was because Harry did his best to stay under their radar and keep out of trouble. I did too – to an extent. It seemed like I had a limit to how long I could stay submissive and then I couldn't take it anymore. I'd say or do something in retaliation and get in trouble. I remembered being locked in the cupboard when we were eight, and before Uncle Vernon had shut the door, I'd been smiling smugly to myself.

There was some bitter part of me that wanted to make the Dursley's squirm. They'd spent so many years making us cower, and now they were the ones cowering. I appreciated the switch in power. Suddenly I was someone to be feared because I knew what I was capable of. I could possibly turn them into toads or blow them up, and they were terrified of that possibility. It was heady, to suddenly be on top after so many years on the bottom.

I leaned to the side and two owls flew into the room. Hedwig, the snowy owl, took up a perch on top of her cage. My barn owl – named Artemisia after I found it in a textbook – landed on a shelf near me. I reached over, stroking the owl's wings softly.

"Is it wrong to want a little payback?" I asked, wincing as I turned back to face Harry.

Harry frowned. "I guess not, but… just be careful."

I sighed. "Fine, no more fun for poor Rena. I'll be a good little girl for now."

I stripped down to my camisole and crawled into bed. Harry followed me, dragging his Transfiguration textbook with him. I reached over and grabbed my book on Mediwizardry. It was an interesting read. I was finding out how to heal broken noses and stop bloody ones, how to cure headaches, and what to do if you were having trouble sleeping.

"What's that?" Harry asked, realizing that I wasn't reading one of our textbooks. I lifted the book to show him the title. He cocked his head curiously. "Why'd you get that?"

"I figured it would be something good to know," I said with a shrug. I grinned, nudging him in the ribs. "After all, you tend to get yourself hurt."

"I'm not the only one."

"Touché, brother dear."

()()()()()()()

The day before we had to be at King's Cross, Harry and I ventured into the living room to talk to the Dursleys about getting to the station. Harry cleared his throat to get their attention, making Dudley scream and run from the room. I smothered my smile as I watched him waddle towards the door.

"Er, Uncle Vernon?" He grunted in response, not looking away from the quiz show on the television. "Er, we need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to… to go to Hogwarts." Uncle Vernon grunted again.

I rolled my eyes and nudged Harry. "We need a lift," I said bluntly.

Uncle Vernon grunted again, which we supposed counted as a yes.

"Thank you," Harry said hastily. We headed towards the stairs, pausing when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

I smirked. "Because flying carpets are banned in Britain."

Uncle Vernon looked like he would have dearly loved to throttle me, but instead he said, "Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, and pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket. "We just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he read.

Our aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters," I repeated firmly, crossing my arms. I knew it didn't make any sense, but after seeing Hagrid pull a whole alley out of a wall by tapping some bricks, I was willing to have a little faith.

"Don't talk rubbish," snapped Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket," Harry said, holding the ticket up.

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Harry decided that was our cue to make our escape. He tugged me towards the stairs, but I paused at the base, calling out, "Oh and by the way, just because Platform nine and three-quarters isn't real for Muggles, doesn't mean it's the same for us."

Harry and I were up at the crack of dawn the next day, packing all of the things we'd bought into our heavy trunks. We had to coax Artemisia into her cage with owl treats. We dressed in normal Muggle clothes, robes on top of our trunks so that we could easily change on the train.

Dudley had to be coaxed into sitting with us in the backseat. Thankfully, it didn't last long. By half-past ten we were at King's Cross. Aunt Petunia waited in the car with Dudley while Uncle Vernon dumped our trunks onto a cart and wheeled them into the station.

"Well, there you are," Uncle Vernon said smugly, pointing at the large plastic signs for platforms nine and ten. "Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?" He gave a nasty grin, dumped our trunks, and said, "Have a good term."

Harry and I found ourselves abandoned, lost, and attracting attention. Our owls kept drawing people's eyes as passers-by gave the two skinny kids toting wildlife aside looks.

"What do we do?" Harry asked faintly.

"We've only got ten minutes," I said, giving a clock overhead a very stressed look.

"-packed with Muggles, same every year-"

We both whipped around. If someone was talking about Muggles, then they had to be magical. They would at least have some idea of how to get onto the platform, right?

The speaker was a plump red-haired woman. With her were four boys with the same flaming red hair. They all had trunks with them, and one had an owl in a cage balanced on top. A red-haired girl was holding her mother's hand, whining, "Can't I go?"

"You're not old enough Ginny, hush," he mother scolded. "Now, Percy, you first."

The boy who seemed to be the oldest took his cart and lined up with the divider between the two platforms. We exchanged expectant looks, watching the boy as he pushed his cart forwards briskly. At the exact wrong moment, a group of tourists walked in front of him. By the time they were gone, the boy had vanished.

"Come on!" I grumbled, "Seriously?"

"Fred, you next," the woman said, addressing one of a pair of twins. The boy scowled.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George! Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother!"

The woman looked flustered. "Sorry George." She waved him forwards.

The boy grinned. "Only joking, I am Fred."

His mother scowled, aiming a swat at his shoulder when he passed. His twin yelled at him to hurry up, and the next moment, George was gone.

"What are they doing?" Harry said incredulously.

"Let's find out," I said, taking a breath to steady myself and pushing our cart towards the woman. "Excuse me?" I called over the noise of the trains. The woman turned to face me, surprised. Her face immediately softened.

"First time at Hogwarts?" she guessed. "Ron's new too." She gestured to her youngest son. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Thing is, we don't know how to get to the train," I explained, gesturing between myself and Harry. "Could you please tell us?" I asked politely.

"Of course," the woman nodded. She took my shoulders in her hands and pointed me towards the divider, explaining kindly, "Walk straight at the wall between the platforms. Don't stop, and don't be nervous, or you'll crash, that's key. Best do it at a bit of a run, if you're nervous. Go on, before Ron." She ushered us forwards.

We looked from the brick wall to each other edgily. I gave a little shrug.

"Hey, magic?"

Harry nodded, and we turned back to the wall. Taking a deep breath together, we hustled at the wall. My feet slid and I was pretty sure I accidentally elbowed a passing businessman in the ribs. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Harry close his and wince, ready for the hit.

But we didn't hit. We kept going, through the barrier, and suddenly we were standing on a platform next to a gorgeous scarlet steam engine. I gaped.

"Harry," I whispered, reaching over and tapping his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and looked around. He stared at the train in awe as well. In sync, our faces split into wide grins.

"Let's go," I said, bouncing in excitement.

We took off down the platform, passing a dreadlocked boy with what seemed to be a tarantula in a box and a pudgy boy with a rogue toad. The first few compartments were already filled, so we kept going to the end, avoiding the cats that darted here and there around people's ankles.

Working together, Harry and I managed to get our trunks off the cart. I carried Hedwig and Artemisia aboard and tucked them safely away, then I came back for the trunks.

"I'll take this end?" Harry suggested, shoving his trunk along the platform so that it lined up with the door.

"Right, and I'll lift," I said, standing in the doorway. I gripped my side and grunted, "Push!" The trunk skidded wildly. I could barely make it budge. "Gah, stop, stop!"

Harry stopped pushing and we stared at the trunk helplessly.

"Need help?"

We looked up to see one of the twins from the platform. I sighed in relief.

"Are you a guardian angel?" I asked. He grinned widely.

"Hey, I like that. Oi, Fred, come here and be angelic with me!"

The other twin emerged from the crowd and looked at his brother. "Be angelic? What're we doing, feeding widows and orphans?"

"Helping firsties with their trunks."

"Ah yes, Saint George and Fred of the luggage," the other twin said dramatically. "Alright, let's go."

With the twins helping, Harry and I managed to get our trunks put up and secured without too much fuss, but by the end we were both sweating. Wandering around during the summer meant that our legs were pretty strong, but our arms were pretty much noodles. I collapsed back against the seat with a sigh, Harry reached up, ruffling his sweaty bangs.

The twins paused, staring at him in awe. "Blimey, are you-?"

"It is, it's him!"

"Him who?" Harry asked, startled.

"Harry Potter!" the twins chorused. Harry's face fell slightly.

"Oh, him. Yeah, I am."

"Then that means…"

The twins turned to face me, who gave a weary wave and greeted, "Lorena Potter, nice to meet you."

The twins gaped at us. I flushed, grabbing the chunk of hair hanging over my face and tugging it tighter against my cheek.

"Fred, George, are you in there?"

"Coming mum!"

With a parting stare, the twins left the compartment, bounding down to the platform. We took seats on either side of the window, partially-concealed as we watched the red-haired family. The mother jerked out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose," she said, reaching for him. Despite his struggles, she caught him and started scrubbing at his nose.

"Aw, has ickle Ronniekins got somefink on his nosie?" one of the twins snickered.

"Shut up," Ron grumbled.

"Where's Percy?" their other called.

The older boy came striding through the crowd, already in his Hogwarts robes. He had a silver P badge pinned to his chest near some kind of red and gold crest.

"Can't stay long mum," he announced importantly, "the Prefects have two compartments reserved up front-"

The twins feigned shock. "Are you a prefect Percy? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something."

"Once-"

"Twice-"

"A minute-"

"All summer-"

"Shut up," Percy huffed.

"How come Percy gets new robes?" one of the twins complained.

"Because he's prefect," their mother cooed, kissing Percy's cheek. "Have a good term, dear, send lots of owls." Percy walked off and she rounded on her twins with alarming vehemence. She seemed almost desperate as she said, "Now you two, this year, try and behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've… blown up a toilet or something…"

"We've never blown up a toilet!" one of the twins protested indignantly.

"Great idea though mum, thanks!"

"Not funny. And look after Ron."

"Ickle Ronniekins is safe with us," the twins snickered. "Don't worry."

"Shut up," Ron said, going a shade that matched his hair.

"Hey mum," one of the twins began. "Guess who we met on the train?"

Harry and I whipped away from the window, staring at each other and listening hard.

"Those kids from the platform, know who they were?"

"Who?"

"The Potter twins!"

"Mummy!" Ginny begged. "I want to go on the train a see them."

We winced in sync.

"We're not a bloody sideshow," I grumbled to herself.

"You've seen them Ginny, and they're not animals in a zoo," their mother scolded. "Were they really? How do you know?"

"Asked him."

"Saw his scar."

"Didn't see hers."

"But it was like lightning."

"Poor dears," the woman cooed, and I felt a surge of affection for the woman. "I wondered why they were alone, and that girl seemed nice when she asked about the platform."

"I'm nice," I mouthed to Harry, grinning. He stuck out his tongue.

"She doesn't know you."

"Oi!" I protested.

"Never mind that, think they remember what You-Know-Who looks like?" one of the twins asked.

Their mother sounded horrified. "I forbid you to ask them! As if they need to be reminded of that on their first day of school."

"Alright, keep your hair on!"

The whistle sounded and the boys clambered aboard, leaning out the window to kiss their mother goodbye. Their sister began to cry softly.

"Don't worry Ginny, we'll send you lots of owls!"

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

" _Fred!"_

"Only joking!"

The train started moving and we were off, whizzing away to who knew what? Whatever it was, it had to be better than the Dursley's place. I wormed my fingers through the bars of Artemisia's cage and petted the owl to soothe my nerves.

"What d'you think it'll be like?" Harry asked.

I grinned weakly. "Magical, I'm guessing?"

The truth was, I was nervous. Someone recognizing who we were was exactly what I didn't need in my life right before heading off to school. At our old school, we'd been well known, but only because we were the ones Dudley's gang went after most often. We were well-known for getting beat up, and that was something we could do. We'd been doing it for years.

But here we were well-known for surviving some big, bad master of evil, and I didn't have much experience with that. We were expected to be a great witch and wizard and I was still trying to figure out how wizarding money worked. I already felt like a failure, a freak, a let-down.

The compartment door swung open, revealing Ron. "Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to the seat beside me. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry and I exchanged glances and shook our heads. Ron took the seat. He stared at both of us briefly before looking out the window, trying to pretend he hadn't.

"Hey Ron." The twins entered. "We're going down to the back of the train, Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula."

"Right," Ron muttered.

"Hey," the other twin spoke up. "We didn't introduce ourselves. I'm Fred and that's George, and that's our brother Ron. See you later."

There was an awkward chorus of bye as the twins left. Ron stared at the pair of us once more before blurting, "Are you really the Potter twins?" We nodded. "Oh, I thought it might have been one of Fred and George's jokes. Have you really got-?" He pointed between Harry's forehead and my cheek uncomfortably.

Harry lifted his bangs to show the scar off. Ron stared at it in awe before turning to me, eyes fixed expectantly on my cheek. I glared at him and said shortly, "Keep dreaming."

"She doesn't even show me," Harry explained quickly.

"Right," Ron nodded, looking a bit abashed. "So that's where You-Know-Who-?"

"Yeah, but I can't remember," Harry said hastily.

"Nothing?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Just lots of green light," Harry shrugged.

"I remember his voice," I blurted. My eyes widened. I'd only ever mentioned that to Harry once, when I woke up shaking and panting from a nightmare of green light and a high, cold voice. Harry looked at me, surprised I'd mentioned it. Ron stared at me in awe. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Really?" he asked, fascinated.

"I don't remember what he said," I said hastily. "Just the sound of it… might not even be him, uh…"

"Wow," Ron said, leaning back against the seat. His eyes drifted between the two of us for a moment before he stared out the window, seeming to realize what he was doing.

"Are all your family wizards?" Harry asked curiously. Ron looked a little surprised at being asked.

"Yeah, think so. Mum's got a cousin who's an accountant, but we don't talk about him."

"You must know loads of magic already then," Harry asked eagerly. Ron shifted.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles. What were they like?" he asked.

"Hellish," I said bluntly.

"At least, ours were," Harry hastily corrected. "Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Oi, am I not good enough for you?" I protested indignantly. Harry sighed.

"Not what I meant Rena."

"I've actually got five," Ron said gloomily. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat." Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff - I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink.

Harry shrugged. "The Dursleys never gave me a proper present either. Remember the clothes hanger?" he asked me.

"And the tissues," I snorted.

"Up until Hagrid came to get us, we didn't know anything about any of this. Hogwarts or magic or Voldemort."

Ron gaped. "You said his name," he breathed.

Harry blinked and shifted uncomfortably. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See? I don't know anything." He looked down at his shoes gloomily. "I bet I'll be the worst in our year."'

Ron shook his head and quickly explained, "Nah, they're loads of people who come from Muggle families."

We continued to talk amongst ourselves. At noon, a witch pushing a trolley of sweets came by, opening the compartment door and asking, "Candy from the trolley, dears?"

Ron reached into his pocket, pulling out some wrapped-up sandwiches. "I'm all set," he said, looking at the candy longingly.

I looked up at Harry, eyes lighting in pleasure. Candy was another luxury we'd been deprived of at the Dursleys, and both of us needed some meat on our bones. What better way to start? We grabbed our money bags and stepped out.

I stared at the candy selection. There was not a single Hershey's in sight. Instead there were Chocolate Frogs, Tooth-flossing Stringmints, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Licorice Wands, Pumpkin Pasties, and so much more.

Harry and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. We had no idea what most of this was, no idea if we liked it. So, naturally, there was only one reasonable solution.

"We'll take the lot," Harry said.

We took our haul back into the compartment. Ron's eyes went huge as we dumped it all into the empty seat next to Harry.

"Hungry, were you?" he asked.

"Yes, but no," I said, picking through the haul and picking out a Chocolate Frog and a Pumpkin Pasty, I grabbed a Licorice Wand and then returned to my seat, sitting down and ready to tear into my spoils. Next to me, Ron opened up one of his sandwiches and made a face.

"She always forgets that I hate corned beef."

"Trade you," I offered, holding up the pasty. Ron shook his head.

"You don't want this, the bread's all dry."

"Well I don't want this either, I'm not fond of pumpkin," I countered. I tossed the sweet into his lap. Ron took it eagerly.

Soon the sandwiches were forgotten as we binged on sugar and Harry and I worked our way through the new sweets, figuring out what we liked and what we didn't.

"They're not real frogs, right?" Harry asked uncertainly, holding up a Chocolate Frog.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

I raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know. Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect. Famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. I peeked over at it curiously. It showed a man's face. He wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa – thanks."

"Pitch me a couple too," I said curiously, and Harry sent three flying my way as he read about Dumbledore.

I opened mine up. There was a picture of a wizened old man with eyebrows that nearly swallowed his eyes and a staff carved like a snake. I flipped it over. Apparently it was Herpo the Foul, an Ancient Greek Dark Wizard who invented Basilisks.

"He's gone!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. I looked up and saw him staring at his picture of Dumbledore. I flipped mine back over and stared. Herpo the Foul blinked back at me, gave a sigh, and reached up to scratch his nose. I stared.

"You can't expect him to hang around all day," Ron said carelessly. "He'll show up again. Ah, Morgana again. Want her? You can start collecting?" His eyes strayed to the packages waiting to be unwrapped. We'd loaded up on those, figuring that if we didn't like anything else, chocolate was universal, magical or not.

"Go ahead," Harry bade. "But in the Muggle world, people stay put in photos."

Ran gaped. "Seriously? Weird."

We tore open all of the other Chocolate Frogs. Ron knew about most of the people featured already, but Harry and I read the little bios on the back in interest. If one of us got two of the same card, we passed it over to the other. By the time we'd finished them all, I had Herpo the Foul, Dumbledore, Morgana, Cassandra Vablatsky, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, and Merlin.

I kept glancing back at Herpo. He gave me the willies. He seemed to know it too, because every now and then he'd give me these menacing grins. I shuddered and thrust him under Merlin, who gave me an understanding smile. Morgana rolled her eyes and made a rude gesture. He responded by blowing her a raspberry.

"Be careful with those," Ron advised as Harry picked up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "They mean every flavor. There's normal candy flavors like peppermint and apples, but then there's also liver and spinach. George swears he got a boogey-flavored one once."

We had a great time going through the beans, delighting when we got a good one and teasing each other when we landed on a bad one. I became the ultimate loser when I bit into a pink one, expecting it to be bubblegum just like the last pink one I'd picked up. Instead it turned out to be rotten fish.

I bowed out after that.

Not too long after my bean debacle a knock sounded on the compartment door. The round-faced boy from the platform who was missing his toad stepped inside and asked, "Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"

"If there was a toad in here, Artemisia would let us know," I said, pointing to my owl. "She loves 'em."

"I've lost him!" the boy wailed.

Harry gave me an uncomfortable look. "He'll turn up."

"I hope so," the boy said glumly, and left.

Ron shook his head. "If I brought a toad I'd lose it as fast as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Scabbers was still dozing in his lap. Ron looked at him in disgust.

"He'd have died and you wouldn't know the difference. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but it didn't work. Look…" He drew out a battered wand, the unicorn hair poking out of one end. Ron cleared his throat. "Unicorn hair's poking out. Anyway-"

The toadless boy suddenly reappeared, a frizzy-hair girl on his heels. She was already in her robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she asked. Her voice was very bossy. "Neville's lost his."

"We already told him we haven't," Ron huffed. Her eyes flicked to him and his wand.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked. "Let's see then."

Ron blinked, clearly startled. She looked at him expectably. He cleared his throat, pointing his wand at Scabbers.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid fat rat yellow."

Scabbers stayed gray and asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said this faster than I'd thought was humanly possible. I stared at her, nonplussed.

"Ron Weasley," Ron mumbled.

"Harry Potter."

"Lorena Potter."

Her eyes widened in interest. I sighed. This was going to get old really fast. I could only hope that after a few weeks the fascination with us would wear off.

"Are you really?" she asked. "I know all about you both, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ "

"Are we?" harry asked faintly.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

Then she was gone like a whirlwind, taking Neville with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," Ron said irritably. He tossed his wand aside. "Fred and George gave it to me; should have known it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" Harry asked curiously.

"Gryffindor, Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?'

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles. Someone tried to rob a high security vault."

I blinked. "Really? What happened to them?" Going by the vivid message on the doors, I was highly skeptical that whoever it was was still in one piece.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked suddenly.

"I don't know any," Harry admitted. Ron gaped like this was utter sacrilege.

"Oh you wait, it's the best game in the world!"

Then he was off, explaining the rules. I wasn't much for sports, so I dug out a random book from my trunk. Turned out it was my textbook for Potions. At first I wasn't terribly interested, but as I read more, it began to become far more interesting. It was just like baking, it seemed like, and that was something I was really good at.

With half an ear I was getting a crash course on Quidditch, but most of me was focused on the idea of potions. When I cooked for the Dursleys I was usually pretty good at figuring out which flavors would go together well and how to make sure they came out in the finished food. It seemed like potions were similar, only you had to know what effects did what, and sometimes a little of this cancelled out some of this… It was like cooking and a logic puzzle rolled together.

Ron was just giving a detailed description of the different teams when the door opened again. It wasn't Neville saying he'd found his toad, and it wasn't Hermione Granger back, which was good, because Ron might have hurt someone. Worse – at least in my mind – as it was the boy from Madam Malkin's.

He had two boys who looked closer to gorillas than humans flanking him. I stared at them. I'd seen this dynamic before in Dudley's friends. They weren't there for their brains. They were there because they looked tough and thought infrequently enough that they were easy to boss around.

The pale boy looked at us with a lot more interest than he had at Madam Malkin's.

"They're saying all down the train that the Potters are in this compartment. So it's true? It's you, then?"

I sighed. "I told you that already."

He looked at me. I crossed my legs, looking at him expectantly.

"Something wrong?" I asked pointedly.

Harry was staring at the two boys standing behind him. He noticed, flicking a hand at them absently and saying, "This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, not quite disguising his snicker. Malfoy stared down his nose at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He looked at Harry. "You'll soon find out that some families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Harry stared back coolly and said, "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

Malfoy flushed slightly. "I'd be careful if I were you," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. You hang around riffraff like the Weasleys and Hagrid long enough, it'll rub off on you."

Ron and Harry leapt to their feet.

"Say that again!" Ron demanded, going as red as his hair.

"Oh, are you going to fight us now?" Malfoy sneered.

"If you don't get out now," Harry said boldly.

I sighed. This had gone on long enough. I shut my book with a snap and set it aside. They seemed to have forgotten I was there, because everyone turned to look at me as I stood up. Ron and Harry separated wordlessly so that I could get at Malfoy.

"I'm going to assume that you don't have a lot of friends, going off the fact that your opening line was to insult the parents of a couple of orphans," I began. "Because of your undoubtedly sad and lonely childhood because of that fact, I'll ignore the fact that your people skills suck." Malfoy's eyes widened. "Now, I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but that would be a blatant lie, so I'll simply say that it was horrible to make your acquaintance and please don't come back."

I placed both hands on his chest and gave a hearty shove. He toppled backwards between Crabbe and Goyle, who moved to clumsily catch him before he fell down. They all staggered out of the compartment and I shut the door with a loud snap and turned to face Ron and Harry. Both of them were staring at me in awe.

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron said, falling back into his seat.

I smiled, pretending to curtsey a few times. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here for the next seven years."

The door behind us whipped open and Hermione Granger appeared, staring at Harry and I on our feet and Ron collapsed bonelessly in his seat.

"What's going on in here?" she demanded.

Ron ignored her in favor of asking, "You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry explained about our meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione, who was looking rather miffed. "Can we help you with something?

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"No one's been fighting," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"Alright. I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," Hermione huffed. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

After Hermione left, we took her advice and tugged on our robes. Mine hung loosely on my frame. As usual, you could see my ribs, so the robes – which we made to be loose – practically swallowed me. Madam Malkin's tailoring could only go so far.

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time," a voice called through the train. "Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The train slowed to a stop at the station. It was already dark out, casting everything in shadow on the platform. I plucked my wand from my trunk and slipped it into the pocket of my robe. I didn't know if it was paranoia or if it was just some kind of wizarding instinct, but I didn't want to leave it behind as we left the compartment.

The platform was packed with students. Most of them were moving towards a line of carriages that seemed to pull themselves. At least I hoped they did, otherwise they weren't going anywhere, because nothing was hitched up to the front. The oldest students pushed and shoved their way through confidently, sending some of the younger students staggering. I pressed close to Harry to keep from getting trampled.

A lantern bobbed overhead and a welcome, familiar voice called, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Potters?" It was Hagrid, grinning at them in the light of his lantern. I beamed back, bolstered by the sight of a familiar face. "C'mon, anymore firs' years? Mind yer step! Follow me!"

Hagrid led our nervous huddled down a long, steep path. It was dark on either side of the path, and I suspected there were trees. I thought I heard rustling in the branches every now and then. Nobody talked much. I think we were all too nervous.

At the very least, I knew I was. Ron had explained to us all about the house system, and the different attributes each one had. From the way he explained it, it was basically a stamp on your forehead – or rather, a crest on your robes. If you were a Hufflepuff, you were nice and sweet to everyone you met. If you were a Ravenclaw, you were a brainiac, maybe a little arrogant, but not bad. If you were a Gryffindor, you were brave, a bit abrasive and bold, but good.

If you were a Slytherin you were a bastard. Period.

Turning it over in my head, I figured there was no way I'd be a Hufflepuff. I was nice enough – but only to select people, and never in public. I was far more likely to send you a card and a lovely gift the day after your birthday and pretend I'd forgotten than plan your surprise party. In short, while I was nice enough, you had to be on my good side for me to bother with any kindness.

I could see myself maybe being in Ravenclaw, I supposed. I wasn't stupid. In school I tended to get things pretty quickly. I liked to read. The fact that I'd already read a couple of my textbooks proved that I liked learning, and so did the gigantic pile of books I'd gotten at Flourish & Blotts. But it wasn't really top of the list for me, so maybe that wasn't good enough. And besides that, I only liked learning what I was interested in. I didn't crave knowledge for the sake of knowledge.

I could definitely see myself as a Gryffindor, and I was a little proud of that. They seemed to be the golden boys and girls of the school. I was gutsy and I had no problem setting people straight if they were doing something wrong. I didn't mind getting involved in situations, and I could definitely be a little abrasive every now and then. But Gryffindor also seemed to have the reputation of being more brawn than brains, which wasn't me. Sure, I'd hit a person, but I knew that ninety-nine point nine percent of the population was stronger than me, so that probably wouldn't be the best course of action if I was angry with someone.

A little alarmingly, I could also see a way I could be a Slytherin. Like I said, I was willing to throw punches, but I was far more likely to run verbal circles around a person before leaving them in the dust to try and work through the myriad of insults I'd just laid on them, just like I had with Malfoy. And as far as ambition – well, I couldn't deny I'd enjoyed the feeling of having one-up on the Dursleys far more than was probably healthy.

So really, all I'd ruled out was the nice house. Lovely. What did that say about my personality?

"You'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called. "Jus' around this bend here!"

"Oooh."

I wasn't quite sure what I'd expected Hogwarts to be. Obviously from the amount of people on the train I knew it was big, and from _Hogwarts: A History_ I knew it was old. I think I'd expected more of a converted old manor house, like some kind of fancy private school.

What I got was an actual castle, the whole of it blazing with welcoming firelight. The windows gleamed like stars against the dark stone. It was across a gleaming black lake, sitting proudly atop a mountain. Turrets and towers pierced the sky, soaring into the air.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a small fleet resting on the shore. Harry, Ron, and I climbed into one boat and were followed by Neville, who was still sniffling worriedly about his toad. "Ev'ryone in? Forward!"

The boats took off across the lake at Hagrid's command, the castle looking over them. The boats moved along with barely a sound, cutting clean lines through the water. I reached over the side, dipping my hand in the water. It was delightfully cool. I tugged my head back into the boat and looked up.

"Heads down!" Hagrid called just before we reached a wall of ivy. We all obliged and slid through the vines and into a wide opening in the cliff. We sailed along a dark tunnel before we reached a sort of underground harbor beneath the school. We clambered out onto a shore or pebbles.

Hagrid checked boats as we climbed out of them, calling suddenly, "Oi, is this yer toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville said delightedly, holding out his hands for the frog. Hagrid handed Trevor over before leading us out of the harbor and onto the wet grass in the shade of the castle. We gathered around the huge oak doors. Hagrid looked around.

"Ev'ryone here? You, still got yer toad?"

When Neville nodded bashfully, Hagrid turned around and knocked three times on the doors. They swung open, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in stunning, emerald green robes. Her hair was pulled back into a strict bun and her face was stern.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said grandly, gesturing to us huddled on the steps.

We must have made for a pretty pathetic image, I imagined. A cluster of edgy eleven-year-olds drowning in our robes, shifting uncomfortably in the cool night air. I caught a boy next to me looking like he was about to wet himself in fear.

McGonagall observed us all imperiously, before nodding to herself, as if she'd reached some kind of conclusion about us.

"Thank you Hagrid," she said. "I'll take them from here."

McGonagall stepped aside, and we all took our first steps into Hogwarts.


	6. Sorting

The entrance hall was big enough to hold the Dursleys entire house and, like Gringotts, lit with torches. I couldn't quite decide if it was for historical accuracy or for ambiance. After all, wizards were apparently still working with quills, so it could go either way. A grand marble staircase led to the upper floors, the ceiling soaring high overhead.

Hundreds of voices poured from a large room to the right, but McGonagall guided us all across the hall into a small, empty chamber. We were crammed together, staring around nervously. I pressed closer to Harry and felt him curl his fingers around the sleeve of my robe. I slid my hand into my pocket and curled my fingers around my wand. The feel of my brother at my side and my wand in my pocket helped me straighten up my back and banish some of my nerves.

McGonagall stood in front of the door, her hands folded in front of her. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered on Ron's dirty nose and Neville, whose cloak was buttoned under his left ear. Her eyes also passed over Harry's messy hair and landed pointedly on mine falling in my face for a moment.

"I shall return when we're ready for you," McGonagall said. "Please wait quietly."

She swept from the room. Harry leaned over to Ron, whispering, "How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked. I'd been wondering that myself. Did we draw one out of a hat? Did the houses request we join them? Or was it something a little more magical?

"Some kind of test," Ron replied uncertainly. "Fred was going on about how it hurts a lot, but I'm pretty sure he was joking."

I scowled. A test in front of the whole school? Throw us to the sharks why don't we? If we do poorly, that sets the tone for the rest of the year. People would expect us to be failures, and then they'd-

I let out a yelp. Twenty ghosts had streamed through the back of the wall, deep in conversation. They all wore clothes that were at least three centuries old, most of them older than that. They drifted along, pearl-colored and slightly transparent. They didn't seem to take any notice of us, too involved in their argument.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we should give him another chance-" said a fat little monk.

A man in a starched white ruff replied, "My dear friar, we've given Peeves all the chances he deserves. He gives us all a bad name, you know, and he's not even a real ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?"

He finally seemed to notice us. No one responded to him though. I think we were all still to thrown by the sudden arrival of a gaggle of ghosts to really think about having a nice chat with one of them.

"New students!" the fat friar greeted happily. "About to be Sorted!" A few people nodded mutely in response, jaws slack. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, my old house!"

"Move along." McGonagall had returned. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

She ordered us into a line as the ghosts drifted out of the room through a wall. Harry stood behind a sandy-haired boy and I was behind him. Ron was behind me, following closely enough that he nearly trod on the hem of my robes three times before we even reached the doors to the Great Hall.

It was _gorgeous._ Thousands of candles levitated over four long tables where the students sat. The tables gleamed with gold place settings. At the top was another long table where the teachers sat. I recognized Dumbledore from his Chocolate Frog card, and there was an empty seat beside him that I assumed was McGonagall's. I also spotted Hagrid, who caught my eye and waved. Professor Quirrell was looking twitchy as ever and sporting a large purple turban. Above us, the ceiling was lost in velvety blackness dotted with stars. I remembered glancing over something about that in Hogwarts: A History. Supposedly the ceiling was enchanted to reflect the weather. I couldn't wait to see it blazing with sunlight, or maybe even gently snowing in the winter.

McGonagall lined us up in front of the head table, our faces to the students. They all watched interestedly. I could see Fred and George waving at us cheerfully from a table filled with reed and gold badges. Percy was pursing his lips irritably next to them and hissing at them, probably telling them to stop.

I lowered my face, hiding a smile. I was suddenly incredibly glad that we'd met Fred and George at the station. Having a couple of friendly faces out in the students made it infinitely easier to stand in front of them with at least a little bit of confidence.

Professor McGonagall stepped forwards again. She set a stool down in front of us, and on top of it, she placed a ripped, frayed, worn, and dirty old wizard's hat. There was a wide rip near the brim. The thing looked like it passed older than dirt two centuries back and was now being held together by hope and prayer.

Then the rip opened up like a mouth and the hat started to sing.

" _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_

 _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

 _Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _If you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folk use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

"I'll kill Fred!" I heard Ron growl as the Great Hall burst into applause. "We just have to try on a hat; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Seemingly out of nowhere – which wouldn't be much of a surprise, really – Professor McGonagall produced a piece of parchment and moved to stand behind the stool.

"When I call your name," she announced, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

The girl with blonde pigtails stumbled forwards. The hat slipped over her eyes, and after a moment, the brim opened up again and announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hannah took off the hat and hustled over to a table where the Fat Friar was waving merrily in welcome.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

I listened absently to the sorting. I assumed that even if I didn't know everyone's names after this then I'd have seven years to get to know them, so I wasn't terribly concerned about who my year mates were.

What I _was_ concerned about was where I was going to end up. And more importantly, where I was going to end up in relation to Harry. I couldn't imagine going without him for a day when we'd spent almost every minute together since before we were born. We'd gone from sharing a womb to sharing a nursery to sharing a closet. I'd never actually had to sleep in a bed by myself before, strange as it sounded, but it seemed that was over. The very idea made me nearly tremble with loneliness, and also a little bit of fear.

I wasn't exactly fond of the darkness. Dim lights weren't a problem, but I was terrified by the pitch blackness of night. When I was in a lighted place staring out into darkness, it didn't bother me so much. When I had someone with me I was okay as well. That's why I'd never had much trouble sleeping before. With the comforting presence of my twin brother pressed against my back or side, it was easy. No matter what houses we ended up in, that was over and done with.

"Granger, Hermione."

I looked up at the familiar name. With a cry of "GRYFFINDOR!" Hermione skipped off to join the Gryffindor table.

"Longbottom, Neville!" drew laughs when he ran off to join Hermione with the hat still on his head. He had definitely not made the best first impression when he sheepishly trooped back to the stool to replace the Sorting Hat.

"Malfoy, Draco!" became a "SLYTHERIN!" almost the moment the hat touched his head. Lily Moon, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson joined him. The Patil twins were up next. Parvati went to Gryffindor table and Padma joined Ravenclaw house.

I bit my lip. After seeing Fred and George together in Gryffindor I guess I had subconsciously assumed that twins stayed together, despite the fact that there was no reason that would be true. Seeing the Patil twins separated, and the uncertain looks on their faces as they went off to different tables, was like a punch of reality straight to the gut.

I reached out sharply, grabbing Harry's hand in a vice-grip. He looked at me, surprised, but saw the look on my face. It was a mix of fear and stoniness, I imagined.

He immediately hissed, "What's wrong?"

"We'll stay together no matter what happens," I whispered back vehemently. "No matter what house we go to, we'll stay twins?"

Harry's eyes were wide – he was clearly worried about it too. He didn't seem to have the nervous feeling of anticipation that I did curled in my gut, like something bad was about to happen. He seemed surprised by how intense I was being about this.

Maybe I was getting a bit worked up, but the fact was, Harry was all I had. In my fight against the Dursleys he was my only ally. At school, he was the only one I could count on to stick up for me. And while logically I knew I'd meet other people here at Hogwarts, make enemies, make friends, I still wanted to cling to that old feeling of 'us against the world' because I knew it. It was safe. I knew how that felt.

"Sally-Anne Perks!" became a "HUFFLEPUFF!" and then it was time.

"Potter, Harry!"

Whispers sprang up as Harry stepped out from the line. My fingers slid from his as he stepped towards the hat. He picked it up, sat down on the stool, and dropped it on his head. I watched, holding my breath. The hat was low over his face, so I couldn't see his expression under the brim, but he was very tense, his hands clenching the side of the stool in a white-knuckled grip.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was at most three minutes, the hat opened the rip near its brim and cried, "GRYFFINDOR!"

I let out a sigh of relief. Harry would do well in Gryffindor. He was brave, but in a quiet sort of way. He kept out of trouble when he could, but when it found him, he never shied away from it. And besides that, he had a heart of gold and a genuine goodness that years with the Dursleys should have washed away, but had somehow survived.

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as Harry joined them, Percy shaking his hand.

"We got Potter!" Fred and George were cheering over and over.

The Great Hall fell silent again as McGonagall called, "Potter, Lorena!"

I took a deep breath. Ron clapped me on the shoulder supportively as I stepped forwards. I took the hat in my hands and sat down on the stool, placing it on my head. I made sure that I set it back a little on my head so that I could still see out. No one in the Great Hall was looking anywhere but at me, and I preened a little at the attention. At the Gryffindor table, Harry was watching me, clearly hanging from a thread as he waited for the Sorting Hat to do its job.

 _I'll join you soon,_ I promised him.

" _Really?"_ a sly little voice hissed in my mind. My eyes widened as I realized that this was the hat. _"Basking in attention isn't very Gryffindor. In fact, I'd say it's almost_ SL-"

"Don't you dare," I growled, heart pounding. Like Harry, I gripped the side of the stool tight enough to make my knuckles white. _Don't you dare. If you try, I won't go. I'm not leaving my brother, I don't care if it hurts me in the long run. I'm going where I'm_ needed _, not where_ I _need._

" _Interestingly put, but as it happens, you brother will do very well in Gryffindor by himself, I imagine. Your mind is far too bitter and selfish for Gryffindor. You're about as far from a Hufflepuff as it's possible to be. You only care about people if they've earned it. And as for Ravenclaw… well, smart as you are, there's no true thirst for knowledge."_

 _That's not true!_

" _Yes it is. Remember, I can see inside your mind. The only clear choice is_ SLYTHERIN!"

For a petrifying moment, the Great Hall was utterly, utterly silent. I saw the shocked faces of most of the older students. Harry looked crushed. Instead of losing their minds like the Gryffindors had, the Slytherins stared at me intently, like they were trying to figure out how I'd managed this. They whispered amongst each other, hissing back and forth like the snakes they were.

Then, slowly, the clapping began. Harry started it, bless him. He looked regretful, but he was still my brother. The rest of the Gryffindor table took up the clapping half-heartedly, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws following with more respectful enthusiasm. The Slytherins seemed to be the most excited of the lot.

The hat was lifted from my head. I looked up to Professor McGonagall. She was looking a little disappointed in me. "Miss Potter," she murmured to me. I took that as my cue and rose, moving towards the Slytherin table, who were looking a bit more excited to have me as I came closer. I saw Malfoy shoo Crabbe down a seat to try and make room for me, looking beside himself with glee. When I passed him, he patted the empty spot invitingly.

I might have considered it, were it not for what had happened on the train. Even after Madam Malkin's. I could tolerate arrogance – I wasn't innocent of it myself. But the things Malfoy had said – totally unprovoked and unnecessary things - were still fresh on my mind and stinging. I didn't care if Slytherins had a reputation for being self-serving, I didn't care what it cost me, but I would not allow him to insult my parents.

I stuck up my nose as I stalked past him, taking a seat instead next to Lily Moon. She was a brown-haired girl with blue eyes and a pale face. She stared mostly at the Great Hall at large, but when I slid into place next to her, she gave me a side-long glance and murmured, "Welcome to the snake pit."

I scoffed. "Thanks."

My parents… That thought lingered in my head for a moment. According to Hagrid they'd been the best of wizards, not just magically, but in their temperament as well. I knew from him that they were both proud Gryffindors. What would they think of me now, a Slytherin, the mortal enemy of their old house? Were they looking down on me now, shaking their heads in shame at what I was? Or could they have pushed aside their old prejudice for the sake of love for their only daughter?

Well, I'd never know what they would do. I'd never met them. Thanks to one Slytherin who wanted power. A member of the same house I was now part of. The connections just kept stacking up. I hated it.

Dean Thomas and Ron joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. Lisa Turpin became a Ravenclaw and Blaise Zambini came to my table, taking the seat Malfoy had cleared for me.

The Sorting finished, McGonagall packed up the hat and stool and removed them from the hall. Dumbledore stood, instantly commanding everyone's attention. His face bore a soft smile, arms spread wide like he wanted to give all of us a big welcoming hug, which I seriously doubted was true, considering that most of the Slytherins were looking at him darkly.

"Welcome!" he announced. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before our feast begins, I have a few words I'd like to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you," he finished, and took his seat.

I gaped as the golden plates in front of us suddenly filled themselves with food. There were four different kinds of meats, steaming bowls of cooked vegetables, loaves of bread, and plates holding artfully arranged cheeses and fruits. I stared at it all, awed.

I very rarely got hot food unless it was smuggled from the Dursleys' meals. Yet here was a steaming pile of it, so much that the table was groaning under the weight of it all.

"You can eat it, you know. You don't have to just look," Lily murmured, nudging my side gently. I jerked out of my awed scanning of the different dishes and looked around. Up and down the table, people were loading their plates with food. I noticed that most of them had impeccable table manners. Most of them, Crabbe and Goyle being the most glaring exceptions. They ate like Dudley. It was clear that when it came to Slytherin house, breeding carried some weight.

I began spooning portions of foot onto my plate, keeping my back as straight as I could. I tried to make it look effortless, but I'm not sure how well I pulled it off. I wanted nothing more than to grab some of everything like I could see Harry doing over at the Gryffindor table, but I figured that stuffing my face wouldn't make the best first impression. I noticed that Harry was happily chatting with Ron and Percy.

I scowled at my plate, a pang of loneliness hitting my stomach.

"You know, you're the first Potter to ever be in Slytherin."

I looked up. Pansy Parkinson was the one who'd spoken. She stared at me, interest lighting her pug face. Beside her, the hulking Millicent Bulstrode was trying to look stony, but she was clearly interested as well. Even Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass were looking at me in interest.

I didn't know quite how to respond to that, so I just said, "Interesting," and took a bite of my mashed potatoes. I could have moaned aloud, but I didn't want to make a fool of myself.

Parkinson leaned forwards, clearly wanting to interrogate me more. "Why do you think that is?"

I stared at her. "I suppose it's because we have a tendency towards being Gryffindors," I said pointedly.

Now, I didn't know for sure about anyone in my family's house except for my father, but I figured it was probably a safe bet, considering Harry had gone to the same house. He had to have gotten that Gryffindor bravery from dad, and dad had to get it from somewhere too.

Tracey Davis snorted into her peas and Daphne Greengrass smirked behind her goblet. Parkinson's face went red and she withdrew, sniffing, "I was just trying to make conversation."

"Then you should perhaps ask more interesting questions," Lily suggested innocently.

Parkinson snapped, "No one asked you, halfblood. You should watch how you speak to someone with a pedigree like mine."

Lily stiffened, dipping her head down to stare at her plate. She absently rolled a few grapes across her plate with her fork. I blinked. I was gathering that there was some very clear enmity between 'halfbloods' and whatever Parkinson was.

"Your father's a halfblood?" I asked Lily. On the surface, it seemed like I was asking for confirmation of what Parkinson had said. Really, I was hoping for an explanation of what, exactly, a halfblood was.

"My grandmother was a Muggleborn," Lily said softly, like it was something deeply shameful.

I nodded in understanding. So going by what Parkinson had said, she thought she was better because she came from a long line of wizards. Lily, in contrast, had Muggle blood in her family.

Wonderful, I'd joined a house of racists.

Still, Lily was looking quite depressed, and she had shut Parkinson up for me a moment ago, which led to this lovely discussion of parentage. That meant if she hadn't defended me she wouldn't be going through this now. Which, in turn, meant that I owed her.

"I'm a halfblood too," I commented absently, spearing a carrot on my fork and popping it in my mouth. I chewed casually and continued, "My mother was Muggleborn, but from what I hear, she was an exceptional witch regardless."

Parkinson flinched. She was neatly trapped. Considering how quickly she'd started questioning me, I imagined she was like Malfoy and just wanted to be friends with 'one of the Potter twins.' Now she had a choice. She could either agree with me to keep a chance at being my friend, and therefore have to submit that there were exceptions, or she could keep her stance and offend me, possibly stomping on her chances of having a famous friend.

Now came the question of what would win out? Her beliefs or her desire for whatever limelight she could get. She'd have to pick one.

Or, she could stay silent, which was the wisest option, and which she picked.

We all ate quietly for a while. I was steadily working my way through my vegetables and was half-way done with my chicken, which was seasoned almost to perfection. I might have added just a little bit of lime juice, I pondered thoughtfully, to offset the amount of pepper a bit. I wasn't terribly fond of pepper.

"Can we see your scar?" Tracey blurted suddenly. Bulstrode sneered at her sudden outburst and Parkinson rolled her eyes. Tracey flushed a bit and looked shame-faced.

"Smooth, Davis," Daphne scoffed.

"Sorry," Tracey apologized. "Just-" She huffed. "Oh, you know you were all wondering!"

"Keep wondering," I said coldly, running a hand through the chunk of hair covering the left half of my face to make sure it was still in place. "I keep it covered for a reason."

"Is it true though?" Bulstrode rumbled. "Does it really look like an S?"

I scowled, but I could see that they wouldn't be distracted from this topic quite as easily. Even Lily was looking in interest at my left cheek. And considering she was the closest to it, I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Yes, it does," I confirmed, hoping that would put them off. But instead it just seemed to heighten their curiosity.

"Is it true that You-Know-Who carved it into your cheek with a rusty knife?" Tracey asked eagerly.

"I heard a dagger," Daphne blinked.

"It was his wand, obviously," Parkinson scoffed.

"I wouldn't know," I said shortly. "I was only a baby at the time."

"Do you remember anything?" Parkinson pressed. Fascination wasn't a good look for her. It screwed up her pug-like face even more.

"Yes, do tell us, Potter."

I stared down the table. Malfoy was leaning past Zambini to look at me, grey eyes glittering.

"Remember anything about him?" he asked.

I blinked at him. I'd already told Ron. I assumed that, like most schools, that was all it took for information to get spread. It would probably only be a few days, a week or two tops before they knew anyway.

"I do, actually," I said slowly.

Malfoy blinked. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting that. Then his sneer fixed firmly back onto his face and he said, "You've got to be lying. You were only a baby."

Hmph, well so much for telling them. I was all set to be honest and accommodating, but if he wanted to be like that, then let the Slytherins stew in their curiosity for a while.

I let my eyes go distant and misty. The hand holding my fork slowly lowered to rest on the table. "I remember…" I whispered. The Slytherins leaned forwards. "I remember…" they were on the edge of their seats. It was hilarious. "I remember… that it's _none of your bloody business_ ," I finished sharply, letting the mask fade. My face took on an irritated expression and I gave Malfoy a dark look. He scowled and turned back to his food. I saw Zambini nudge him.

"Nice going," he rebuked.

"Shove off," Malfoy muttered.

I scoffed and continued on with my dinner. I was starting for the first time that I could remember, to feel full.

When everyone had finished eating, the plates cleared themselves magically, leaving the gold spotless and gleaming. Barely a blink later the dishes were full again, this time with desserts. There were cakes, pies, ice creams and toppings. I stared in awe. Sugar was a rare treat in my life, and now I was staring at an entire banquet table full of it, all for the taking, with no Dudley to take it before I could get a share.

I happily dragged a piece of apple pie onto my plate, topped it with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream, and drizzled caramel topping over it all.

"How'd you do that?" Lily asked, looking at my dessert a little awed. "It looks like something you'd get at a restaurant."

I looked at my dessert and shrugged. I supposed it might have been a little much to drizzle the caramel in artful zig zags, but I thought I might as well make it pretty since I had the option.

"I cook a lot," I said by way of explanation.

"Don't you have servants for that?" Parkinson looked like she was confused by the very idea of having to provide for yourself. I was really starting to dislike her.

"No," I replied coolly. "I always handled myself."

Going by the way Parkinson's eyes narrowed, she was starting to really dislike me as well, which suited me just fine. I dug into my dessert, taking a moment to glance up at the head table. Dumbledore was chatting with McGonagall. It seemed like they got on very well, considering the fact that McGonagall was smiling slightly and shaking her head at whatever Dumbledore was talking about. I looked down at Hagrid, whose plate was holding an entire pie that he seemed almost finished with. He caught my eye and waved a hand in greeting, though I couldn't help but notice that he looked a little uncertain about me now as well.

I recalled McGonagall's expression when she looked down at me. Disappointment. And Hagrid, who'd been so kind to me, now looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do with me. All because I was in Slytherin house. I couldn't decide whether I was unreasonably annoyed at my fellow housemates for the reputation they'd cultivated, or if I pitied them because everyone else seemed determined to only see the worst in them.

I knew one other teacher up there. Professor Quirrell in his odd purple turban was nervously wringing his napkin in his hand. He was speaking with another professor. This one had a sallow, gaunt face, long, greasy black hair, and a truly unfortunate hooked nose.

"Who's the teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" I asked. A few of the girls looked up to see who I was talking about. Daphne smiled slightly.

"That's our head of house," she explained. "Professor Snape. He teaches Potions."

"He favors us," Parkinson said smugly. "Always gives us points, and he takes them from Gryffindor all of the time."

"I see," I nodded.

"No wonder Quirrell looks about to wet himself," Bulstrode scoffed. "Everyone knows that Snape wants to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Almost like he knew he was being talked about, Snape stopped mid-conversation with Quirrell and turned to look at us. The other girls quickly dipped their heads, trying to pretend that they hadn't been staring at him. I was the only one that kept looking.

He met my gaze with his own black gaze, and the strangest expression crossed his face. Something like bitter longing. It was gone before I'd even fully registered it, and I wasn't confident I'd seen it correctly, but there was definitely something. He kept holding my gaze, one eyebrow creeping up, daring me to look away.

I didn't.

His mouth curled up into what looked to be an amused sneer and he looked away from me. I followed his gaze to Harry at the Gryffindor table. Harry was looking at him too. The amusement in his sneer turned to mocking. I got the feeling that Snape had already made up his mind to hate Harry, for no reason that I could discern.

Almost the moment he made eye contact I saw Harry flinch, smacking a hand to his scar. My grip on my silverware tightened in concern, but I knew I couldn't exactly just get up and wander over to ask if he had a headache. Ron leaned over, asking if he was okay. Harry said something and Ron seemed unconcerned, so I assumed all was okay.

When the dessert dishes had vanished, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Again the hall fell silent the moment he rose.

"Ahem. Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the Weasley twins, which somehow didn't surprise me. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

I blinked. "Is he serious?"

Daphne looked just as surprised as I was. "Must be."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Suddenly, the teachers didn't seem quite so thrilled with the situation.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

 _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

 _Teach us something please,_

 _Whether we be old and bald_

 _Or young with scabby knees,_

 _Our heads could do with filling_

 _With some interesting stuff,_

 _For now they're bare and full of air,_

 _Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

 _So teach us things worth knowing,_

 _Bring back what we've forgot,_

 _Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

 _And learn until our brains all rot."_

The Weasley twins were the last to finish the song, singing the words to a funeral dirge. Dumbledore cheerfully conducted them for the last few measures with his wand. I had settled safely on 'God Save the Queen' for a tune, and by the end I was smiling.

Silly as the song was, it was fun. I actually quite liked singing. It just never got to do it. I remembered when I tried to sing along to the radio one day in the kitchen. Aunt Petunia had swatted me about the head with a kitchen towel and told me to 'stop wailing like a dying cat!' Since then I kept my singing confined to our cupboard late at night when Harry or I was having trouble sleeping or, occasionally, in the bath.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

A pair of older Slytherins, probably about fifteen, stood up. The boy cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed down the table, "Right, first years, follow Amelie and I. We'll take you to the Common Room. Pay attention, because I won't show you the way again, and I don't care if you get lost. We've lost students in the dungeon before, we'll lose them again."

Our little knot of first years stood up and hastily followed Amelie and her partner from the Great Hall. I was full and happy, and starting to get very sleepy. I was highly anticipating collapsing into bed. However, I didn't doubt that our leaders would, in fact, leave us to fend for ourselves, so I forced myself to pay attention and watch for landmarks and turns.

We descended into the dungeons, the air getting cold and damp around us. I tugged my robes more tightly around myself, but I wasn't terribly concerned. In fact, it almost reminded me of the reptile house at the zoo. It was a soothing kind of coolness, and I smiled at the memory of the snake I'd set free. Now I was in a house represented by snakes.

I wonder whatever happened to that boa…

The prefect stopped in front of a section of stone wall. It looked unremarkable, except that when the light from a torch flickered just right, I saw a small, coiled snake carved near the base of it. I figured the marker would be almost impossible to see if you didn't know it was there. I'd only noticed it because the light moved in the exact right way to catch in the carved lines.

Amelie turned to face us. "The password changes every fortnight, so check the notice board. No password, no entry. Boy's dormitories are to the left, girls to the right. _Salazar._ Night all, I'm bushed."

The wall behind her ground open. There was a short passageway that opened up into the Common Room. Amelie and her companion strode through easily and vanished into two rooms off to the side that must be dorms, but the rest of us first years stopped and stared for a moment.

The Slytherin Common Room was exactly as I had expected in some ways, and completely opposite in other ways.

I wasn't terribly surprised by the greenish lamps or the dark wood cabinets. The low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas and plush green armchairs seemed to fit perfectly with what the image of Slytherin seemed to be. So did the skulls and snakes carved here and there on the walls and ceiling. The whole place was grand but held the chill of the dungeons, both in temperature and atmosphere. The only warmth came from a fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

What startled me the most was that it seemed to be under the lake. The windows had to be reinforced, because I could see the water lapping at them from outside. We seemed to be very far down. It was too dark to see outside, but I imagine that when it was light out you could probably make out the shapes of whatever lived in the lake. The water made the light seem slightly green, which was appropriate, considering the Slytherin colors.

"It's perfect," I heard Lily whisper.

I nodded in agreement.

The place was cold and intimidating, to be certain. But some Slytherin part of me absolutely adored the greenish filtered light and the slight bite of cold in the air. Even the sound of the water lapping at the windows was rather comforting, soothing my nerves and making me even sleepier. It was a quiet, subdued place, but it wasn't outright unfriendly.

"I want to see the dorms!" Parkinson announced, and started off towards the door Amelie had vanished through. For once, I agreed with her, and it seemed that the rest of our year did too. Tracey, Bulstrode, Lily, Daphne and I all followed her lead.

We quickly found the first year dorms and stepped inside. Like the Common Room, the light that filtered through the windows was green. The domed ceiling made the sound of the water echo slightly. It was like having a white noise machine. Slytherin crests and banners hung on the walls, insulating them a little. There were six beds, all old four-posters with dark wood and green hangings. Silver lanterns dangled from the ceiling on chains, swaying slightly. Their flames flickered constantly, and the rattling chains melded with the lapping water. The whole place seemed to be designed to be as soothing as possible.

I looked up at the lanterns, smiling gratefully. Pitch blackness I was terrified by, but the lake and the lanterns provided a gentle enough light to not be obnoxious while still illuminating everything.

We scattered to our trunks, which had been placed at the foot of our beds. I found mine and quickly dug through it, pulling out my baggy camisole/night gown and tossing it onto my bed. Excited as I was to start classes tomorrow, I was still utterly wiped by the day. I tugged the curtains around my bed to change clothes, folding up my clothes for the next day on top of my trunk.

Lily, from the bed next to me, gave my stretched, tattered camisole a slight sneer and asked, "Is that really all you have to sleep in?"

"It's comfortable," I replied with a shrug, which wasn't a lie. Granted, I wished I had something a little nicer, particularly when Pansy Parkinson produced a pink silk nightie from her trunk, but the idea of getting something like that from the Dursleys was laughable.

Parkinson, Daphne, and Bulstrode seemed content to stay up and chat. I got the feeling they'd known each other for a while from the way they spoke. It sounded like their families all knew each other. Tracey, Lily and I were all eager for bed though. We all drew our curtains to block out their conversations as much as possible and settled in for the night.

I pulled back my covers and slid into the bed, sighing happily. The sheets seemed to be charmed to keep out the chill. They were pleasantly warm when I crawled under them, not stifling, like they'd just been pulled out of the dryer. I plucked my glasses from my face and set them on the table beside my bed.

Lying back, I realized how soft my bed was. It was like lying on a cloud compared to my rock-hard mattress back at Privet Drive. The sheets were silk and slid luxuriously against my skin. My pillow I realized, was stuffed with feathers. It squished under my head nicely when I lay back, without completely flattening out.

I was in heaven.

I was also in hell.

I'd been separated from Harry. He was in a house that seemed almost required to hate mine. In the eyes of the rest of the school, we were supposed to be mortal enemies, competing for grades and hexing each other in the hallways. It'd never in my life competed with Harry for anything, except perhaps who could attract less attention from the Dursleys.

I couldn't decide whether I loved or hated my house. Lily seemed nice enough, and so did Tracey. Our Common Room and dorms were gorgeous, and I was already regretting having to leave this pampering for Privet Drive in the summer. I

On the other hand, Slytherin also had Parkinson, Daphne, and Bulstrode, who I weren't quite so sure about. They seemed arrogant and disdainful, and while I'd been accused of that before, for them it seemed like a near-constant state. In fact it seemed to be pretty common in Slytherin house. Slytherin also had Malfoy, which wasn't exactly pleasant, but he should be easy enough to avoid.

I remembered the conversation at dinner. It had somehow become a test of who could talk circles around who. And much as it seemed entirely too _Slytherin_ to admit it, I'd enjoyed it. It was fun. It was also a delight to be able to speak my mind without fear of being hit or starved or locked in a cupboard. In fact, it seemed like I was almost encouraged to try and one-up and out-talk my fellow house mates, like it was an ability to be admired instead of frowned upon.

The gentle sloshing of the lake began to invade my brain until it was all that I could hear and all that I could think about. With my glasses off, the lanterns were like swaying balls of light instead of flickering flames. It was hypnotizing to watch. The combination lulled me to sleep quickly enough.

* * *

 **I'm back bitches! ... I'm sorry, you're not bitches, that was rude. Pardon me... Yeah. Ahem. Anyway, its time for our chapterly review responses!**

 **To the two guests who reviewed, I'm glad you're liking this and want me to continue! I've got you guys, don't worry!**

 **RegenLied: Oh, I had fun on my trip alright! Greece was gorgeous... and so was our tour director ;) Oh baby. I'm glad you liked the last chapter so much! I'm going to try and get into more original content now that the obligatory beginning info-dump is out of the way.**

 **AlitaMae: Yes, Lorena is sassy... when she'd allowed to be. We're going to see more of her sassiness be spoken instead of just thought now that she's our from under the Dursley's thumb!**

 **Desert Vulpes Zerda: I know! It kind of makes his character so much more... what's the word... childish? Yeah, that's it. We all know that for the first several books Malfoy was kind of a whiny little kid.**

 **NightlyRowenTree: Glad you like it, and don't worry, I will keep updating!**

 **And last but not least, OCD ADD Goldfish and nicole813711: I put you guys together because you said pretty much the same thing. First of all, I'm glad you like it! Secondly, I know the POV changes a couple times. That's because when I originally wrote the first couple chapters, I wrote them in third person. But that ended up not really sounding the way I wanted it to, so I switched to first person. I thought I got all of the pronouns and stuff fixed, but I guess not. From now on though, we're hitting stuff that I didn't have to change over, so that shouldn't be a problem anymore.**

 **Thanks as well to all of you lovely people who read without reviewing! See you guys next time!**


	7. Potions Class

I quickly learned that it was extremely lucky I was good with directions. Hogwarts seemed designed to torture those who weren't. Aside from the sheer size of the place, there were secret passages that led all over, some hidden, some not. The staircases were another hazard. Some of them moved, some of them had trick steps, and some of them led someplace different every Friday.

Peeves was also a problem. We quickly learned that the Peeves we'd heard the ghosts complaining about was the castle poltergeist. He was a horror if you ran into him and you were late. He would drop trash cans, throw water balloons, and stalk you down the halls, making your life as miserable as he possibly could.

Argus Filch was the caretaker, and he was just as bad. He watched us constantly, like he was certain we were breaking a rule at every moment, he just couldn't quite figure out which one. He was followed with a tabby cat with lamp-like eyes named Mrs. Norris, who I swore could peer into my soul.

Thank god for the ghosts and the portraits. If you asked politely, most of them would take pity on us first years and give us directions. A couple of the paintings, however, were nowhere near so helpful. Daphne made the mistake of asking a squire for directions one day. As it turned out, that squire was a staunch Gryffindor who sent her in the exact opposite direction when he saw the Slytherin crest on her robes.

I watched in awe as the older students navigated around the castle no-problem, totally immersed in their conversations and not paying a bit of attention to where they were. I had to concentrate and constantly trace my path through my mental map of the castle to have a prayer of getting to class on time.

And the classes themselves were another challenge.

Professor McGonagall, as I found out, was head of Gryffindor house. She taught Transfiguration, and took it very seriously. Stern, but fair, was the best way to describe her. I was, however, a bit cross with her when she introduced us to the subject by turning her desk into a pig with a deft flick of her wand. However, then she gave us several minutes of notes and told us to turn a matchstick into a needle. It was rather underwhelming.

Astronomy was rather interesting. I knew a lot of the stories of the constellations, and it was interesting to watch them move through the sky. However, it was a lot of charts, which was rather boring. Not to mention that we had to troop up to the Astronomy Tower at midnight, which wasn't fun and made classes the next day less than enjoyable.

But by far the award for most boring class was History of Magic. Professor Binns was the only ghost teacher. He simply droned on and on, leaving us to take our notes – or, more likely, not. A lot of us used his class to catch up on homework for other classes or to snag a quick nap in the middle of the day. I was one of the few who bothered to take notes mostly because I knew I was horrible with dates and I didn't have a prayer of passing the class if I didn't.

Charms was alright. It was taught by Professor Flitwick, a tiny old wizard who needed a stack of books to see over the top of his desk. He was the head of Ravenclaw house. In his classes we tended not to take too many notes in that class – probably due at least in part to the fact that Flitwick couldn't reach his blackboard.

Herbology was interesting. The magical plants we studied were like nothing I'd ever seen in the gardens of Privet Drive, which wasn't surprising. Some of them actively tried to kill us whenever we stepped into the greenhouses behind the castle. At the very least, now I knew why my supplies list said work gloves. Some plants secreted poison, some of them bit, and some of them had stinging nettles. This class was taught by the head of Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout.

I'd been excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, as had the rest of my year mates. However, Quirrell turned out to be a joke. I should have guessed from his twitchy demeanor. It seemed like he was terrified of his own subject. He stammered through lectures, sometimes so badly it was hard to understand enough to take notes.

Friday was our first lesson with our head of house. As we had breakfast, we discussed what his class might be like.

"My cousin told me that so long as you at least make an effort, he'll give us passing grades," Parkinson smiled. She cast a superior glance towards the Gryffindor table. They shared the double period with us this morning. Bulstrode followed her gaze and gave a savage smile.

"Wonder how many points they'll lose before the period's over?"

"If Snape's as horrible as I've heard… all of them," I said. Lily chuckled and Tracey laughed into her porridge. Even Parkinson cracked a smile.

Daphne nodded in satisfaction. "Good, they're already beating us by a few points. It's your brother's fault," she added to me.

"Favoritism for the Boy-Who-Lived," Parkinson sneered.

I shrugged. "I didn't defeat Voldemort."

They all looked at me in awe. I quickly rewound what I'd said and realized I'd used his name.

"You said it," Tracey said, looking vaguely awed.

"I did," I nodded. I gave a shrug. "I hadn't even heard the name until a few months before I started. My aunt and uncle lied about how my parents died. They said it was a car crash."

Parkinson snorted. "What a Muggle way to die."

I snorted. "I'm pretty sure a car crash would kill you too, Parkinson, witch or not."

Just then, he mail flooded in. The arrival of hundreds of owls the first day had made me flinch and recoil, but now I was used to it. Artemisia came down every now and then for a scratch behind the wings and a crust of toast or a bit of sausage, but this was the first time she'd actually had a letter for me.

I couldn't for the life of me figure out who might be writing me. I plucked the small piece of parchment form her leg. I unfolded the note and absently offered her a sausage link. Artemisia took it with a thankful hoot.

As it turned out, the letter was from Hagrid. He wanted to know if I'd want to come for tea at three. He'd invited Harry too. I flipped the letter over and scrawled a hasty yes across the back before sending it off with Artemisia.

"Who was that?" Lily asked curiously.

"Hagrid invited me for tea," I said with a small smile. I hadn't seen Hagrid since I got here, beyond a few moments of awkward eye contact at meals. I hadn't gotten to see Harry much either. It seemed like they tried to keep the Gryffindors and Slytherins separated as much as possible, which was probably wise. We could compare notes on our first days here.

Parkinson opened her mouth, face already curling into a scoff. I tried to cut her off with a sharp look, but she spoke anyway. "Why do you talk to that oaf? It's clear he's only here because Dumbledore takes pity on him."

I clutched my fork a bit tighter. I was a little defensive of Hagrid. It was becoming clear very quickly that he was a joke to my fellow Slytherins. They seemed to have this picture of him as a lumbering idiot. I knew that couldn't be the truth. From a little I'd gathered you had to be smart to keep up with everything in Forbidden Forest and the grounds. And while yes, he was huge and rough, that didn't automatically make him an idiot.

Crabbe and Goyle didn't exactly help that case, but you can't have everything.

What I wanted to do was lean over a stab a fork into Parkinson's hand. But that wouldn't be very Slytherin of me. So instead I said, "Why he's here isn't relevant. He's a better conversationalist than some people." I let my eyes linger pointedly on Parkinson, who swelled in annoyance when Lily snorted behind her hand and Daphne smirked. Before she could say anything, I added, "He sees quite a bit in the Forbidden Forest."

Parkinson looked slightly mollified. I smiled to myself, delighted that she was fooled.

In the past few days I'd become conscious of something I'd been doing for years: putting together two truths to become a deception. Hagrid was a better conversationalist than Parkinson – the endless streams of bigotry really worked against her. And he did see interesting things in the Forbidden Forest. While both were true, by placing them together I was able to shift the way Parkinson interpreted my words. I insulted her without her knowing.

It was rather Slytherin of me, if I may say.

My smile fell slightly as I played with my eggs. It was a little worrisome how quickly I was adapting to life as a Slytherin. Even more alarming was that I enjoyed it. I liked the feeling of outwitting someone, sneaking an insult past them, or watching them swell with anger when I outright said it. It was definitely a Slytherin characteristic, an enjoyment of the feeling of one-upmanship I got. But was I doing something wrong by reveling in my Slytherin characteristics?

It was certainly the first time I'd gotten to exercise them. I must have thought of hundreds of thousands of vicious and spiteful things to say to the Dursleys over the years. They'd all been on the tip of my tongue, desperate to be said, but I always swallowed them down and bowed my head.

And I'd always hated that. Bowing my head to anyone made something deep inside of me twist in distaste. Certainly, teachers deserved respect. Parents did as well. But the Dursleys had demanded obeisance, which they did not deserve, and which it had always made me want to wretch to give them. A thousand times I wanted to just say 'no' and let the chips fall where they may, but fear always held me back.

Fear of losing Harry. I had no doubt that if I had pushed them as far as I had wanted to so many times the Dursleys would have sent me to an orphanage. The only question was whether I would go there alone or if they would toss Harry out as well. I could never quite convince myself that they'd keep him, and the idea of losing my partner in misery for the last decade was unbearable.

I looked up to the Gryffindor table. Harry was looking a little disheartened. For a moment I felt a swoop of hope. Perhaps he was missing me? But no, he was looking at Professor Snape. He'd be in my Potions class today, and Snape had a reputation with Gryffindors. He was more concerned with the fact that the teacher would be mean to him than the fact that this was the first time I'd had a class with him since we got here.

A seed of bitterness nestled somewhere in my stomach and I clenched my fingers around my fork, cutting into my pancakes a little more viciously than they deserved. Had he tossed me over that easily? Had he already found new friends in Gryffindor, new people to spend his time with? Had I done something wrong?

Yes I had. I'd been Sorted into Slytherin, and according to everyone, we were now supposed to hate each other.

"Potter?"

I looked up to see Lily standing next to me, frowning slightly. I saw that the rest of the Slytherin girls had already stood up and were halfway to the door, looking back at me haughtily, wondering why I wasn't following.

"Sorry," I muttered, tossing my fork aside. I suddenly didn't feel hungry. I snatched my bag up and hustled after them.

As we descended into the dungeons, the air around us got cooler, soothing my heated thoughts. This bitterness I was feeling wasn't justified, I told myself. It wasn't as though Harry hadn't acknowledged me since the Sorting. When we passed in the hall he gave me a bright smile and a wave, calling "Rena!" in greeting. Sometimes we made eye contact across the Great Hall during meals, sharing secret smiles.

I shook my head. Whatever this was, it needed to go away. It wasn't Harry's fault we hadn't spoken much. He couldn't help that we were separated for most of the time. He'd even directed me to Transfiguration the other day when we passed each other the other day before hustling on to Charms with Ron and Dean.

We stepped into the Potions classroom, and instantly all thoughts of Harry vanished to the back of my mind. The room was ovular, with worktables big enough for about four people to sit at comfortably. There were shelves all over the walls covered in pickled bits of animals that floated ominously in colored liquids. The windows were covered, the classroom lit instead with torchlight. In the corner was a basin with water pouring into it from the mouth of a snarling gargoyle.

"Potter?"

"Rena!"

In front of me, Daphne was beckoning me over to a section of three tables where the Slytherins had set up shop. Parkinson was chatting with Nott and Daphne was laughing with Zambini. Malfoy and his lunks weren't there yet, but there were spare enough seats for him and for me. Lily was beckoning me over.

Behind me was Harry. He came flanked by Ron and Dean, with Parvati and Lavender trailing behind them giggling together.

"Come on, join our table!" Harry invited, a wide smile across his face. "I've got loads to tell you!"

Ron was looking at me suspiciously, like he expected me to suddenly sprout fangs and poison him like my house's animal. Lavender and Parvati stepped into the Potions classroom and turned up their noses as they passed me. Even Dean looked a little edgy around me.

I looked back over my shoulder to Lily, who was looking at me expectantly and smiling as she patted the seat next to her.

"Rena?" Harry asked, looking at me with those big, concerned eyes of his. "Something wrong?"

I closed my own. I knew where I had to go. So I turned away from Lily, smiled at Harry, and said, "Sure."

I sat down at the end of the table, Harry taking the empty space between Ron and I. I looked past him to Ron and asked with a small smile, "Alright, Ron?"

Ron looked startled. I could see his desire to hate me wavering. I assumed he was remembering how well all of us had gotten on when we were on the train. Before I became the enemy.

"Er… Alright."

"Good," I said, nodding to him.

"I've got loads to tell you," Harry said. He reached over and grabbed my hand. "You should see the Gryffindor Common room, it's great. And I've met loads of people, like Ron's brothers and the rest of the first years."

"Is everyone being nice to you?" I asked. If the answer was no, someone would be finding a snake in their bed tonight. I didn't know how I'd do it, but I would.

"Yeah, everyone's been great!" Harry assured me. "Everyone's really friendly, the older years have helped us get around the castle a couple times. How're the Slytherins?"

I paused. Kind didn't describe them at all. None of the older Slytherins helped us out, or rather, not in the hands-on way that would make sense to most people. They seemed to think that throwing us into the deep end without floaties was the best way to get us used to swimming in the Hogwarts pool. It wasn't done maliciously, more in a 'tough love' sort of spirit.

And I imagined Harry wouldn't be happy to hear about some of the conversations the girls had late at night, gossiping their hearts out and ragging on whoever caught their attention. Particularly since once of their favorite people to insult were blood traitors, Mudbloods, and Gryffindors. Harry and Ron both fell into two of those categories.

"They've been-"

I looked over my shoulder to where the Slytherins were sitting. Bulstrode's lip was curled in distaste and Parkinson was sneering. Daphne was looking down her nose at Ron. Tracey was glaring, but not quite as heatedly as one might expect. I was certain she was only shooting me the stink eye because the others were. Nott was looking at me in confusion, like he couldn't figure out why I'd join the Gryffindors when there was a perfectly good seat available with them. Zambini looked like he was almost amused by the whole thing.

The only one who looked mildly understanding was Lily. She gave me an understanding shrug and flicked through her Potions textbook. Bless her soul.

"They've been alright," I said finally. "Our Common Room's a little cold, but there's lots of neat stuff down there. The older students tend to do their own thing. I usually eat with the girls from my dorm."

Harry looked at me, his smile flickering. He looked like he couldn't decide if I was being honest or not. I was, but I was omitting quite a bit. I said I ate with the Slytherin girls, I never labeled a single one of them as friends. The only one I could see ever being close to was Lily. Possibly Tracey, if she ever stopped trotting after Daphne like a devoted puppy.

"Potter? What are you doing?"

I closed my eyes and let out an annoyed hiss of air between my teeth. When I opened my eyes, Harry was glaring over the top of my head.

"Malfoy," he spat. I turned around in my seat to see Malfoy staring down his nose at me, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him.

"What is it, Malfoy?" I demanded, frustrated. Here I was finally getting a chance to talk to my brother, and Malfoy has to trot up and ruin the moment.

"What are you doing over here with the Gryffindors?" Malfoy sneered at the aforementioned Gryffindors, who all scowled back. "Come join us. Slytherins sit together."

Harry opened his mouth to say something. I squeezed his hand, urging him to be silent. I raised an eyebrow at Malfoy coolly and said, "I didn't know we had assigned seats. Someone should post a sign."

Malfoy blinked. He, like Nott, seemed to be struggling with the idea that I didn't want to sit with my fellow Slytherins. But, unlike Nott, he plastered his usual superior expression on and continued.

"You don't _have_ to sit with them, you know." Malfoy's eyes glittered maliciously in Ron's direction before flicking to Hermione, who had joined Parvati and Lavender's table with Neville. "You're a Slytherin. You have better options."

I smiled sweetly. "Better options than my _twin brother_ , Malfoy? You think very highly of yourself."

The door to the classroom burst open. Professor Snape swept in, black robes billowing behind him. His dark eyes latched almost immediately onto Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were the only ones standing.

"Take your seats," he ordered in a deep baritone, not breaking stride as he made for the front of the room. Malfoy gave me a dark look, but slunk off to sit by Zambini.

Snape plucked a slip of parchment from the top of his desk and announced, "Brown, Lavender?"

"Present," Lavender squeaked, wide-eyed at the sound of her name being barked.

"Bulstrode, Millicent."

"Here."

One down the roll Snape went. I could tell when he reached Harry's name. His lip curled in distaste before he said, "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new… _celebrity."_ He said the word like it was something to be deeply ashamed of. I saw Malfoy snicker, Crabbe and Goyle following his lead as usual. I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and waited for my own name to be hissed out.

"Potter, Lorena."

I blinked. That was it. Simply my name. No malice, no disdain. Like any other teacher would call. I understood that Snape showed favoritism to his own students, but that was a bit ridiculous.

"Present," I replied slowly. Snape's eyes lingered on my face for a moment before he went back to calling names.

When roll was finished, he set his parchment aside and turned to face us. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed completely in black. He seemed to loom over us all.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The moment he spoke, I was hooked. Like McGonagall, he had a naturally commanding presence. But unlike McGonagall, who talked about Transfiguration like it was a grueling sort of ordeal we would have to go through to succeed, Snape spoke about potions like they were something subtly beautiful, an art form.

I watched as Hermione scooted forwards eagerly in her seat, eyes as wide as saucers as she hung on tender hooks. I couldn't help but scoff a little. It was one thing to want to please a teacher – it was another to make yourself look like a fool. Like her, I also wanted to please this particular teacher – aside from being my head of house, he also taught the subject that seemed most interesting to me – but you didn't see me practically piddling myself in desperation.

"Potter!" Snape barked suddenly. "Where would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I glanced at Harry. I knew he hadn't even cracked his Potions textbook but for a brief skim to get an idea of what the subject was like. He looked like Snape had just asked him what the meaning of life was. He sent a desperate glance at Ron, who shrugged helplessly. Hermione's hand was in the air.

"I don't know, sir," he admitted.

"Tut tut," Snape sneered. "Clearly fame isn't everything."

The Slytherins were snickering behind their hands. I doubted all of them knew the answer, but they seemed pleased enough just watching our teacher tear into my brother.

"Let's try again, Potter. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry still looked clueless, eyes flickering to Hermione, who was stretching her hand so far into the air I was wondering if she'd disjointed it. The snickers from the other side of the room were no longer concealed. I sucked in my cheeks.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said again.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming to Hogwarts, eh, Potter?"

Harry scowled, but he didn't say anything. I wasn't that disciplined. I would have been glaring up a storm and chewing on all sorts of insults after that.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?" Snape asked a third time.

Hermione stood up so that her hand could reach farther. I let out a disbelieving huff at that. Did she honestly think the reason she wasn't being called on was because Snape was unable to see her frantic hand-waving? No, he was choosing to be selectively blind because he could care less what she knew.

"I don't know, sire," Harry repeated through gritted teeth.

I opened my mouth. "Draught of the Living Death. A goat's stomach. Nothing."

Snape's eyes snapped to me. "Excuse me?"

I bit on my tongue to remind myself to keep it civil before replying, "The answers to your questions sir. Draught of the Living Death, a goat's stomach, and nothing. You called on Potter. I answered."

Snape's mouth dropped open. He looked faintly surprised and also… slightly amused? The beauty of it was that I was right. He'd never actually mentioned Harry by name, and we shared a surname. I was at perfect liberty to answer and, unlike my brother, I knew the answers.

Dean let out a low whistle, giving me an impressed look. In all honesty, it wasn't like it was some great feat of courage. It was me doing what I'd always done – trying to take whatever Harry's punishment would be for myself. I knew that Snape wouldn't be nearly as hard on me as he would on Harry. Not only was I in his house, but I got the feeling that, for as indiscernible a reason as his loathing of Harry, he liked me.

All around us, the class was mumbling. The Gryffindors seemed pleased that I'd stood up for my brother. They were looking at me with as little less distaste. The Slytherins looked surprised.

"Silence," Snape ordered. "Well done, Miss Potter, you are correct. If only your brother were as capable a student."

I scowled at him in reply.

"Today you will be brewing a simple potion to cure boils. It's easy enough that a toddler could do it, so I expect no mistakes. You will divide into pairs. The recipe can be found in _Magical Drafts & Potions._ You may begin."

Harry immediately scooted closer to me. He flipped through his copy of the textbook to find the recipe while I opened up my potions kit.

"What do we need?" I asked him. He pushed the book across the table so that it rested between us. I scanned the recipe and began plucking out ingredients and equipment. I passed Harry my jar of snake fangs. "Start counting out six."

He obligingly fished six out, being careful not to stab himself in the finger with them. I offered him the mortar and he dropped them inside.

"It says grind them to a fine powder," Harry said, staring at the recipe. I got to work grinding, eyes fixed on the recipe.

"Get the cauldron ready for them?" I requested, and Harry set to work lighting the fire.

I assumed that this textbook was geared towards younger students. In addition to the actual recipe, the section also held explanations of the ingredients and what they did, as well as what the operative parts were in the mixture. I scanned through all of this quickly.

It looked like we brought the snake fangs to a boil and then stirred. After that, we sliced up and added Pungous Onions. A glance at the section on those showed that it was the juices that reacted with the snake fangs. The slicing was to help release the juices into the potion more quickly that just letting it steep.

"Add four measures of this," I said, passing the mortar to Harry. He took up the measure and began filling it carefully while I reached for the onions and my small silver knife. I raised the blade, ready to slice, but paused.

If the key was to release the juice, then perhaps there was something I could do to help that along.

I set the knife aside and placed the flat of my palm on the onions, pressing lightly and rolling them on the table. It was what bartenders did to make limes for drinks juicier. I had no way of knowing if it would do anything, but I figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Finished rolling, I started slicing the onions into even pieces. I looked up as Harry dropped in the last measure of the snake fangs, setting the remnants aside. He stirred once. I lifted my cutting board up over the potion, but paused as my hair fell in the way. Irritably I swatted it back into place and used the flat of my knife to scrape the pieces of onion into the cauldron. Almost instantly it became the yellowish color it was supposed to and I smiled in satisfaction. I gave the potion a few stirs.

"Now the nettles," Harry said, tossing in the dried nettles. They sank into the potion.

"And the Flobberworm mucus." I pulled the small greenish bottle from my potions kit and took off the lid. I was supposed to stir vigorously after I put it in, but I continued to stir gently as I poured it in to distribute it better. I let a dash fall in and straightened up the bottle, passing it to Harry to close as I started to stir vigorously. The potion began to darken to a deep green, letting off some spirals of smoke.

I glanced back at the recipe, having to blow my hair out of my face again. Next came four horned slugs. But if the reading I had done was correct, adding an extra slug and a little powdered ginger root would help counteract the nausea that some people experienced after taking the potion.

I looked at the rest of my stock of the onions thoughtfully. If I was already getting a little creative, I might as well go all the way. In for a penny in for a pound. Or rather, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

"Keep stirring," I advised Harry, passing the stirring rod to him. He took over, continuing to stir vigorously. I counted out four slugs, hesitated, and added a fifth one to the small bowl. On top of it, I sprinkled a little bit of powdered ginger root, picking up the bowl and readying it.

"Whoa, what're you doing?" Harry hissed, staring into the bowl. "What's the brown stuff on top?"

"Powdered ginger root," I replied, nodding to the bottle. The potion was slowly turning the pretty peach color it was supposed to. The steam it was letting off became more consistent, just like the book described.

"The recipe doesn't call for-"

"I know, just trust me," I urged, grabbing my hair in my free hand to keep it from swinging forwards over the cauldron like it had when I added the onions earlier. Harry looked hesitant, but he gave me the go-ahead. I dropped in the snails and ginger. The potion turned a darker peach, the smoke becoming the same color. That was what the book said was supposed to happen, so it seemed we hadn't done anything too horrible.

"What made you think of that?" Harry asked curiously.

I could dimly hear Snape telling the class about how nicely Malfoy's slugs were doing. I explained, "I read that some people get nauseous after they take it. Ginger counteracts nausea, and it shouldn't affect anything else in the potion, so long as we added the extra slug."

Harry looked impressed. "Wow."

I shrugged. "I learned a few things about combining ingredients cooking. And besides, I don't set toasters on fire," I snickered.

"It was one time," Harry groaned. I chuckled softly at the memory. "Come on, we have to take it of the fire so-"

"Already on it."

I had just taken the cauldron off the fire when a loud hissing and a wretched smell filled the classroom. I looked up and saw that two tables over Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, their potion letting off acid green smoke in thick clouds.

Their potion seeped across the floor. It hit Parvati and Lavender first, who yelped when the potion burned holes in their shoes. They leapt onto their stools and the rest of us were quick to follow suit. Neville was groaning, having been sprayed with the potion when the cauldron collapsed. Angry red boils sprang up all over his legs.

"Idiot boy!" Snape brandished his wand and the potion disappeared. Slowly, we came down from our stools. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before you took the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils appeared on his nose.

"You, take him to the hospital wing," Snape ordered Seamus, who hastened to drag Neville up and out of the room. He whipped around, eyes probing us furiously. They settled on Harry and he opened his mouth. "You, Potter, why didn't you tell him-" He paused. I followed his eyes and realized he'd noticed the ginger still sitting out on the table.

Harry saw where he was looking as well. He hastily shoved the Flobberworm mucus in front of it, but the damage was done. Snape's eyes blazed in triumph.

"How odd," Snape said, voice low. "I don't recall this potion calling for ginger. So why is it on your table, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's mouth dropped open like a fish and he struggled for words. He hadn't put it there, he didn't have the answer.

"I did it, Professor," I spoke up. His eyes flicked to me. Suddenly he looked less pleased to cause harry grief and more curious about why in the world I'd dragged out the ginger.

"I see." He narrowed his eyes. "See me after class, Miss Potter."

Malfoy snickered, Parkinson joining him with a cackle. I scowled at them.

"Yes sir," I replied, turning back to our potion. Unlike Neville, we'd gotten our cauldron off the fire. As class picked up around us again, I tossed in the porcupine quills.

"I shouldn't have let you do that," Harry muttered, shame-faced. "I knew it wasn't in the recipe-"

"It was my idea, it's my fault," I said shortly, stirring counterclockwise, carefully counting. "Don't blame yourself Harry, that's silly."

"But I could have-"

"Said no?" I challenged. "And I would have listened?"

"No," he relented. I smirked.

"Exactly. Now, one more and we should be-" I pulled the stirring rod from the potion. It turned the pink color the book described and let off steam of the same color. "Yes." I sat back in my seat, smiling smugly as I reached for a cloth to dry the stirring rod.

Harry frowned between the book and the potion. "But you added extra stuff in, so why-?"

"Because the potion's still correct," I said, watching as Snape bent over Parkinson's cauldron. Her potion was a dark red and she was looking nervous. Snape scowled and told her where she'd gone wrong. Parkinson winced. I smiled slightly. "I don't think he's mad."

And that was true. Of all the reactions Snape had to the ginger, mad wasn't one of them. He'd looked surprised, curious, a little… I don't know, maybe impressed by my gutsy move? But no, guts wasn't what was required in this class. Precision was.

"Then why does he want to talk to you?" Harry countered. I shook my head.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I don't think I'm in trouble."

By the end of the class, could tell that our potion was the best. Hermione had gotten close, but her potion was still a few shades darker than it was supposed to be, and she kept shooting me annoyed looks as Harry and I waited by our perfect potion.

To my annoyance, Malfoy also did reasonably well. That wasn't a surprise to me though – Snape actually helped him. He seemed to genuinely like Malfoy, for reasons I couldn't even begin to fathom. From what I'd seen, he ran on a steady stream of disdain and sneers.

The rest of the Gryffindors packed up quickly around me. Harry and even Ron shot me sympathetic glances before they left. The Slytherins had no problem lingering and talking instead of making a quick escape. I packed up my materials and trooped up to Professor Snape's desk.

He sat behind it, hands folded in front of him, staring at me.

"Stop dawdling," he ordered. I looked behind me and saw that several of the Slytherins were fiddling uselessly with their bag and books, trying to hear what Snape was going to say. Whether they were genuinely worried about me or just curious or excited to hear me get reamed out, I had no idea.

But at Professor Snape's command, they all quickly hustled out, shooting me curious glances over their shoulders.

"Miss Potter," Snape began, "at the beginning of class you answered my questions, proving that you're not completely hopeless. I fail to see, then, why you would go on to add ginger to a potion that doesn't require it. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

I considered lying, saying I hadn't put it in, saying I'd just set it out to get at another ingredient in my kit more easily. But I assumed Snape wouldn't fall for such a weak lie. I then considered denying using it at all, saying I just considered it, but again, I assumed he'd see through me. In the end, I settled on the truth.

"I thought it would help combat the nausea the book mentioned some users having, sir."

Snape's eyes glittered. "Under ordinary circumstances, adding ginger would result in the potion going brown and losing all potency. Unless you did something else?"

"I did, sir. I added an extra horned slug to prevent that from happening."

Snape was looking me over intensely. It was a little uncomfortable. "I see. That would certainly do it. Tell me, what made you think of ginger?"

I opened my mouth, surprised. "I, erm, I knew it worked against nausea. Even Muggles use it. Some people drink ginger tea when they're sick."

"And is that the only step you added?" Snape pressed.

"I- no, sir."

"What else did you do?"

I bit my lip, admitting, "Well, the book mentioned that the onions were cut up to allow the juice to blend into the potion more easily. And I knew that rolling a lime on the counter a little makes it juicier, so I did that too."

Snape looked, dare I say it, proud. "I see. Those are all excellent additions to the recipe. And all are correct. I would caution against experimenting in the future, however, unless properly supervised. You are still too young to have the knowledge of potions required for real testing."

I smiled, glowing at the praise. Unlike Hermione, who'd made a fool of herself trying to get his attention, I'd managed to actually impress Snape just by thinking the problem through. And Snape seemed like the sort of man who wasn't easily impressed. I was feeling rather proud of myself.

"Twenty points to Slytherin," Snape allotted, "for your innovation."

I beamed. "Thank you, sir."

"However," he added sternly. My smile instantly dropped and I waited for the hammer to fall. He was going to yell at me for answering the questions at the beginning of class, or tell me that what I'd done was dangerous and needed punishment to keep me from doing it again.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, cringing as I waited for the inevitable.

"You will tie your hair back for my next class."

I blinked. That wasn't expected. In a way it was almost worse. I smacked my hand to my cheek, protesting, "But sir-!"

He cut me off. "Better potions mistresses than you have inadvertently trailed their hair into their cauldron and set their heads ablaze. I won't have you doing something so foolish in my class for the sake of vanity, particularly after you've showed some small amount of promise."

I winced, one finger absently tracing the scar on my cheek. "Sir, I-"

"I fully understand why you hide your face, Miss Potter. However, I think it shows a rather shameful weakness to allow vanity to determine your safety in my class." He observed me intently, daring me to argue again. "Are you that weak, Miss Potter?"

I scowled thunderously. " _No_ , sir, I am _not._ "

He sat back in his chair, pleased with my answer. "Good. I would have been annoyed with you if you were, especially considering your mother's ability with potions."

My head snapped up. "M-My… Sir, you knew my mother?"

Snape nodded slowly, eyes going thoughtful. "I did."

"You say she was good at potions too?"

"Indeed. She had the mental rapacity necessary to complete a potion quickly and correctly, even while making similar additions to yours."

"Was my father any good at potions?" I asked curiously.

Snape's face immediately clouded with fury. "Your father," he spat, "was hardly capable of boiling frog spawn. He was far too busy showing off and causing misery to those around him that he deemed lesser to be bothered with potions."

I recoiled at the sheer loathing in his voice. Clearly Snape had known both of my parents rather well. While he seemed to at least respect my mother – probably thanks to her skill in his chosen field – it seemed like he thought my father to be the lowest form of scum to ever grace the planet.

I couldn't help but wonder what had made him hate my father so much. Surely that would be an interesting story. But I knew better than to press, at least not right now.

"I see," I replied, keeping my expression blank and my tone neutral. "Thank you for the compliments professor."

Snape nodded. "You're free to go, Miss Potter. However, in the future, I'd rather you partnered with a Slytherin. I have no desire to help Gryffindor along on your work."

I snorted, covering it with a cough. "Of course, sir."


	8. Flying Lessons

I trooped across the ground to Hagrid's house a little before three, eager to see Harry and speak to Hagrid. After Potions, my fears that Harry would turn against me seemed ridiculous. In fact I was a little shocked by my own pettiness. I supposed I wasn't used to being separated from him. It took a little bit of my confidence from me to be alone.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. The roof was thatched. I raised my hand and knocked on the door twice, giving the crossbow an uncertain look.

I heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. I hadn't realized Hagrid had a dog. I could hear him yelling, "Back, Fang! Back!"

Hagrid's face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door opened. He smiled when he saw me, then grunted and turned away.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let me in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. I stared at the dog's size. It looked like it could take Dudley down in a flying leap, and that was no joke.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home, join the fun," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang. I saw Harry and Ron both sitting at the table. There was a plate of rock cakes in front of them and both of them had been supplied with teacups.

"Rena," Harry greeted.

"Hey Harry, Ron." I sat down beside Harry. Hagrid quickly set down a cup of tea in front of me and pushed a rock cake at me.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins. I nibbled at one uncertainly and my teeth clacked disconcertingly against it. Harry and Ron were pretending to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons.

Fang ventured over and dropped his head onto my knee, looking up at me pleadingly as he dribbled all over my robes. I smiled down at him. I'd always loved animals, and growing up I'd always wanted a pet. Of course, Aunt Petunia hadn't allowed animals into the house until she was afraid Harry and I would turn her into a toad if she didn't.

"Hey Fang," I cooed at the boarhound, rubbing behind his ear vigorously with one hand. "You're a big boy, aren't you?"

I smiled slightly as Fang whined happily, dunking my rock cake in my tea a little to try and soften it with my free hand as they complained about Filch. Hagrid, it seemed, completely understood.

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her. Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

I noticed Hagrid didn't quite meet Harry's eye when he said that.

"Speaking of Snape, what'd he want?" Ron asked, looking at me.

"Did he hold yeh back?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes," I nodded. "He wanted to know what I'd done with the ginger I added to the potion."

"What did you tell him?" Harry pressed. I shrugged.

"The truth. That I thought it would improve the potion."

Ron gave a commiserating smile. He seemed to have warmed up to me again, or at least seem less annoyed by my house than before. "How many points did you lose?"

"None," I replied. Harry choked on his tea.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "He wasn't mad?"

"None, I got twenty," I said, smiling proudly. "He said I was correct, that everything I added to the potion would do exactly what I thought. He said I showed promise."

"That's high praise, comin' from Snape," Hagrid said, whistling. He was clearly impressed.

"I don't get it!" Harry said in frustration. "He seemed to hate me! Why does he like you?"

I was a little offended. "Is it so odd for people to like me?" I challenged.

"Well, she is a Slytherin, mate," Ron commiserated. Harry nodded, but he still seemed upset.

"I'm sure that's it," Hagrid said, rather louder than was necessary. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. Something about the subject of Snape was making him edgy. I was even more sure when he hastily changed the subject.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot, great with animals."

I listened with interest as Ron described his brother Charlie's work with dragons. It sounded fascinating, albeit dangerous. Apparently their mother constantly worried that Charlie was going to come home for Christmas one year missing a limb, which was apparently not uncommon in his line of work.

"Hagrid!" said Harry suddenly. "That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

I looked around for what could have possibly spawned that comment and saw a paper lying under the tea cozy on the table.

 _GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

 _Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

I remembered Ron mentioning to us on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but he hadn't mentioned the date.

Hagrid grunted and offered him another rock cake instead of replying. I scowled. He was avoiding the question again.

An hour later we all trooped back up to the castle, pockets laden with rock cakes that we hadn't been able to turn down. We split at the door. Harry and Ron headed to Gryffindor Tower to work on their Transfiguration homework. I'd already finished it, but I had history of Magic work to do, so I decided a homework session was a good idea.

"Salazar," I said to the wall, and strode into the Common Room.

"Potter, there you are!" Tracey called from across the Common Room. Most of the first years were clustered around the notice board.

"What is it?" I asked curiously, wandering over. "Did the password change?"

"No, flying lessons!" Lily said, looking excited. She pointed to a parchment that had been pinned up since this morning. Apparently starting Thursday we would be having flying lessons, and we'd be with the Gryffindors.

I stared at the parchment intently. I wasn't quite sure if I was looking forwards to the lessons or not. On one hand, it was more time spent with Harry. And the idea of learning how to fly appealed to me. The glory of flight and all that. Heights had never bothered me, but then again, whenever I'd been high up I'd always been inside a building. I wasn't quite sure I'd feel the same when the only thing holding me up was a piece of wood.

"Like I need lessons," Malfoy scoffed at the parchment. "I've been flying since I was four. I could probably play for the team now!" he bragged.

"No one cares Malfoy," I muttered under my breath, still trying to imagine what it would be like to be several stories into the air on a cleaning utensil.

Lily nudged me. "How'd it go with Snape?" she asked curiously. "Do you have detention?"

"No." I smiled smugly. "In fact I got us twenty points."

"For doing a potion wrong?" Parkinson asked skeptically.

"I didn't do it wrong. I did it better," I corrected her shortly. "Professor Snape was very impressed with the additions I made. He said I showed promise." I couldn't help but brag a little.

Then I was reminded of the fact that he also said I had to wear my hair back. I was less pleased with that. But he wasn't right in thinking I did it for the sake of vanity. A girl with her hair covering her face wasn't normal, but it was less remarkable than a girl with a scar across her face. I did it so I wouldn't draw any attention.

But as I considered, I realized that didn't apply here at Hogwarts. Everyone here knew my story. They all knew the scar was there whether they saw it or not. Some of them stared at my cheek like they were hoping to see through my hair. They stared either way. No matter what I attracted attention, hair in my face or not.

And Snape was right. It was clearly a safety hazard. And I wasn't dumb enough to trade my safety for a couple of stares. So I would do as he asked and deal with whatever attention that stupid S brought me.

"Hey, what was with sitting with the Gryffindors today?" Malfoy demanded suddenly. I gave a little groan.

"Are you still stuck on that Malfoy? I sat there because I wanted to talk to my brother! And I intend to keep doing it!"

Malfoy scowled, asking petulantly, "Do you have something against our house?"

I threw up my hands. "No, Malfoy, I don't have anything against our house! I'm not terribly fond of you right now though!"

Parkinson glared at me. "Watch it, Potter!" she said defensively.

"What did I do?" Malfoy asked indignantly.

"Aside from insulting my brother and my parents?" I simpered. "That's enough for me, Malfoy. You know, I'm glad we have flying lessons with the Gryffindors! At least that's one more class I don't have to be near you!"

Frustrated with the whole thing I turned and stomped off to my dorm. I dragged my History of Magic essay out of my bag and settled back against my pillow, ready to work, but I was too annoyed to think about anything seriously. Instead I sat and stewed, gnawing on the end of my quill.

Malfoy was my least-favorite Slytherin by far. Or maybe he tied with Parkinson. It varied depending on how annoying they were being. Malfoy would hold court in the Common Room sometimes and he'd occasionally rant. 'What makes Potter think he's so special?' 'Maybe I should carve a lightning bolt onto my forehead too.' 'He thinks he's so much better than us!'

The sad part was, it was pretty obvious why he was angry at Harry. Harry had denied him something, and Malfoy was a spoiled brat. He wasn't used to being denied what he wanted. Malfoy had offered him a hand of friendship back on the train – likely seeking some fame on Malfoy's part – and Harry had turned him down flat.

So had I, for that matter. He seemed a little less hateful towards me, probably because we were in the same house. I imagine he thought that he still had a chance at pulling me into his web. Sad part was, I might not have a problem with him if he could keep his mouth shut about my brother for more than five minutes, but he seemed utterly incapable.

I hope he got used to disappointment.

In frustration I tossed the essay from me. Clearly I wasn't going to get far on it tonight. Instead I tugged out my Potions textbook and flicked to the page holding the recipe we'd worked on today, the Cure for Boils. I read through the original recipe thoughtfully. I pulled my quill from between my teeth and dipped it in my bottle of ink. Very carefully, next to the line about the onions, I scrawled _roll them on a table to get more juice._ Next to the part about horned slugs I wrote _+1 and a dash of ginger to fight nausea._

Satisfied I turned to the next page, clamping my quill between my lips once more and trying to think of something I could do to improve that potion.

* * *

At three-thirty on Thursday evening I headed out onto the grounds with Lily, who'd joined me in the Library to work on a Charms assignment.

"Have you flown much?" I asked her. As the classes got closer most of the first years began to rabbit on about their experiences flying. Malfoy was the worst, telling stories that always seemed to end in him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. From the way he told it, he'd popped out of the womb on a broom.

"Only a little," Lily admitted. "One of my cousins follows Quidditch very closely, he has an open field behind his house where he flies. He's taken me up several times, but I only went up by myself once."

"Was it hard?" I pressed.

Lily shrugged. "I don't really remember. I was young."

"That doesn't help me," I grumbled, thrusting my hands into the pockets of my robes.

Not far from the Forbidden Forest, twenty brooms had been laid out. There were several Slytherins already there, nut not a Gryffindor in sight. I stood next to one broom, Lily taking the one to my right. The broomstick at my feet wasn't terribly impressive. It was made of knobbly wood with some twigs sticking out in all directions. It was a far cry from the broomstick I'd seen on display in Diagon Alley.

"I can't believe they expect us to fly these antiques," Malfoy scoffed. I looked up to see that he'd taken the broom to my left. He was staring at the broomstick down his nose like it was something you might find floating in one of Snape's jars. "They belong in a museum."

"A broom is a broom," I sighed.

Malfoy looked up at me horrified. "Are you serious?" he demanded. "The Nimbus I have at home makes these old Cleansweeps look pathetic!"

I shrugged. I would have argued with him had I known anything about brooms. Thanks to Ron's lecture I knew at least the basic rules and game play of Quidditch, but as for the brooms themselves, I was in the dark on what model was what and which was better. Still, I couldn't imagine there was really much that could be done to a broom to make one model stand out from the other besides simple speed.

And to be perfectly frank, if I was going to fall off of a broom, I'd rather be going five miles an hour than fifty.

"You sit on it, you fly," I shrugged. "What more is there?"

Malfoy looked at me like I'd just announced I planned to leap off the Astronomy Tower.

"You're hopeless," he groaned.

I snorted, but it occurred to me that this was the first remotely civil conversation we'd ever had. And to be honest, it wasn't terrible. Granted, I was sure Malfoy would say something that made me mad soon enough, but for know he almost seemed like a decent human being. Maybe there was an actual personality under all that bigotry and blonde hair.

"Ready, mate?" Zambini asked, claiming the broom on Malfoy's other side and clapping the blonde on the shoulder.

"This'll be easy," Malfoy said smugly.

The Gryffindors came down the lawn then, claiming the free brooms. Harry took the one across from me, greeting me with a smile. Ron was to one side of him, Dean on the other.

"Lorena," Ron greeted a little uncertainly. He seemed like he wasn't sure if he should be saying hi or trying to hex me. I gave him a small smile and a "Ron" in return.

Next to me, Malfoy opened his mouth. "I bet these old brooms look like a Nimbus to you, eh Weasley? When was the last time your family got a new broom? When the Moontrimmer came out?"

Ron's ears went pink. "Shove off, Malfoy," he ground out.

Madam Hooch appeared then. She was dressed in Quidditch robes, with close-cropped silver hair and hawkish yellow eyes. She strode down the line of brooms confidently and announced, "Well, what are you all waiting for? Stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Those who hadn't yet claimed a broomstick hastily found one that was free, some of them looking nervous. I saw Hermione down the row whispering to herself frantically under her breath. I assumed she was reciting facts about broomsticks. Neville was actually white with fear and, to my surprise, so was Tracey.

"Stick your right hand over your broom and say up!" Madam Hooch instructed. She demonstrated, her broom leaping into her hand at her command. We all thrust out our hands and called "Up!"

I was surprised when my broom leaped into my hand almost like a puppy eager to greet its master coming home from a long day. It smacked into my palm with enough force to make it tingle a bit. Looking across the aisle, I saw that Harry's broom was in his hand as well. He caught my eye and we exchanged smiles. I saw Neville whimpering the command over and over, his broom remaining resolutely still at his feet. Hermione Granger was acting like she was trying to get a particularly unruly student to pay attention to a lecture, her broom flopping half-heartedly on the ground.

"Not bad." Malfoy was lazily holding his own broom, smirking at me. "Maybe you'll be decent at this."

"Your faith in me gives me strength," I deadpanned. I would have taken the compliment, had he not tacked on that little patronizing comment to the end.

"How'd you do that?" Lily hissed from next to me. I looked over at her. Her broom looked like it was trying to break dance.

I would have helped her had I had any idea why my broom decided to listen to me. I thought it might have something to do with whether or not you were afraid, like with animals. I noticed that the ones who seemed to be having the most trouble were the ones who looked about to wet themselves. But I was also a little nervous to get up in the air, so I couldn't say for sure.

"I just told it 'up' and expected it to do it," I said with a shrug. "Sorry."

Lily gave her broom a dark look and continued to command it. It took a few more tries, but the eventually got her broom to get close enough to her hand that she snatched it out of the air. She played it off like nothing, but I smirked to myself as she got away with cheating.

"Now that you've got your broom, grip it firmly," Madam Hooch explained. "We don't want anyone sliding off the end." She held out her own broom and showed us all her grip, describing it in detail. I followed her instructions, holding on not too far forward and not too far back.

She made her way down the rows, correcting grips here and there. She had to spend several minutes getting Neville's hands right. I smiled to myself as she gave Bulstrode a speech about not throttling her broom when she gripped it. When she got to Malfoy, she examined his grip for only a second before shaking her head.

"No, no! Like this!" She grabbed his hands and adjusted them on the handle. Malfoy looked indignant.

"I've been flying this way for years!"

"Well, then you've been doing it wrong for years," Hooch shrugged before moving on to me. She slightly adjusted the way my fingers wrapped around the handle, but other than that I was apparently doing fine. While she was doing that I watched as Harry and Ron doubled over with silent fits of laughter at the insulted expression on Malfoy's face. It was pretty funny after all of his bragging.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed, lifting her whistle. "Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle. Three… two…"

Neville was clearly nervous, because he kicked off before the whistle sounded. He gave a little yelp as he shot up like a cork from a bottle.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.

"Down, down!" Neville frantically cried as he continued to rise. We all watched as he lost his grip, slipped sideways, and

WHAM!

Neville hit the ground with a thud and a crack. His broomstick was still floating lazily in the air, drifting absently towards the Forbidden Forest. Madam Hooch hustled forwards and bent over Neville, her face as white as his. For good reason too. If Neville died on her watch it definitely wouldn't do much for her job.

"Broken wrist," she diagnosed. "Come boy, it's alright. Up you get." She lifted a shaking Neville to his feet, staring down the rest of us. "None of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital Wing! If I see a single broom in the air the person riding it will be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch! Come on, dear," she added to Neville, hustling him back towards the school.

The moment they were out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter. I scowled at him. There was the regular, jerk Malfoy, right on schedule.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" he cackled. Several of the Slytherin's joined in. I could only imagine that they'd never broken bones before. I'd only broken a nose, but it had hurt like nothing else. I could only imagine how much pain Neville was in.

The ability to laugh when another person was in physical pain was a sick one. To be laughed at while you licked your wounds was about the most mocking thing that could possibly happen to you. It said that someone knew you were hurt, but didn't care enough about you to help you. Instead your pain as you tried to suppress it and show a brave face caused them amusement. As if they were so far removed from you that the idea of you in pain didn't even register as being more than a joke to them.

I had been in that position entirely too many times to simply brush that off as Malfoy being Malfoy.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati snapped.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Parkinson mocked. "I never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati!"

"Look!" Malfoy darted forward, picking up something sparkling in the grass. It was a glass orb swirling with grayish smoke. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!"

"Give it here Malfoy."

Harry had spoken quietly but commandingly. Everyone immediately fell silent, looking at him in surprise. Even I was a little surprised. Harry had a backbone, but I'd rarely ever seen it used. But now he was looking at Malfoy coldly, daring him to argue.

Malfoy smiled at him nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. How about… up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry shouted, taking a swipe for Malfoy's hand. Malfoy swung a leg over his broomstick and shot up into the sky. I raised an eyebrow. Id' assumed Malfoy had been lying, but he was actually a decent flyer. He made it look easy as he soared up level with the tops of the trees.

"Come and get it Potter!" he taunted.

Harry reached for his broom.

"No!" Hermione shouted, horrified. "You heard what Madam Hooch said! You'll get us in trouble!"

Harry ignored her, kicking off into the sky. He seemed to direct the broom as easily as Malfoy had, rising high with the wind whipping his hair back from his face. A few girls gave admiring gasps and Ron let out a loud whoop.

Harry made it look so easy, so effortless… so _fun._ Suddenly my fears were gone and all I wanted to do was join him up in the sky with the wind in my hair. I clenched my broom tighter, adjusting my grip and slinging a leg over.

"Potter, no, we've already got one idiot in the air!" Daphne hissed at me. I ignored her, kicking off.

The initial feeling of going weightless took me by surprise. But the wind in my face slapped me back to awareness and I was suddenly intimately aware of how the broom moved at my direction. When I tugged it up, it went up. When I directed it left, it went left. I smiled widely. This was simple! What had I been so afraid of? I could do this!

Malfoy looked considerably less confident as I came to Harry's side. Harry gave me a brief glance, looking grateful for my support.

"Give it here Malfoy or I'll knock you off your broom!" Harry shouted.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy retorted, but he looked more unsure than he had been before now that he was outnumbered.

Harry shot forwards for Malfoy, who barely managed to dodge in time. Malfoy barely dodged out of the way and Harry flew past him, wheeling around. Malfoy was now trapped between the pair of us, eyes flicking between us both uncertainly.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save you Malfoy!" Harry called to him.

Malfoy seemed to have realized that. He hurled the orb as hard as he could, crying, "Catch it if you can then!"

Harry dove for the ball. Malfoy turned to look at me, his smirk starting to come back.

"You won't try anything, Potter," he said.

"You don't seem sure," I noted. "And you shouldn't be."

I shot towards Malfoy just like Harry had. Malfoy's widened in shock and he hastily directed his broom a few feet to the left. I shocked him when I corrected my course so that he was still in my path.

I was aiming for him. At this height I'd calculated that even if I toppled off my broom it probably wouldn't hurt more than getting punched in the stomach by Dudley. That was nothing to sneeze at, but it was something I could handle. Maybe I'd break my nose, but it would hardly be the first time for that.

Malfoy tried to dodge me again. I swung around and grabbed him by the back of the head, knotting my fingers in the gelled strands of his hair. I dove, giving him the options of either having his hair ripped out, falling, or following me. He wisely chose to follow me. We landed just as Harry did, the Remember-all clutched in his fist. My feet connected with the ground and I forced Malfoy's head down. He ate grass while I stood over him.

Malfoy flipped over onto his back, spitting dirt from his mouth and snarling, "Potter, what the hell?"

I just stared down at him, frowning. "You don't laugh when someone's in pain. I don't care who it is. I don't care if it's your worst enemy. Someone's pain should never be the cause of another person's pleasure."

For a moment the crowd around us was silent. I could see a few Slytherins giving me half-hearted glares, like they thought they should be mad at me but they couldn't quite bring themselves to disagree with me. The Gryffindors stared in awe, because I was supposed to be the enemy and I'd just made the target of their rage face-plant into the grass.

"HARRY POTTER!"

We all flinched as McGonagall came striding across the grounds towards us, nearly speechless in shock, glasses flashing.

"Never in all my years – incredibly dangerous, the both of you – might have broken something-"

Parvati spoke up. "It wasn't their fault-"

"Silence, Miss Patil."

"But Malfoy-"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter, come with me. Miss Potter, you will go down to the dungeons and explain exactly what you just did to Professor Snape! And someone get Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing, he might be injured."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle all looked triumphant as Harry and I were escorted past by a furious McGonagall. We split at the oak doors. McGonagall took Harry up the stairs while I headed down into the dungeons.

For the first time, the cool air didn't soothe me. It made my skin feel unbearably hot and sweaty.

What I did was stupid, and I hated myself for it.

I just got so angry. Memories of Harry and I cowering while Dudley's gang laughed at our bruises flashed before my eyes, only to be replaced with Malfoy laughing as Neville sobbed over his broken wrist. I'd been on Neville's side. It was humiliating, and I hated humiliation.

I just reacted without thinking. I had wanted nothing more than to punish Malfoy, to make a lasting impression so that he would never do it again. But in the end he came out on top and I was probably going to get detention for the rest of the year, if I wasn't expelled first.

I felt sick. If I had lost my grip, if Malfoy had slipped… he could have died. I could have been responsible for his death all because I decided it was my job to teach him a lesson instead of leaving it to the actual teachers. A twisting feeling in my gut told me that I would be apologizing. I didn't like the idea, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until I told Malfoy I was sorry for what I'd done, whether he forgave me or not.

Of course, I would only get to apologize if I was still at Hogwarts after this.

I was shaking as I raised my fist to knock on the door to Snape's office.

"Come in," I heard him say. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His office was very similar to his classroom. It was dimly lit and lined with slimy things in jars. In a corner was a cabinet presumably holding potions ingredients for his personal use. Professor Snape himself sat behind his desk grading essays with red ink, looking vaguely surprised to see me.

"Miss Potter. To what do I owe your unannounced visit?"

I was surprised. I would have expected the comment to have some bite to it. If I had been Harry, it definitely would have. Instead, it was just a normal statement. Then I remembered why I was here. Malfoy was one of Snape's favorites for reasons beyond me. When he found out that I almost killed him… well, I doubted he'd be so fond of me after this.

"Professor McGonagall told me to come down here and explain to you what I've done," I said, moving to stand in front of his desk.

Professor Snape sat back in his chair. He set aside his quill and folded his hands. "And what have you done, Miss Potter?" he asked dangerously.

It all spilled out. From Neville's nerves to the look on Malfoy's face when he flipped over, something like a blend of indignity and fear. Professor Snape just sat there and stared at me, listening. When I was finished, I bit my lip and lowered my head, staring at my shoes and tugging my robes tighter around me.

"I'm going to apologize to Malfoy at dinner tonight, sir," I mumbled. "But I expect you'll give me detention or take points from me, too. So what's it going to be?" I winced and waited for Snape to pass judgment. I could take detention. I could even take a loss of points, though the other Slytherins wouldn't be pleased with me. I doubted they were anyway. Malfoy was kind of their king. I just prayed he wouldn't tell me to go pack my trunk.

"Why?"

My head snapped up, looking at Snape uncertainly. "Why? What do you mean by that?"

Snape let out an irritable huff. "Exactly what I asked, Potter. Why did you react so strongly to Malfoy's laughter?"

I sucked in my cheeks. I didn't want to answer that. I didn't want to admit to this man that I'd been on the other side of that laughter, that I'd been a victim and likely would be again. I wanted to impress Snape, and admitting to being used as a punching bag by a Muggle to the head of the most Muggle-hating house wasn't likely to help my case.

"Personal reasons," I finally murmured.

" _What are they?"_ Snape asked dangerously. He wasn't going to let me worm my way out of this. He wanted an answer, and he'd get one. I considered lying, saying I was trying to live up to the Potter name, their Gryffindor legacy. But honesty had been the best answer in the past. I could only pray it would serve me as well now.

So I took a deep breath and started talking. "Because I've been in Longbottom's shoes before, professor." I stayed silent, hoping he would settle for that, but Snape just stared at me, waiting. I continued, "My cousin, Dudley… He's a cruel little brat. His parents never punished him for it, so he hits Harry and I when they're not around. Even when they are around, to be honest, but not as often. He's got these friends who follow him around, and sometimes… sometimes they hit us too, or they hold our arms. And if we ever cried, or asked them to stop, they laughed. It was the worst feeling, a total lack of mercy, like we weren't even human. No one should ever do that to someone else."

I scowled thunderously as all the old wounds gave a throb. The bruises on my cheeks and around my eyes, the fingerprints up and down my arms from where I was held, the spots on my stomach and ribs that had fists and feet burrowed into them.

"And Petunia does nothing about this?" Snape's voice was more dangerous than I'd ever heard before, but I was more startled by the fact that he knew my aunt by her first name.

"You know my aunt?" I asked incredulously.

"That doesn't matter!" Snape snapped viciously, tapping the top of his desk sharply as if to ground himself in the moment, the real reason we were there. But I tucked away that little bit of information to think over later. "You objected to Mr. Malfoy's treatment of Longbottom because you considered it to be immoral?"

I nodded. "That about sums it up, sir."

"I see." Snape nodded to himself. He smirked slightly. "I'm pleased to see so little of your father in you. Surprised… but pleased."

I stared. Snape had to be toying with me. First he said he knew my mother, then he called my aunt by her first name, and now he's bringing up my father? He had to have known them all at some point. I wondered, looking at Snape, if he and my parents had been at Hogwarts together. He looked like he could be around the correct age, maybe a year or two ahead of them.

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked.

"I mean that, were the houses reversed, your father would have played Malfoy's part."

My jaw dropped open. "No!" I said sharply, horrified by the very idea. "That's not possible! Everyone's said that my father was a good man!"

Snape nodded, as if that was to be expected. "And tell me, Miss Potter… how many of those people were not Gryffindors?"

I paused, my mouth opening and closing helplessly. "I… I don't…"

"Exactly," Snape sneered. "While he was thought to be so by his fellow Gryffindors, he was the enemy of any Slytherin who crossed his path, whether they'd done something or not. It was your mother who would have done what you did, tending to someone from a rival house."

I stared. "Sir," I began slowly. "You don't seem surprised, but isn't what I did… well, isn't it rather _Gryffindor?_ Shouldn't I have laughed along with Malfoy and Parkinson?"

Snape scoffed. "Malfoy and Parkinson have come to Slytherin with their minds clouded by the house stereotype. The more time they spend here the more they will understand what it means to be a Slytherin.

"You see, Gryffindors are famous for their chivalry and loyalty _to those they deem worthy_. To those they deem as lacking morals, as… lesser in some way, they can be as cruel as any Slytherins, yet we are known as the house of intolerance."

I stared at Snape. I wasn't quite sure how we'd spiraled off into this lecture on what it meant to be a Slytherin, but at the same time, I was fascinated.

From the time I had been Sorted I had been treated like I was some sort of selfish bottom-feeder by most of the rest of the school. Yet here Snape was telling me that that was far from the truth of my house. And as much as I hated to admit it, I'd been influenced by that kind of talk as well.

In the time I'd been at Hogwarts I had been careful to not make any friends in Slytherin. Why? I expected them to be cruel and wretched people. So when I looked at them, that was all I'd really seen of them. I hadn't paid attention when Zambini helped Daphne out in Transfiguration when she struggled or the way Nott and Malfoy had tripped a third year Gryffindor before he could jinx Tracey.

When I thought about it, I realized. The Slytherins stuck together because they had no choice. No one else in the school was interested in their company. We were all that we had.

"If it's all loyalty… why is there such a difference?" I asked slowly.

"The difference is that we are open about our distaste for certain groups. We state it outright instead of trying to justify it with some sort of moral high ground.

"We are expected to be liars and deceivers when the truth is they are simply honest. Painfully so, at times. The truth is rarely popular or desired, no matter how people might pretend. You will be discriminated against for your house because people will see you as self-serving and arrogant, when the truth is that we Slytherins are more loyal than a Gryffindor… to our own. And we are very selective of who we claim as our own."

"So you're saying that I acted like a true Slytherin?" I said, finally beginning to understand.

"Yes, though those lions will likely take it as an act of defiance against the pit of snakes you've found yourself in." He sneered. "The answer is so much simpler; a defiance against your situation. I doubt you ever thought of Longbottom with any kind of care, did you?"

I paused. No, I hadn't. I hadn't considered the individual Malfoy was laughing at, just that he was. That was what got me going. Slowly I shook my head. Snape nodded.

"As I expected. Now, none of this excuses you from punishment." It seemed he was done being sentimental. "You will serve detention with me tomorrow night scrubbing cauldrons. And you will make your apology to Malfoy. I will be watching to ensure that you do."

"Yes sir," I said, lowering my head. "I will, don't worry."

"Good," Snape said, picking his quill up again. "Then if you're through taking up my time, I have papers to grade."

I smiled slightly. "Of course, sir."

I took my leave of the office. I didn't pay much attention to where I was going, just let my feet carry me as I thought.

For the first time, I felt proud of my house. Since I'd gotten here I'd been ashamed to be a Slytherin. I saw the way the other houses treated us and I had unthinkingly followed them without even bothering to consider that maybe Slytherin wasn't quite what it looked like from the outside. No denying that ambition and self-service were common, but there was more to us that that.

I wasn't proud of myself though. I was ashamed by how I'd reacted without even thinking. I hadn't considered any consequences, I hadn't even tried to think of alternative plans, I had just acted out some kind of silly revenge fantasy that had been swirling in my head for years. And I didn't even act it out on the person I'd always fantasized about. Instead of Dudley face-down on the ground at my feet it was Malfoy who, in hindsight… hadn't really done much to me.

He'd insulted my parents once. I… could forgive that. From what Snape said, I'd been viewing my dad at least with rose-tinted goggles. He'd also insulted my brother. Well, I did that too. And Harry wasn't always in the right, I knew that. It wasn't humanly possible. He wasn't some kind of perfect human. Malfoy was arrogant, that was a big black mark against him, but then… so was I.

I found myself in the owlery. Artemisia fluttered down from her perch by Hedwig and pecked at my earlobe fondly. I smiled, reaching up to ruffle the feathers on her stomach like she liked.

"Artie, I'm an idiot," I announced to her. "I'm a blind, gullible idiot."

Artemisia hooted sympathetically and nosed at my hand for treats.


	9. Duels and Trolls

When I headed into the Great Hall for dinner I wasn't altogether surprised to see Harry frantically waving me over towards the Gryffindor table. I bit my lip, glancing towards the Slytherin table where Malfoy sat. He seemed unharmed, just a little annoyed. I looked up to the head table at Snape, who just stared back, waiting for me to make my move.

Malfoy could wait a moment, I decided. At least until I found out what Harry wanted.

I headed over to the Gryffindor table, pausing behind Harry. Most of the other first years were gathered around, and, to my surprise, they were smiling at me. Most of them had turned their noses up at me during Potions last week, but now they were greeting me as happily as they would a Hufflepuff.

"Rena!" Harry greeted, beaming with delight. He was practically vibrating with excitement, which I thought was rather odd. Hadn't he been hauled off my McGonagall for a scolding? "Have you heard the news?"

"News," I repeated blankly. "I'm going to assume no."

"It's bloody brilliant." Ron was beaming just as wide as Harry.

"Only you can't tell anyone," Harry insisted, keeping his voice low. "Wood wants it kept secret."

I blinked ,still not following. "And who is Wood?"

"He's the Captain of the Gryffindor team!"

"The Quidditch team?" I asked for clarification.

"No, the Gobstones team." Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, the Quidditch team! They're taking me on as Seeker!"

I stared at him incredulously. Harry had broken the rules, risked his neck, almost collided with Malfoy and knocked the pair of them into a fifty foot fall… and he was getting _rewarded?_ And not even rewarded, but _privileged._ First years were normally not allowed onto the team.

And suddenly I was a little angry. I got detention and a guilty conscience; Harry got to play Quidditch and be a popular athlete. Where on earth was the justice in that?

The worst part was that the reason was glaring at me from Harry's forehead. Because he'd killed Voldemort while I presumably cried in our crib. Because he'd survived an unsurvivable curse while I got my face carved into. Because he was the Boy Who Lived and I was just his sister. He got special treatment, and I got the same as everyone else. Not to say that I wanted the special treatment, more that I wanted him to be on my level.

Having watched Harry grow up, I could guarantee there was nothing terribly exciting about him. He had wretched eyesight. He put his pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else. But because he somehow defeated a Dark Lord as a baby – something he couldn't possibly have done consciously considering he was barely a year old – he was somehow above the rest of us.

For the first time since I'd found out where our scars came from… I was a little bitter about it.

"McGonagall saw from her office window," Ron said, looking at Harry proudly.

I swallowed. "That's great!" And it was, really. But it wasn't exactly deserved.

"How'd it go with Snape?" Harry asked, scowling at the mention of his least favorite teacher.

"I have detention tomorrow night."

Ron growled on my behalf and said, "That's not fair, Malfoy had it coming!"

I was suddenly seeing what Snape had talked about. Ron didn't seem to care that I might have killed Malfoy, and neither did Harry. He was the enemy, so devil take him for all they cared. Or did they not see the danger I'd foolishly placed Malfoy in trying to teach him a lesson?

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going to suddenly start cooing over Malfoy. He wasn't innocent in all of this either. But I had done wrong, and even if he didn't feel bad about what happened with Neville, I felt bad about what happened with him. I needed to apologize, both because Snape had ordered me to and because I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until I had.

"Having a last meal before you get back on the train to the Muggles?"

Speak of the devil, or in this case, the dragon, and he shall appear. I turned to see Malfoy approaching with Crabbe and Goyle at his flank.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground with your little friends behind you," Harry said coolly. It was true, although Crabbe and Goyle were anything but little. But they weren't stupid enough to start something in front of the teachers, so they just cracked their knuckles and scowled menacingly.

"I'll take you on anytime," Malfoy snarled. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only, no contact." Harry was silent. Malfoy sneered. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

Ron spoke up, which pretty much confirmed that Harry had no idea what Malfoy was talking about. "Course he has! I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy turned around, sizing up the two boys behind him. "Crabbe," he decided. "Midnight alright? We'll use the trophy room, that's always unlocked." Harry nodded slowly. I could have smacked him. No idea what he was walking into, but he was still going to do it.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath.

"Good. See you at midnight," Malfoy said menacingly. He turned to head for Slytherin table, shooting me a dark look.

"Malfoy ,wait!" I called, following him. He and his goons turned. Crabbe and Goyle stepped closer to me, cracking their knuckles warningly. I held up my hands in the universal gesture for surrender.

"I just want a word," I said, going up on my tiptoes to look at Malfoy over Goyle's shoulder. "I swear, I just want to talk."

"So talk," Malfoy said, scowling at me. I winced.

"Er… privately if you don't mind."

"And how do I know you're not going to try and shove my face into the dirt again?" he sneered.

"Don't you want to know what my punishment is?" I wheedled. Malfoy looked interested. He hesitated for only a moment more before waving his hand dismissively to Crabbe and Goyle. Like good little bodyguards they stepped back and headed to our table, eager to stuff their faces.

"Out here," I said, beckoning Malfoy to the door. He looked suspicious, but he followed me out of the Great Hall. I took shelter in a niche in the wall. Malfoy followed me, still not looking quite sure whether or not I was going to go for his throat.

I rolled my eyes. "Would you stop that? I'm not going to hurt you!"

"How do I know that?" he pointed out snarkily.

"Look, just… listen, okay?" I insisted, hands waving irritably. "I've got detention with Snape tomorrow night, but that's not important. I just offered to tell you that so you'd talk to me."

"You're going to try and kill me."

"No! Well, not today anyway. What I wanted to say is that I'm… I'm sorry," I admitted a little sheepishly. Apologies were not my forte. I'm pretty sure they weren't supposed to include death threats or blackmail, but what did I know?

Malfoy looked skeptical. "You're sorry?" he repeated incredulously.

"I'm sorry," I agreed. It was easier to say the second time. Malfoy stared at me for a moment before his ace suddenly broke into a sneer, like he'd just realized something.

"Yeah right, you're only saying that because Snape made you," he guessed.

"No, I'm not!" I hastened to assure him. "I really am sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did, and I just wanted you to know that I wish I hadn't."

Malfoy scoffed. "You're lying, I know it."

"No, I'm not!" I insisted, starting to get frustrated. "Look… what would convince you? Something I can do or say?"

Now Malfoy looked intrigued. "Something you can do?" He was thoughtful. That wasn't a good sign. "Anything?" he asked slowly. "Even if it's embarrassing?"

I winced. I'd made the offer, too late to pull it back. "Yeah."

Malfoy stared at me, contemplating. I shifted uncomfortably under his stormy grey eyes, the anxiety building the longer he stared. What would he make me do? Break into an office? Steal something from one of the teachers? Strip naked and run around the Common Room? Cheer for Gryffindor at the first Quidditch game? That would definitely get me pummeled.

"Show me your scar."

I paled. He'd gone right for the throat on that one. Everyone knew that I didn't show my scar, period, the end. He was asking me to do something he knew I was utterly against to prove that I wasn't lying. It was the only line he could think of that I resolutely hadn't crossed.

We hadn't had our Potions class yet, so I hadn't worn my hair back. Soon my hiding of my scar would lose all meaning anyway, two houses worth of Potions students would have seen it. But before it became nothing special, I could do this to prove to Malfoy that I was genuinely sorry.

"Okay."

Malfoy blinked. Obviously he hadn't expected me to agree. "Okay?" he repeated incredulously.

"Okay," I nodded, and turned my head so that my left cheek was facing him. I took a deep breath, reached up, and brushed my hair behind my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Malfoy staring in awe, eyes tracing the line like so many people had traced Harry's scar. I watched his fingers twitched and I realized that he wanted to touch it too.

I grit my teeth. If he asked, I didn't know what I'd do. Attacking him in the middle of apologizing for attacking him wasn't the best way to go, I supposed. But I hadn't ever let anyone but Harry touch my scar. The idea of Malfoy being the first to do so made me feel off balance and unsettled.

Thank Merlin, he didn't ask. He just clenched his fingers into a fist and nodded sharply.

"You're telling the truth," he observed. Satisfied that he'd looked his fill, I dragged my hair back in front of my face and made sure it covered my cheek. Malfoy watched in amusement.

"What's the point now that I've seen it?"

"Because there's a big difference between one person and the whole school," I said shortly, tugging on the ends of my hair to make sure it was in place.

"I don't know why you hide it anyway, it's not that impressive," Malfoy scoffed, but I could see by the way his eyes lingered on my cheek that he was still interested.

He was right. Compared to what it used to be, it wasn't that bad. I remember when I was younger and it was raised, ropy, pinkish-purple scar tissue. It had healed some over the years. It wasn't as raised as it used to be, and the color was closer to skin tone. I remember when I was little Aunt Petunia used to hunt me down before bed every night and slather it in Vitamin E oil trying to get it to go away. However, it was soon proved that only time was going to do anything for it, so she gave up.

"It's not supposed to be impressive," I replied, then turned on my heel and stalked away.

* * *

I lay in bed staring at the swaying orbs of light that were the lanterns hanging overhead. I couldn't help myself. Ever since I'd laid down for the night, intending to pass right out and wake up early to finish my Charms essay, I had been wide-awake. I was wondering what Harry and Ron were doing, if they'd actually gone to the trophy room. Something horrible told me that they probably had.

"Idiots depriving me of sleep," I growled and reached for my glasses, sliding them onto my face. I threw back my blankets and peeked out from the curtains around my bed. I could hear Bulstrode's distinctive snore and the breathy little huffs of Lily. They were the only ones that actually snored, so I would just have to hope my three other dorm mates were passed out as well.

I crept out from the dorm, leaving the door cracked slightly behind me so that I wouldn't risk making noise whenever I returned. I stepped into the Common Room, glancing around and hoping there was no one there to see me in my pajamas.

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Zambini, and Parkinson were all curled up on the chairs around the fireplace. I blinked, and then gave myself a hearty mental facepalm. Of course Malfoy didn't go. He didn't _have_ to go and risk himself when all he had to do was drop a tip to Filch that someone was planning to sneak out and let the caretaker do the rest.

"Ah, Potter!" Zambini called in greeting. "Still up?"

"Couldn't sleep," I said, slowly stepping closer. Zambini and Malfoy had taken up the couch, with Parkinson curled up in the empty space by Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle's hulking forms were taking up two arm chairs. Nott was sitting on the arm of Goyle's chair, staring into the fire, looking like he didn't quite want to be there.

They looked like an assemblage of young nobles, really, despite the fact that Pansy was in her pink nightie and the boys were wearing silk pajama sets. To some degree, they were. I felt suddenly underdressed in front of them in my hand-me-down repurposed pajamas, conscious of the ratty hem that had been resewn twice and the small stain on my left thigh from a bit of rogue spaghetti sauce two years ago. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and scowled at them all, trying to seem unaffected.

"Potter," Parkinson sneered at me. "Still wearing those rags."

"Comfortable," I replied easily, sitting on the arm of the couch by Zambini. He greeted me with a friendly smile as I leaned my elbow on the back of the couch and rested my chin in my palm.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming out here after what you did to Malfoy." Parkinson glared at me.

"We worked that out. Right Malfoy?" I said, staring at him intently and daring him to lie. He snorted.

"Right, Potter, no need to death glare at me."

"Right. So, what're we talking about?"

"Whether or not Potter and Weasley were actually stupid enough to go to the duel tonight," Malfoy snickered.

"What do you think?" Zambini asked, looking up at me. "Did he go or not?"

"Oh, he went." Of that I had no doubt. "You challenged him. I doubt it even occurred to him that you'd bow out. It's not… _chivalrous."_ I shook my head.

"Shouldn't you go be a dutiful sister and help him sneak back into Gryffindor Tower?" Zambini said, poking my knee.

I sighed and looked at the clock. It was past midnight now. Harry and Ron would likely have realized that Malfoy wasn't going to show and were heading back to their beds as sneakily as possible. There was no telling quite where they would be between the trophy room and the tower. I'd have to start at the trophy room and work my way along until I hit the tower. By that point they might already be in bed, or they might have ducked into any classroom along the way to keep out of sight. And besides, three people were easier to spot than two.

That, and I'd have to creep back the whole length of the castle again after I escorted them to their Common Room. To be honest, I didn't want to risk getting a detention so quickly after my first one. I'd already backed Harry up once today and look where it got me. I wasn't going to do it again based on a duel he walked into blind.

"No," I finally said. "He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"Not very sisterly of you," Malfoy observed.

"I'm not his babysitter," I huffed. "I already got one detention today, I'm not interested in another one."

"Snape won't be too bad." I was surprised that Nott was speaking up. He was quiet, hanging out on the fringes. He seemed perfectly content by himself. "You're a Slytherin and he likes you. At worst you'll be scrubbing cauldrons."

Malfoy scoffed. "Servant's work."

Privately, I was amused. Scrubbing cauldrons, that was the worst-case scenario? I scrubbed pots every night after dinner back at Privet Drive. The dishes were my responsibility, usually split with Harry. I washed, he dried. It I was going to get detention in the future, I'd have to make sure it was with Snape.

"I don't mind cleaning," I said absently, not really thinking.

"Really?" Parkinson turned up her nose. "Must come from living with Muggles. I bet their house was filthy."

"Actually they insisted it be spotless." I was less defending the Dursleys and more Muggles in general. "Muggles take just as much pride in their homes as wizards do."

"As some wizards, maybe," Malfoy snorted. "Maybe they should move into the Weasley's shack? They could probably do with the rent money."

Parkinson gave a cackle. Crabbe and Goyle let out low rumbles of laughter. Zambini smirked and even Nott looked faintly amused. I had no idea where the Weasley's lived, so I couldn't say anything. I kept quiet, staring into the crackling flames. Dimly I heard the huge clock chime one in the morning. I wondered if Harry and Ron were back in their dorms yet.

Nott stood up, heading for his dorms.

"Where're you going?" Parkinson asked in surprise. Nott shrugged.

"It's late. We've got Potions tomorrow." That was all he said before continuing to troop off.

"He's got a point," Zambini said, giving a stretch. He nearly nailed me in the nose. "Whoops, sorry Potter. I've still got some Charms homework to do as well."

"We should all turn in," Malfoy said, standing up. Parkinson was quick to leap to her feet.

"Goodnight Malfoy," she chirped. Malfoy looked at her askance.

"Er, night Parkinson."

Parkinson was beaming as she trotted off to our dorm. I caught Zambini's eye and we both smothered chuckles.

"Night all," I called, and got a chorus of "Night Potter" in reply. I gave a yawn as I slid off the arm of the couch, trailing after Parkinson. I slid happily back into my bed, mind more at ease than it had been before I got up.

It was odd to think that was my first real conversation with my year mates. The first civil one, anyway. I had no doubts that we'd snipe at each other until the day we died – it seemed like we all had that sort of personality. But I felt more comfortable with them after talking to Snape, like I could conceivably make friends with some of them. I doubted Parkinson and I would ever be bosom buddies, and until Malfoy laid off my brother we'd always butt heads, but at least Zambini seemed nice, and so did Nott, even if he was a bit of a loner.

I sighed in contentment and nuzzled into my pillow, closing my eyes to grab what sleep I could.

* * *

Lily and I walked into Potions the next day chatting about breakfast.

"I wonder what was in that parcel your brother got," she wondered aloud. "Do you know? Who sent it?"

I assumed it was a broom, considering he'd need something better than the school brooms to be any good on the Quidditch team. Harry had asked me to keep that a secret though, so I kept my mouth shut about my theory. As for the second question… I honestly didn't know who would buy him a broom.

"No idea," I replied vaguely, dragging out my textbook and flipping through it absently. "I wonder what we're brewing today."

"I dunno," Lily said. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Hey, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but… aren't you going to work with your brother?"

I shook my head. "Nah. House loyalty. I work with him Gryffindor gets points off of my potions." I grinned cheekily. Lily laughed.

"Good thinking. I was wondering, how'd you think of using the-"

There was a loud bang from the table next to us. Malfoy had slammed down his book bag and flopped irritably into his chair, glaring at the air in front of him. Crabbe and Goyle hustled to claim seats next to him, looking like he'd totally blown past them as he stalked into the dungeon.

"Keep making that expression your face'll freeze that way," I commented.

"Better than your face, Potter," Malfoy grunted. I wasn't offended. It seemed like this was just the way we Slytherins communicated. "Did you know?" he demanded.

I stared. "Did I know what, Malfoy? That's a pretty open question. If you're asking if I knew you're a prat, the answer is yes."

"Ha ha." He gave me a dark look. "I meant about the broomstick. What kind of special circumstances let Potter have a broomstick when the rest of us first years aren't allowed? A Nimbus Two-Thousand," he added angrily.

"I'd say it's got something to do with that scar on his face, mate," Zambini said, sliding into a seat across from Malfoy. "Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, just happened to overhear. So it's Two-Thousand?"

"Yeah," Malfoy nodded irritably.

I asked uncertainly, "Is that good?"

Malfoy looked heavenward, like he was praying for the patience to deal with me. "It's only the _best broom on the market,_ Potter. Do try to keep up."

"So sorry," I apologized sarcastically.

"Even I knew that, Potter," Lily chuckled.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed, throwing up my hands.

"Leave her alone, she was raised by Muggles," Nott said, sliding into the seat near Lily.

"Thank you!" I said, giving Nott a grateful look. "Nott, you're my favorite."

Nott looked mildly surprised. "Yay?" he said uncertainly.

"Yes, yay," I confirmed.

"Rena!"

I turned around to see Harry entering the room with Ron, Hermione dogging their heels and looking angry. Neville looked pale. I'd been pleased to see Harry and Ron at breakfast, looking tired by pleased, so I assumed they'd gotten back to the Common Room alright.

He was looking at me uncertainly, gesturing for me to take the open seat next to him among the Gryffindors. Ron nodded to me in greeting.

"Sorry, brother dear," I said, staying resolutely where I was. "Snape's requested I stick with the Slytherins so that any points I earn don't get shared with Gryffindor."

I had planned this carefully. If I outright told Harry I was trying to show some house solidarity he'd be offended and hurt. He'd take it personally. By saying it was Snape's idea – which it was, but it was more of a suggestion that I went along with – I was taking the pressure off of me and passing it onto Snape. He wouldn't care and I figured Harry would be happy to have another reason to hate the professor.

"Greasy git," Ron grumbled. "Come on Rena, he can't do much to you. Just stay with us."

"Hasn't she already said she's not interested, Weasel?" Malfoy called.

"She can speak for herself," Harry snapped.

"She can," I agreed, annoyed. "She's also sitting right here, and doesn't appreciate being talked about like she's six. This isn't a custody battle, kids, I pick where I go. I'm experimenting with house pride."

Harry gave me a reproachful look. "Fine, if that's the way you want it."

He turned his back on me, determinedly engaging Ron in a conversation. I stared at the back of his head incredulously.

"Git," I hissed. "It's not like I just told him I never wanted to see him again!"

"Just ignore him," Lily advised.

"You should be sitting with us anyway," Daphne sniffed. "It's where you belong."

That was when Snape made his signature sweeping entry, black robes billowing behind him like bat wings. He moved to the front of the room.

"I will allow you to work in threes today for the Forgetfulness Potion. This recipe can be found in your copy of _Magical Drafts & Potions._ This potion is one that could be on the exam, so I'd advise you to pay careful attention to the instructions."

Immediately I turned my head and sure enough, Hermione had her nose practically pressed into the pages of the book, salivating over every word.

"Want to work together?" Lily asked me as Parkinson clung to Malfoy and Zambini. Crabbe and Goyle got Bulstrode, which should make for an interesting, if incorrect, potion.

"Sure," I agreed. "Nott? Want to join?" I asked. He nodded and pulled out his potions kit.

"Right, so here's the recipe," Lily said, pointing to her book as Nott readied our cauldron.

From my pocket, I pulled out a hair tie I'd stolen from Tracey this morning, seeing as I didn't actually own one. I reached around and grabbed my hair, pulling it into a long ponytail behind my back. I leaned over to look at the recipe, mind already working to try and see what could be done with this one. I considered adding an extra drop of Lethe River Water, but to do that I'd have to let it sit for a while longer, and then we'd have to lose one sprig of valerian… But if I got a little creative with the stirring…

"Uh… Potter?"

I looked up. Most of the Slytherins were staring at my cheek, and even a couple Gryffindors had noticed.

"Yeah?" I asked Daphne, who looked surprised.

"You're wearing you're hair back," she observed uncertainly.

"Yeah," I nodded slowly.

"… Care to explain why?"

"Don't wanna get my hair in the potion," I said with a shrug.

"Okay," Lily said slowly. "That's neat."

I sighed and looked back at the book, confirming my plans. I stayed still for a moment, letting everyone get a good look, hoping that would satisfy them. Soon enough, I saw Daphne smack Tracey and gesture for them to get back to their potion. Zambini looked unconcerned, and Nott couldn't care less either, it seemed. He was busy lighting the fire.

"M'kay, let's do this," I said, reaching for the water.

"It says two drops," Lily read. I tilted the bottle. We all watched as the two drops went in, followed by a third.

"What're you doing?" Nott snatched the bottle from me.

"Trust me," I urged. "I know what I'm doing. I think I can get the potion to take effect more quickly with a couple of tweaks."

Lily and Nott exchanged uncertain looks. After all, their grades were riding on me not blowing us all up.

"She did do well with the boils potion," Lily recalled. Nott nodded.

"Alright," he allowed. "But if I fail this potion because of you I'll feed it to you."

"Duly noted," I chuckled, and added a valerian sprig.

"It says add another," Lily said, frowning at the textbook. I gave her a pointed look.

"Didn't we just do this?"

She flushed. "Right."

"What now?" Nott asked, lifting his stirring rod. I told him the proper way to stir. Then we had to let it sit for a while. I went about preparing the mixture of mistletoe berries and powder we'd need. Instead of two measures of powder I only used one, and added in an extra berry, crushing it all into a slightly gritty paste.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lily said, still looking a little hesitant.

"So do I," I admitted. "I'd really hate to blow us all up."

"That wouldn't be an issue if you followed directions," Daphne pointed out as she stirred her own potion.

I scoffed. "What's the point in that? I know that works. I'm _experimenting."_

When the potion had finished simmering, it was precisely the same shade of cerulean blue that was described in the book. I added two pinches of the berry slurry to the cauldron, stirred a little, and waited. The potion darkened to a rich reddish-brown and gave off a fog-like steam that hovered over the surface.

"It's perfect!" Lily praised, awed. "How'd you know to do all that?"

I shrugged. "The ingredients do different things, it's about finding the right balance to keep the potion's purpose while changing the aspect you want to improve. It's kind of fun," I admitted, reaching into my bag and pulling out my book, a quill, and my inkwell. I dipped my quill into it, scribbling the additions I'd made to the potion into my textbook. I heard Snape's robes swish to a stop behind me, observing what I was writing down.

"Well done, Miss Potter," he said before moving on to Malfoy's group. He advised them to stir a little more before moving onto the cauldron where Bulstrode looked ready to strangle Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's two sprigs, not one!" she raged at them. "Can't you idiots do anything right?"

Snape turned up his nose at the cauldron of slowly-bubbling purple sludge. "This potion is beyond saving," he said coldly, and Vanished it with a flick of his wand. "Do better next time."

"Yes sir," Bulstrode said, still scowling furiously at Crabbe and Goyle.

We all wrapped up our potions. Neville, miraculously, managed to get through the lesson without causing major destruction of property, which probably had something to do with the fact that Hermione was working with him today. I bottled a bit of our potion and took it up to Snape's desk for grading, passing it to him with a smile. He took it with a nod and set it with the others.

I headed back to my group, helping Nott pack up some of his ingredients.

"Can I see your textbook?" Lily asked. "I want to write down what you did, since this might be on the exams."

"Sure," I approved. "Go ahead."

"Can we look too?" Daphne asked curiously. "I'm not sure what we did wrong, but it didn't look quite right by the end."

"I know what I did wrong," Bulstrode said, glaring at Crabbe and Goyle.

"You can all look," I said with a snort.

"That's kind of you," Nott observed. I shrugged.

I didn't really see it as kind. In fact, it wasn't even totally unselfish. It was a deal. I gave them some help with their class work, they'd owe me an assist somewhere down the line, be it copying an essay or giving me answers to a test. That was how it seemed to work in my house, and exchange of favors to everyone's benefit.

And I kind of liked it. It was simple and honorable. I helped you and you owed me. Somewhere down the line I could call in a favor. It was almost a relief knowing that if I ever had trouble on an assignment I now had someone to help me who was good in the subject no matter what said subject was. And of course they understood that if they made notes from my book they were signing up to owe me.

I noticed that Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, and Bulstrode didn't take a peek. Parkinson was too proud, Malfoy was good enough as it was, Goyle and Crabbe probably weren't bright enough to realize it would help them, and Bulstrode was probably blaming her failure purely on them. To my surprise, Nott didn't look either, but he was pretty good at potions to begin with too.

A cluster started up around my textbook as everyone quickly scribbled down my notes. I observed it with a chuckle as I heaved my book bag into my chair and checked that I had my books for my next class.

"Rena?"

I turned around, facing Harry in surprise. He was fiddling with the strap of his bag and shooting glares at any Slytherin who stared.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Can I have a word?"

"Sure," I said with a shrug.

"I'll save you a seat," Lily promised as the Slytherins headed to lunch. I tugged Harry out of the classroom and into the hallway, wondering what on earth he wanted to talk to me about. There was no way he was that offended by my sitting with the-

"Why'd you sit with them?"

I blinked. Apparently he was. "Uhm… I wanted to?" I began uncertainly.

Harry shook his head. "But you don't _have_ to, you know. I'm there, and Ron. We'd work with you. After what you did for Neville, most of the Gryffindors seem to be okay with you, so no one would have a problem with it."

I could have said that the Slytherins most definitely would have a problem with it, but it seemed that they didn't count in his book. And it seemed Snape was right. The Gryffindors seemed to have taken my actions during flying lessons as some grand gesture of honor when really it was a selfish, petty desire for revenge on someone who wasn't even there.

"Harry," I began slowly. "I know you're there. But I wanted to work with my house mates. What's wrong with that?"

"They're Slytherins," Harry said as if it should be obvious. I stared.

"They're not that terrible, Harry," I huffed. "It's not like we're down in the dungeons skinning cats every night. Only Tuesdays and special occasions…"

Harry scowled. "It's not funny."

I smiled slightly. "It is a little. Come on Harry, it's nothing personal. I'm just trying something new."

"Like this?" Harry reached out, tapping my exposed cheek. "You've only ever worn your hair back if Aunt Petunia made you, and now you're suddenly walking around like this?"

I shrugged. I wasn't as confident in my choice to wear my hair back as I appeared, but it wasn't quite the horror show I had expected. Aside from the staring, no one was doing much. Unlike the random, bold people on the street, they all knew where my scar came from, and that was the big question most people asked.

"When Snape held me back that first day-"

"Snape!" Harry spat. "Is he making you do this?"

I snorted. "Harry, Professor Snape doesn't care how I wear my hair outside of his class. He only pointed out that in his class it's a bit of a safety hazard-"

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered.

"He is right!" I insisted. "Open flames and hair that can't be controlled aren't best friends. He's just trying to cover his butt. If something happened to me in his class it'd be on him," I tried to cover. The truth was, while I assume that had occurred to Snape, when he gave me the advice I almost felt like he was warning me for my benefit, not his.

"So? Let him get in trouble," Harry grumbled.

I gaped. "Yeah, let him get in trouble… by what, intentionally setting my head on fire? Glad to know where your priorities are, brother-mine," I said shortly. Harry winced. I only called him that when I was genuinely mad at him.

"Come on, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Whatever. I'm hungry, I'm going to the Great Hall," I huffed, and stormed off. I was in no mood to go to lunch, so instead I took shelter in the library, hiding by one of the windows and staring out over the grounds, scowling viciously at anyone who came too close and generally being a brat.

* * *

"You've been in a right snit ever since your brother pulled you aside after Potions," Daphne observed, sticking up her nose. "Stop it, Potter, it's not attractive."

"Your scowl is putting me off my pumpkin soup," Malfoy added with a sneer.

"Do us all a favor and try to drown yourself in it, snow cone," I grumbled, taking a vicious bite out of a bat-shaped roll.

It was the Halloween feast, and the Great Hall was decorated to the nines. Thousands of live bats fluttered overhead along with levitating jack-o-lanterns that grinned down at us. There was more food than I'd seen since the beginning of term, a lot of it shaped or colored to match the holiday.

While at first the decorations had brightened my mood, I was fast spiraling back into it. It seemed I was only just now realizing how judgmental Harry could be. It seemed like he'd decided to hate my house and our head with a passion I thought should only be reserved for people like the Dursleys. Part of me was wondering if he was going to start lumping me in with 'those snakes.' It was a great fear of mine, and of course, instead of actually talking to Harry about my concerns, I was keeping them bottled up and lashing out at anyone who tried to speak to me.

In true Lorena style.

"Whoo hoo!" Zambini whistled. "The ice queen cometh!"

"What did you just call me?" Malfoy asked incredulously. He looked like he couldn't decide whether to be offended or amused.

"Snow cone," I repeated slowly. He stared.

"What's that?" Lily asked curiously. I stared back at them.

"Seriously?" I demanded. "Crushed ice, comes in a paper cone, sometimes has flavored syrups on it?" Blank faces, all of them. I threw up my hands. "Hopeless!"

"What's got your panties in a wad, Potter?" Parkinson demanded. "You're being a brat!"

"My brother," I said darkly, casting a glare towards the Gryffindor table, "is being an idiot."

Malfoy scoffed. "What's new?"

"Watch it, albino."

"Oi, you said it, I just agreed!" he protested.

"He's _my_ brother," I said slowly. _"I_ can insult him. You can't."

Malfoy gaped at me. Zambini clapped him on the back supportively. "Never try to understand girls," he advised. "That's how people go crazy."

"She's the crazy one," Malfoy muttered spitefully, taking a bite of his soup.

I opened my mouth to respond, only for the Professor Quirrell to suddenly come racing down the aisle between tables, turban askew and terror written on his face. The Hall went silent as he staggered up to Dumbledore.

"Troll… In the dungeon…" he gasped. "Thought you ought to know…" He toppled over, unconscious.

The Hall was thrown into an uproar. I saw Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe clutching each other and screaming over at the Ravenclaw table, which I thought was vastly overdramatic. A couple of younger Hufflepuffs were crying. I stayed stony-faced.

This was far from good, but it could be worse. For example, we could have not known, and the troll might have charged into the Great Hall and caught us all unawares. Or one lone student trying to return to their dorms early might have been caught by it. Maybe it was because I wasn't quite sure what a troll was that I wasn't terribly concerned, but either way, at least I wasn't a screaming wreck.

Dumbledore's wand let of a series of purple firecrackers. The Hall fell silent, everyone staring at him and waiting for directions.

"Prefects," he ordered, "lead your students back to their dormitories immediately. Teachers, follow me to the dungeons."

"Alright, you lot, stay together, stay close, stay quiet."

Amelie was on her feet, looking grim. I saw her wand clenched in her hands as her partner Douglas stood up and added, "If you've got family members in other houses, I don't care. Stay with us, we'll try and find out if they got back alright later. We're in the dungeons. We're in the most danger. Now come on."

"He's terrible at pep talks," Daphne muttered, giving Douglas a less-than-impressed look as we all got up and formed into a long, jagged line, following our prefects as they led us down to the dungeons. I could see Percy ordering the Gryffindors into line, Ron and Harry squished next to each other. Gryffindor Tower was about as far from the dungeons as you could get, so he should be okay.

"Do you think it's still in the dungeons?" Parkinson asked, white-faced with fear.

"Even if it is, I doubt one troll could take the entirety of Slytherin house," I said reasonably. I slid my hand in to my robe and clutched my wand tightly.

I was good at magic. Like, really good. I think it came from all the times I'd unconsciously done magic as a kid. I was aware of the feeling that came when you did magic and how it moved as you directed it. Whatever it was, I was usually able to get spells pretty quickly. I was one of the first in our year to turn my matchstick into a needle and I'd managed to levitate a feather in Flitwick's class on my first try.

But sadly, my knowledge of defensive and combative spells was lacking. Not only was I just a first year, but Quirrell was a joke as a teacher. He usually set us taking notes or reading chapters, we rarely ever practiced how to take on the dangerous creatures we talked about, just wrote essays on the theory. I wasn't confident I'd be any help in a fight if it came down to that, but I had faith in some of our older students.

I blinked as I felt a hand slide into mine. I stared at Lily incredulously, surprised by how stressed she looked.

"Do you mind?" she asked, looking like she desperately hoped the answer was no.

I shook my head but withdrew my hand from hers. For a moment she looked crushed, then I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and tugged her against my side.

"We'll be okay," I assured her, massaging her shoulder comfortingly. Lily gave me a weak nod and managed a wavering smile.

"Draco, I'm scared," Parkinson cooed at him, pressing against his side. Clearly, she'd seen me and Lily and was hoping to cozy up to Malfoy.

"Then get Potter to hold you," Malfoy snapped, eyes darting everywhere like he expected the troll to suddenly drop from the ceiling or something. "I'm not doing it."

Parkinson pouted and withdrew.

We made it to the Common Room without incident. The older years quickly claimed the chairs around the fireplace, talking in hushed voices and theorizing about how the troll might have gotten in. We first years set up camp in one of the tables where we did homework, dragging enough chairs around them so that we could all sit.

"Get it together, Moon," Bulstrode snapped. Lily was still shaking slightly, so I still had my arm around her comfortingly. "You look like a Hufflepuff."

Lily flushed in embarrassment.

"Shove off, Bulstrode, she's scared," I snapped at her, rubbing Lily's back comfortingly. "I seem to recall you nearly wetting yourself when Quirrell staggered in."

Bulstrode scowled at me but said nothing.

"I wonder how that thing got in," Zambini mused.

"Trolls are too stupid for it to just have wandered in," Malfoy nodded.

"Do you think it came out of the Forest?" Nott guessed. "I dunno, do they keep them in there?"

"If it came from the Forest, Hagrid would have known," I disagreed, shaking my head. "He knows everything that goes on out there."

"How would you know?" Bulstrode glared.

"Because I talk to him," I said loftily. "That's why I know about the centaur politics and you don't."

"You don't think someone _let_ it in, right?" Tracey asked fearfully.

"Those Weasley twins would think it was a grand joke, sending a troll down to our dungeons," Malfoy spat out. "Maybe it's a cousin of theirs."

"Fred and George and pranksters, sure, but people don't get hurt unless they deserve it," I countered. "And play nice, Malfoy."

"But if it didn't wander in, someone must have snuck it in," Lily reasoned. "Who would _do_ something like that?"

I bit my lip thoughtfully, trying to think. It was a lot of trouble to go through for a laugh, and something that could potentially end in people dead or injured. No, this wasn't some kind of practical joke gone wrong. Then that begged the question – why do it? Why let a troll in? What would that accomplish?

Well, it had gotten everyone out of the Great Hall. We were all in our dorms, waiting for news. No one was allowed out into the hallways, so-

I gasped softly. No one was in the hallways. That's it. Someone needed a distraction, something that would get us all out of the way, students and professors. We students were closeted in our dorms and the teachers were searching the dungeons for a sign of the troll. Most of the castle was completely empty, and whoever let the troll in would be free to move around without being spotted.

"What's wrong?" Zambini asked, having caught my gasp. I shook my head.

"Just nerves," I muttered in response.

"Need someone to hold you too, Potter?" Parkinson sneered. Lily flushed again and pulled free of my arm. I scowled at Parkinson. If Lily was upset, why shouldn't she be comforted?

Food was sent up for us later on. We all fixed plates and settled in our corner, talking until nearly eleven. That was when Professor Snape swept into the Common Room, but I couldn't help but notice he was limping slightly. I assumed it had been a decent fight to put that troll down.

"What's happened, sir?" Amelie called from across the room.

"The troll has been dealt with," Snape said bluntly. "None of you are to leave your dormitories tonight, but classes will continue as normal from here on out." He sneered. "Thanks to Mr. Potter, we now have to haul an unconscious mountain troll from the girl's bathroom."

Everyone turned to stare at me, incredulously.

"I'm gonna kill him," I announced to the room at large.

* * *

 **SO I haven't done this in a while, but I think it's time for some review responses! I've never done this before but I really enjoy doing it, keeping an active dialogue with my readers and such.  
**

 **That Punk Rock Fandom Chick: Me too! I went through a couple drafts of her conversation with the Sorting Hat. To be honest, the original version of this story had her in Gryffindor, then I decided to scrap that.**

 **RegenLied: Ah, my loyal reviewer! Greece was gorgeous, Crete in particular. I'm super jelly!**

 **Blazingfire55 and lunasheart: I'm glad you guys are liking it and are eagerly awaiting more!**

 **Yki Daviji: Yeah, I'm having a lot of fun writing Pansy and Lorena interacting. It's way too much fun and I can guarantee more!**

 **Guest: Yes, I agree!**

 **duj: Thanks for your critique, and for the great conversations we've been having about character in the HP books. You're great!**

 **SophieNewman: Yeah, to be hoenst in the original draft she got the same treatment as Harry. You know 'welcome to the team!' But then I backtracked and noticed the extreme Mary-Sueness of that. also, the point of this story is to highlight some of the differences between both Harry and Lorena and their houses. Gryffindor may have reacted with 'wow that was awesome!' but Slytherin would definitely be more along the lines of 'wow that was really stupid.'**

 **AngelQueen: I'm glad I've got you hooked! In a previous author's note I mentioned that there was possibly going to be skipping to fourth year to cut out two years worth of filler. Which would mean missing a Sirius/Snape/Lorena meeting scene. That's why I'm thinking about putting up a separate story with random scenes of Lorena and Co throughout the years that may be in that gap or just don't fit in the story well. THOUGHTS EVERYONE?**


	10. Attack and Revenge

"Oi, _idiot!"_

"Ren- Ow, ow, _hey!"_

"Don't you _Rena_ me!" I scolded Harry as I seized him by the ear and dragged him mercilessly from the Great Hall. I could hear the Slytherins laughing as I manhandled him, but I couldn't bring himself to care about his dignity when he'd put his life on the line the night before.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry demanded once I'd tugged him to the same place I apologized to Draco weeks before. He rubbed his ear and glared at me. "What'd I do?"

"You decided to skip off and have a nice battle with a troll!" I raged at him. "What were you _thinking?_ You can't fight!"

"Well I did!" Harry countered. "I stuck my wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club."

"Ron was there, lovely, you're dragging other people along with you, that's just- did you say you _stuck your wand up its nose?"_ I demanded incredulously.

Harry had the gall to smile proudly. "Yeah."

" _Idiot!"_ I smacked him in the shoulder. " _That_ was your brilliant plan?"

"No!" Harry protested. "There wasn't really a plan, I just-"

I smacked my palm down over his mouth. "So let me get this straight," I said slowly, daring him with my eyes to try and talk. "You snuck off when there was a troll on the loose, decided to fight said troll with no plan, and ended up putting another person in danger? That about sum it up?" I hissed.

"I had to!" Harry protested, pulling away from my hand. "Hermione was-"

"Merlin, Granger was there too? What, did you bring along as many inexperienced kids as you could?" I demanded furiously.

"Lorena, _listen!"_ he insisted. "Hermione was on her own in the bathroom. She'd been in there for a while crying. She didn't know about the troll! What was I _supposed_ to do, leave her there alone?"

" _Yes!"_ I insisted. "Yes, you were!"

Harry looked horrified by the very idea. "But she could have been _hurt!"_

"Yeah, and so could you!" I smacked him again for good measure. "I don't care if the night ended with the troll using her bones to pick its teeth, you shouldn't have gone skipping off to risk your life for her!"

"Lorena!" Harry hissed. "Where's this coming from?"

"This? You mean this _common sense?_ Harry, every single teacher was on patrol looking for the thing! Even if Hermione was caught off guard, a teacher would have been there to handle it in seconds! Why can't you think before you act?" I moaned.

"I _did_ think!" he insisted, glaring at me. "I thought Hermione could be in danger and I could help."

"And what were you planning to do, eh?" I demanded. "Levitate toilet paper at it? Turn a match into a needle and poke it? Face it Harry, you survived this by sheer dumb luck! The only thing you should have accomplished by running off to save her was that you nearly got you and Ron killed along with her!"

"So what," Harry said slowly, looking at me in disbelief. "It was alright with you if she died, so long as I was okay?"

I clenched my jaw. "In a nutshell. She's not my sibling. You are. Of course I'd rather she got hurt than you."

Harry recoiled. "How can you think like that?"

"It's easy!" I insisted. "It's called using your head! Hermione isn't my concern, you are! She's responsible for her own actions and you're responsible for yours! I can't yell at her when she's an idiot, but I can try and get through to you! You shouldn't have even been sneaking around, whoever let the troll in could have killed you if you saw them…" I muttered worriedly.

"Whoa, stop!" Harry held up his hands. "Whoever let the troll in? What do you mean by that?"

I huffed. "It's not like the thing walked up and knocked on the door. Someone smuggled it in! And do you know what that person accomplished? They got the halls totally clear for them to do whatever they wanted! If someone was willing to go to that much trouble to not be seen, what do you think they would do to you if you just happened to stroll around the corner and run into them?"

"I hadn't considered that," Harry admitted. "I mean, it would explain a lot. The third floor was totally clear, they would have been able to get in no problem."

"Whoa, stop!" I said, unconsciously echoing him. "What's the third floor got to do with anything?"

Harry quickly explained everything that had happened the night he was supposed to go duel Malfoy, from Hermione and Neville getting dragged along to hiding in the forbidden third floor corridor and finding the three-headed dog guarding a trapdoor.

"I think whatever the dog's guarding is what Hagrid took from the vault!" Harry insisted, eyes aflame with conviction in his theory. "Think about it; someone tried to break into the vault after it was empty, and now someone causes a distraction here?"

"And Hagrid said that the only place safer than Gringotts was Hogwarts," I finished slowly.

"Exactly!" Harry said proudly.

My head was spinning, but I quickly shook away all the extraneous thoughts and smacked Harry one more time for good measure.

"What is this, abuse your brother day?" he demanded.

"No, this is 'My Brother Is An Idiot And So Help Me If He Does Something This Stupid Again I'll Murder Him In The Face Day.'" I retorted. "Newly instated, you didn't get the memo?" I sighed. The anger was starting to vanish. "Just try not to get yourself killed, please?"

Harry gave a half-smile. "Yeah, I'll try."

"Good," I approved. I patted his shoulder. "Sorry for hitting you."

"Three times," Harry stressed. I whacked him.

"Shut up."

"Four…"

"Go eat breakfast," I snorted, shoving him lightly back towards the Great Hall. We walked back inside, splitting for our individual tables.

"What was that about?" Daphne asked curiously as I sat down and started pulling pancakes onto my plate.

"That was me telling Harry that if he went hunting trolls again I'd kick his ass," I said bluntly.

"Did you see his face?" Malfoy was red from laughing, which wasn't a good look for him. He should stay pale. "He looked so stupid!"

"Kinda like you do now?" I asked sweetly. Malfoy took a couple deep breaths, getting a hold of himself while glaring at me.

"Alright you two, no one has the energy for this so early in the morning," Nott said before Malfoy could respond. He watched up sternly and waited for us both to start eating again before he turned back to his own meal. Malfoy flicked a piece of egg at me and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Children," Daphne scowled, shaking her head. "Do I need to separate you two?"

"No mum," I replied. She nodded in satisfaction.

"Good," she approved. "Now, did anyone do the essay for Charms? It's due tomorrow and I don't want to write it."

"I got a copy out of a Ravenclaw," Zabini said.

"You can come with me to the library and copy it there," Tracey invited. She pouted. "I've got to do that essay for McGonagall. You know she gets if the sentences are similar."

"I'll come too," Lily offered. "I've got some research to do for Herbology."

"Study date this morning, is it?" Zabini grinned, handing over the essay. "Up for some learning, Malfoy?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Please. I'd rather chew glass than do that essay for McGonagall."

"You'll have to do it sooner or later," Daphne reasoned.

"Yeah, and I choose later," Malfoy said, stabbing a bite of sausage.

"That'll come back to bite you," I warned him.

"I'll handle my own work, thanks Potter," he sneered. I lifted my fork, pointing it at him.

"Oi, you. I'm just trying to-"

"Alright, no cutlery for you." Nott snatched the fork from me and set it beside his plate with one hand, still using the other to calmly eat his waffles. I stared at him incredulously. He gave me a scolding look. "You can have this back when you learn how to use it properly."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm gonna start calling you dad if you're not careful."

Lily snorted into her pumpkin juice and looked between Daphne and Nott. "So, mum and dad," she asked, grinning widely, "how'd you two meet?"

Nott and Daphne exchanged looks, shook their heads, and went back to their food.

"You're all grounded," Daphne muttered.

"But muuuuuuum!" Lily, Tracey, and I whined.

* * *

I joined the other girls long enough to get a couple of books from the library and then headed back to the Common Room. It wasn't that I didn't want to be around then – in fact, now that I'd taken off my Gryffindor-colored glasses, they were actually alright – but I tended to work better when I was alone and I'd let my homework wait a little long. I had two essays due tomorrow for Transfiguration and Charms, and I had the Herbology paper to do as well. I was looking to buckle-down and spend a day of intense essay writing in the privacy of my dorm.

"Titanoboa," I said to the stone wall, and it ground open. I stepped into the Common Room, my three books tucked under my arm. I was headed to my dorm when I heard someone call, "Potter!"

I groaned aloud and turned. "What is it Malfoy?" I whined. "I have essays to write."

Malfoy was sitting at one of the tables with a gorgeous chess set in front of him. I was no expert in stones, but it looked like it was made of black and white marble. I didn't even want to think what a chess set like that would cost.

"Play chess with me," Malfoy commanded. I stared at him.

"I have essays to write," I repeated slowly, like I was talking to a small child. "What part of that escaped you?"

"I'm bored!" Malfoy whined. "Zabini was playing, but he ran off to do something."

I snorted. "Aw, poor baby. Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't put on this earth to entertain you, Malfoy. Besides, I can't play chess anyway."

Malfoy straightened up. "You don't know how to play chess?" he demanded incredulously.

I shifted uncomfortably. Chess wasn't exactly common in the Dursley house, not that I would have been allowed to play if it was. " _No_ , Malfoy, is that so terrible?"

"Yes," he said bluntly. "Sit down, I'm teaching you."

I was a little incredulous that Malfoy was willing to go this far just so he would have someone to play chess with. To be honest, I was also kind of interested in learning to play. But I had the feeling Malfoy would be a jerk of a teacher and I really did have essays to write.

"Sorry Malfoy, I've got homework," I said, lifting up my books.

Malfoy groaned. "Fine! But after you finish, you're coming back here and I'm teaching you to play."

I stared his down. "Why are you so keen on me playing with you?" I demanded. "We're not exactly the best of pals."

"Yeah, but Nott's boring, Zabini lets me win and Crabbe and Goyle can't tell a pawn from a rook."

"Right," I said slowly. "And how does that answer my question?"

"You're smart enough to be decent and you won't let me win."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow, Malfoy. That was almost… sweet of you."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair preening. "I know."

I sighed. "And you ruined it. See you later."

I headed into my dormitory and spread out my reference materials. I wasn't terribly concerned with my Charms essay, so I knocked that one out fairly quickly. It was the Transfiguration essay I got stuck on, for two reasons. One, because much as she'd like to pretend to be above such things McGonagall did grade Slytherins harder whether she realized it or not, particularly with the first game of the Quidditch season coming up. Two, because it was a theory question and I was absolute crap at theory. Most of the time when I managed spells it was because I just sort of felt my way through doing them, not because I had some precise formula running through my head. In fact, that usually made it harder on me, because I was too focused on trying to remember the formula to make the spell come out right.

Explaining the stages of transfiguration wasn't easy, but I managed it in about half an hour. I took a brief moment to stand up and stretch, groaning as my back popped. I flexed my fingers, which were starting to cramp up after writing two lengths of parchment. I gave the Herbology books a dark look. I really wasn't looking forwards to doing that third essay.

And, I recalled, I didn't. That was the one that wasn't due until the day after tomorrow. Of course, if I didn't do it now, what were my other options for entertainment? Going to play chess with Malfoy?

The option was actually surprisingly appealing. He wasn't my favorite person in Hogwarts – that award went to my brother, obviously – but he also wasn't my least favorite. That was Parkinson. We got along decently when he wasn't hating on Harry. When he got on tears like that he turned into my arch-enemy. I usually spent my free time with Lily, Tracey, or Daphne, so I only spoke to him at meals and in class.

My overall opinion of him hadn't changed much since we first met. He was a cocky little bastard, but considering how he seemed to have been brought up, I couldn't entirely blame him on that one. I wasn't surprised he was whining for someone to entertain him. I was surprised he was willing to put in the effort of teaching me to play chess for it though.

Still, if he was willing to teach me…

I threw up my hands. "Alright, Malfoy, you win," I grumbled, and stalked from the dorm. Malfoy was still sitting at the table with his chess set, but he was absorbed in a book. He looked up when I sat down across from him.

"Alright, what's a rook?" I demanded. Malfoy set his book aside and leaned forwards, smirking.

"Right, let's do this."

Two hours later I could tell which piece was which and how it moved. As to how to play beyond that I had no idea. Malfoy had talked about openings and difference chess terms for quite a bit before I told him to just shut up and play. I was tired of listening to him and wanted to try it for myself.

Three games in I was getting my butt kicked from here to the Astronomy Tower and Malfoy was looking more and more smug with each piece of mine he took. I, on the other hand, was getting more and more frustrated.

"You play without any strategy," Malfoy commented as he snatched my last rook.

I knew the scowl on my face was murderous. "This is only the fourth time I've played, Malfoy. Just you wait," I muttered under my breath as I moved my pawn forwards in what I thought was a safe move. Malfoy took it with his knight. I groaned and smacked my head on the table while he laughed at me.

"You're terrible," he said gleefully. I mumbled something into the wood. "What was that?"

I tilted my head to glare at him with one eye. "I said 'one more cocky comment Malfoy and I'll turn that pretty platinum hair of yours pink.'"

"Nice alliteration," he congratulated. "You think my hair's pretty?"

My mouth dropped open. "That's what you took from that?"

"Well it's not a lie…"

"You're unbelievable!"

"I know."

I opened my mouth to rant at him when Tracey came hustling into the Common Room. Her hair was messed up, there was a tiny cut on her cheek, and her eyes were darting wildly. Her face lit up with hope when she saw me and she rushed over.

"Potter!" she cried. "Potter!"

"Merlin, Tracey, what's wrong?" I asked, standing and grabbing her by both shoulders. She looked disturbingly close to tears.

"We were leaving the library!" she cried. "We were leaving and these two older Gryffindors saw us. They started going on about snakes coming out of their hole, said we should all just be tossed out. Daphne called one of them a Mudblood and… and they attacked us!" she wailed, burying her face in her hand. I reached up and tugged her hands away from her face, grabbing her cheeks and forcing her to look at me.

"Tracey, look at me." I knew Mudblood was a bad word for someone who was Muggleborn, but getting called a name hardly seemed like a good reason to attack a bunch of girls at least three years younger than you. "Where are Daphne and Lily?"

"They're in the Hospital Wing," Tracey mumbled. "When the spells started flying I ran and hid… like a coward," she added bitterly.

"Tracey, there was nothing you could have done," I assured her.

"Lily got Stunned, she collapsed and hit her head," Tracey jabbered. "Daphne tried to duel them, but they hit her with some kind of jinx that made her swell up and then knocked her out. When they were gone I came out and tried to use Wingardium Leviosa to get them to the Hospital Wing. Flitwick came by, he saw. He took them and I ran back here."

"Okay," I said slowly, mind working to figure out what needed to be done. "Okay Tracey, I want you to stay here. Malfoy, watch her," I ordered, giving him a look that promised pain if he argued. He'd been watching this whole time with some sort of inscrutable expression on his face. Now his face went utterly blank and he nodded.

"I will."

"Right. You stay here with Malfoy. I'm going to go get Professor Snape," I explained slowly. "I'm going to get something for you to take to calm down. Then, I'm going to go to the Hospital Wing and find out how they are. You understand?"

I thought it might help her a little bit to know what the plan was from here, and it seemed to. She took a few deep breaths and nodded.

"Sit down," I urged, guiding her into the seat I'd just gotten out of. "Try and breath. Slowly," I stressed. "I'm going now. Malfoy, watch her."

Malfoy nodded, staring between me and Tracey. I stalked from the Common Room, keeping my paces slow so as not to alarm Tracey. Once I reached the hallway, I started sprinting for Professor Snape's office. I didn't knock, I just flung the door open and raced inside, panting slightly.

"Potter!" he looked surprised. "What do you think you're-"

"Lily and Daphne," I panted. "They were coming out of the library with Tracey and a couple of older students had a go at them. Tracey got away and Flitwick took them to the Hospital Wing. Tracey just came running into the Common Room. She's shaking and looks like she's going to cry… Do you have something to give her to calm her down? I'm worried she's going to hyperventilate."

Snape's face clouded with rage and he stood sharply, going to the cabinet in the corner of his office. He flung the doors open and snatched a bottle of some potion in a soothing shade of blue. He grabbed my hand and pressed the bottle into my palm.

"This is a Calming Draught," he explained. "Give it to Miss Davis, then come to the Hospital Wing. Davis will be too lethargic to answer any questions and you're the closest thing to a witness we have right now. Did she say who the students were?"

I shook my head. "Just that they were older. Gryffindors." I added bitterly.

Snape snarled. "Damn the Quidditch season and its rivalry. Go, Potter."

I nodded and hustled from his office. I heard Snape following, the snapping of his robes behind him when he walked showing how angry he was. I scurried back into the Common Room and found that Parkinson, Nott, and Bulstrode had joined Malfoy and Tracy at their table.

"Do you know how they are?" Nott asked when he saw me. I shook my head.

"No, Snape wants me to go to the Hospital after. Tracey, take this," I said, offering her the bottle. She took it with shaking fingers and pried the stopper out, tilting it back and swallowing. Almost immediately her breathing evened out and her eyelids fluttered a little, like she was sleepy.

"What's going on over here?" Amelie had stalked over, looking annoyed. "You firsties are running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it's starting to get annoying."

"Some of our friends got hexed outside of the library," I told her quickly. "Tracey's shaken up."

Amelie's face hardened. "Who did it?"

"Gryffindors," Tracey piped up. "I think they're fifth years."

Amelie snarled. "Course it was. Bet it was Fuchs and Kensington, those bastards."

She turned and turned off towards Douglas, no doubt to fill him in on what had happened. I stared after her. Somehow a hexing had turned into battle lines being drawn. I was a little surprised to see how seriously every Slytherin was taking it as the news spread, not just the younger students. The older students seemed just as annoyed at having one of their own set on.

I turned back to Tracey. "I'm going to go to the Hospital Wing now, okay?"

"Okay," Tracey said, nodding. "Hey, Potter? Thanks."

I smiled at her. "No problem," I said, and left the Common Room again.

The day had been going so well too. Why'd it have to get shot to pieces?

"Bloody Gryffindors," I muttered as I hurried through the halls. I made it to the Hospital Wing fairly quickly. When I came in, I saw Madam Pomfrey hustling between two beds. Lily was sitting up in bed looking shaken and Daphne was lying in the bed next to her. She was still swollen, like she'd had some sort of extreme allergic reaction. But unlike Lily, she looked pissed.

"We didn't do anything!" she raged as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over her.

"Just a Stinging Jinx," the matron assured her. "We'll have you back to normal soon."

"I don't care what it is so long as you fix it!" Daphne snapped. "I just want to know what's going to happen to that Mudblood and his friend!"

Madam Pomfrey looked scandalized. "Language, young lady!"

"Miss Greengrass, who was it that attacked you?" Snape asked, still looking incredibly annoyed.

"They were fifth years. One of them was named Fuchs, I don't know who the other one was. But they both reeked of sandalwood."

"Fuchs and Kensington."

Everyone turned to face me.

"Potter!" Lily greeted, looking a little relieved to see me.

"Hey Lily, how are you?" I asked, going to her bedside. I took her hand. "Anything hurt?"

"No." She shook her head. "I just bumped my head when I hit the ground. Madam Pomfrey woke me up and did something for the headache. I'm fine now."

"What makes you think it was Kensington with him?" Snape pressed.

"Something Amelie said," I explained. "She was there when I came back with the Calming Draught for Tracey-"

"How is she?" Daphne asked.

"Fine, just shaken up," I assured her. "Anyway, I told her that it was apparently a couple of older Gryffindor students. She immediately guessed Fuchs and Kensington."

"I'm not surprised. They both have a reputation for hexing my students," Snape growled. "Miss Greengrass, the other boy who attacked you – did he have blonde hair and a crooked nose?"

"That's him!" Daphne said triumphantly.

"I will speak to Minerva," Snape assured her. "There will be an investigation, but I don't doubt we'll be able to catch them. They've never been terribly bright, but they know how to keep out of trouble. Madam Pomfrey, I'll leave them to you for now."

"They should be alright by tomorrow, but I'll keep them over night just in case," Madam Pomfrey said, waving her wand over Daphne. She muttered something and almost immediately the swelling began to go down until Daphne was looking like her regular angelic self. She sighed in relief.

"Ugh, I can breathe normally again."

Snape left the Hospital Wing, no doubt to find McGonagall and gleefully inform her that he would be taking a painful number of points from her house. Madam Pomfrey, her work done, retreated into her office to fill out a report and give us some time to talk.

"Hey mum, glad you're okay," I teased Daphne gently. She scoffed.

"No thanks to those Gryffindors. What'd we do anyway?"

"Tracey said you called one of them a Mudblood," I pointed out. "I doubt that helped."

Daphne sniffed. "Well, it's true."

"That just made them start sooner, they were already heading that way," Lily said, hugging her knees to her chest. "I just don't understand why they started in on us in the first place."

"We're Slytherins," Daphne said bitterly. "They didn't need more than that."

 _I was mad._ I wanted to find this Fuchs and Kensington and hex them nine ways from Sunday, but considering I was only a first year the worst I might be able to do is give one of them a nose bleed. But still, I wanted some kind of revenge for them. They deserved that when they'd done nothing to deserve getting attacked in the first place. And sure, it could have been a lot worse, but it shouldn't have happened at all.

Well, that was a characteristic of Slytherin, wasn't it? We defend our own and we defend ourselves. Daphne, Tracey and Lily, they were the closest things I had to friends here. I needed to do something to get back at Fuchs and Kensington, to warn them not to cross Slytherin. Not cursing them, no. I'd already decided that was beyond me and if the look on Amelie's face was anything to go by the older students would be handling that themselves anyway.

No, I'd do something worse.

I smiled menacingly.

I'd embarrass them. There was no better teacher than humiliation, I believed. You'd forget lines no matter how many times you wrote them and detentions would be forgotten. But a nice dose of humiliation stayed with you forever. The shame as people laughed at you made its mark on you. It made you remember, made you think about it even years later.

And who were the best at embarrassing people in Hogwarts? That was easy. I needed the twins.

"Potter?" Lily asked uncertainly. "Your expression is starting to scare me."

My smile instantly went from menacing to placating. "Don't worry Lily. That isn't for you. You'll see what it's about soon. I've got to go. I need to see a man about a horse."

"Wait, what?" Lily asked blankly. I was already heading out of the Hospital Wing. As the door shut, I heard her yell, "Don't murder anyone Potter!"

I was still chuckling as I headed for the Gryffindor Common Room. When I arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait she tilted her nose up at me and sniffed, "What do you want?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'd let me in just because my brother's in this house?"

"No."

I sighed. "Should have guessed."

I stood there, glaring at the portrait and trying to figure out how I was going to get in. Strictly speaking I didn't have to actually go in, I just had to get them to come out. I could send someone in with a message, but I had no guarantee they'd deliver it, so-

"Lorena?"

I looked around. Dean and Seamus were standing there staring at me in surprise. I smiled at them.

"Ah, just who I needed!" I announced, striding over to them. "Boys, I need a favor!"

"Why should we?" Seamus asked suspiciously. Dean nudged him with an elbow.

"Nothing serious," I assured him. "I just need a word with the Weasley twins. If you could go in and ask them to meet me out here, I'd be very grateful."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you want with Fred and George?" he asked in confusion.

"It's better you don't know," I admitted. Dean and Seamus exchanged uncertain glances and mumbled back and forth. I heard the words 'Slytherin' and 'Harry's sister' pop up more than once. That made me scowl a little. It was clear they wouldn't give me the time of day if I didn't have a brother in their house.

Finally, Dean looked up and said, "We'll do it, but no guarantees they'll come."

"Thank you very much," I grinned, and stepped aside so they could get at the portrait hole. Seamus opened his mouth to give the password and then paused, giving me a dark look. I jerked, as if I'd suddenly realized that I shouldn't hear and gave an apologetic grin, stuffing my fingers into my ears. I removed them slightly when he started speaking, enough to hear that the password was 'Lionheart.'

I smiled slightly as Seamus and Dean vanished into the Common room. I leaned against the wall opposite, waiting for Fred and George to hopefully emerge. I wasn't quite sure how they felt about me. They seemed friendly enough at the train station, but they'd been known to prank a few Slytherins in their day. I was banking on curiosity being enough to override any hesitation they had about talking to me.

Sure enough, only a minute later the portrait swung open and the Weasleys emerged. Fred and George gave me huge grins and strode over.

Fred began "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit-"

"-from the prettiest little snake there ever was?" George finished with a wink. I snorted, tilting my head so that my hair fell over my cheeks to hide my blush.

"Not here. It's a little… less than approved, what I want to talk about," I said, gesturing for them to follow me down the hall.

"Our favorite," they chorused, and fell into step on either side of me, each of them taking one of my hands and placing it on the crook of their arms like they were escorting me. I smiled slightly. At least the twins didn't seem to have any hard feelings towards me.

"In here," I said, tugging open the door to an empty classroom. It had been a while since this one had been used. At least, by the school. I'd heard some of the older students talking about it as a spot where Gryffindors sometimes met to hook up with Ravenclaws, it being equidistant between their two towers. Our Prefects liked to check there when they were patrolling at night in hopes of catching some couple out of bed.

"Ooh, do you know what we Gryffindors use this room for?" George asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

"Yes, actually," I admitted. "Which is why we shouldn't be disturbed. It's not after hours yet."

"So, what can the wonderful Weasley twins do for you?" Fred asked, taking a seat on an old desk. George sat next to him. I lounged against the teacher's desk, trying to figure out the best way to phrase my request.

"Have you boys ever thought about taking on… an apprentice, of sorts?" I asked slowly.

They looked surprised. "An apprentice?" Fred repeated.

"At what?" George asked blankly. I gave them a wicked smile.

"Trouble."

Their eyes lit up eagerly at the mention of causing trouble, but they tried to play it cool.

"Why, that's an odd thing for such a law-abiding young girl such as yourself to be interested in," Fred observed.

"Can I ask what triggered your sudden interest in our line of work?" George questioned.

I scowled. "A couple older students attacked some of my… friends." Yeah, that was the best word for them. "They were coming out of the library and they started harassing them. When Daphne called one of them a Mudblood wands got involved. Daphne and Lily are in the Hospital Wing."

"Daphne should watch her language," George scowled.

"But is that any excuse to attack a couple of girls four years younger than you are?" I countered. Fred shook his head.

"So, you're looking for some help with revenge?" he guessed. "What house were these guys in?"

"Take a wild guess," I muttered.

"Gryffindor," they chorused knowingly.

"How do we now you're not going to hurt them?" George asked seriously. "I mean, you Slytherins have a bit of a reputation when it comes to revenge."

"Trust me, any injuries will come from the older students, not me," I promised. "They're mad too. Besides," I added with a smirk, "if they get hurt they just go to Madam Pomfrey and she fixes them right up. If they get embarrassed… that lingers."

"So what do you want from us, specifically?" Fred asked. "Help getting into Gryffindor Tower?"

"No, I've got that covered," I said, smiling slightly. Thank you Seamus. "I need an education."

"An education?" George repeated.

"Yeah. I've never played a prank on anyone before. I don't know what kind of spells to use like you both do, I don't know how to get around the castle like you both do, and I don't know what kind of materials I'd need like you both do. I want you to teach me the tricks of your trade."

Much as I would enjoy getting back at Fuchs and Kensington, I doubted this was the last time this would happen. And if it was going to happen again, then chances were people were going to need to be taught a lesson. I couldn't just keep doing the same thing over and over – the teachers would know it was me. No, I needed Fred and George to teach me how to do what they did, because as often as they got caught, I knew there were at least as many tricks they'd gotten away with.

"What do you think?" I asked, waiting with bated breath for their answers.

"Conference," George announced. He and Fred tucked their heads together, murmuring back and forth. Unlike Seamus and Dean, they knew how to keep their voices low so that I didn't hear what they were saying. Every now and then one of them would send me a look and mutter something quickly to the other. I waited patiently – pushing wouldn't get me anywhere.

Finally they both looked up. Identical mischievous grins were painted across their faces.

"Miss Potter," Fred smiled.

"Welcome to the Weasley School of Pranksters."

I grinned back just as mischievously. " _So_ glad to be accepted."

We worked out a rough schedule for getting together and said our goodbyes. I hustled back down to the dungeons. I'd delayed enough that it was nearing dinner time. The others would be wondering how Lily and Daphne were doing.

The stone wall ground open and I stepped inside. Malfoy and Zabini were pouring over a couple of books and writing essays. Tracey was sitting quietly in one corner, a slightly stoned look on her face. I assumed the Calming Draught was still working, then.

"Potter's back," Crabbe rumbled.

I sat down by Tracey and prodded her hand gently to make sure I had her attention. She tilted her head lazily to look at me and smiled.

"Hey Potter. How are they?"

"Fine," I assured her. "Daphne got a nasty Stinging Jinx, but Madam Pomfrey had already fixed her when I left. They should be fine. Pomfrey just wants to keep them overnight since they hit their heads when they fell."

"What about the two that attacked them?" Zabini asked seriously, looking annoyed.

"Last I saw Snape was on the warpath and headed for McGonagall," I said with a shrug. "I'm assuming there will be a lot of detention, probably a crippling loss of points."

"Good," Nott muttered spitefully into his book. "They deserve it."

"What took you so long to get back?" Malfoy asked.

"I had to make a stop first," I explained.

"Where?"

"None of your business," I replied shortly. I took Tracey by the arm and helped her stand up. "Come on, Tracey, let's get some food in you. You'll feel better once you've had a good meal."

"Hold up, Potter."

"Eh?"

Nott had stood up and was gesturing for me to join him a few feet from the table. I left Tracey's side, walking over to him curiously. I wouldn't really consider Nott a friend – he was too much of a loner for that – and this was the first time he'd tried to grab me for a private conversation.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Amelie's mad; she'd got some of her fifth year friends up in arms. Quidditch already has everyone so tense that people have been looking for a reason to go off on the other house. The lower years will be the ones that take the most heat because we're easy pickings. I think we should try to go places in groups no smaller than three, just until this dies down."

I bit my lip, thinking. Spells had already been flying with increasing frequency in the halls what with the Quidditch season starting up. The first game was tomorrow. The targets had mostly been the teams and their friends or family thus far, but a couple of people had used the general chaos to pull off some mean-spirited hexes. I got the feeling that was what Fuchs had done.

If Gryffindor won, it would likely die down so long as none of us went after them in revenge. And considering most of us were too smart for that, it was likely. But if Slytherin won – well, then the Gryffindors might be annoyed enough at us to keep the feud going, at least until the teachers stepped in.

"I can't figure out why Amelie's so mad," I admitted. "I know she's Prefect, but she's never seemed to care much about us younger kids."

Nott raised an eyebrow. "Potter… She's Moon's cousin. Didn't you know?"

I stared. Now that he mentioned it, they did have a similarly shaped face and their eyes were about the same color. But I never saw them interact. "But… they never speak," I said in confusion.

Nott sighed, shaking his head. "You don't know anything, do you? Moon's a halfblood. Her dad's Amelie's uncle. He ran off with a Muggleborn – it was a huge scandal."

I stared. Well, that would do it. It would also explain why Amelie was taking this so personally. Whether or not she acknowledged it openly, Lily was her family.

"I see," I said slowly. "And you're right, if Amelie's going to keep this going even after Snape's handled them…"

"Exactly. That's why I think we should be cautious."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Let the others know. I'm going to get Tracey to dinner."

"Okay. Take Crabbe with you."

"Dinner?" Crabbe perked up at the mention of dinner. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, Crabbe, dinner. Let's go."


	11. Quidditch and Questions

Daphne and Lily joined us for breakfast the next morning. They seemed happy to be out of the Hospital Wing. Both of them had already decked themselves out in silver and green for the opening game of the season, as had most of the house. I was only wearing a green and silver scarf, considering my brother played for the opposite team. I couldn't show too much support.

"I'm glad we get to see the game," Daphne grinned, bouncing in her seat.

"How are you feeling?" Parkinson asked.

"Good," Lily smiled, shoving a bite of cereal into her mouth. "Madam Pomfrey fixed us up in no time."

"And those jerks who came after us have detention with Snape for the next three days," Daphne said with a mean little smile, casting a glare in the direction of the only two people at Gryffindor table not looking quite so happy.

"Mail's here," Bulstrode grunted as the owls began to swoop in. As usual, Malfoy's eagle owl swooped in with a letter from his mother and a box of treats. Daphne and Lily both got letters.

"Potter, you've actually got mail," Parkinson said with a sneer. "That oaf again?"

I smirked as I plucked the letter from Artemisia's leg. I opened it up, grinning when I saw the heading. _Spells for Practical Pranksters,_ it read, _by Fred and George Weasley._

"Better," I said. "From the Weasley twins."

"The weasels?" Malfoy demanded incredulously. "What're they writing you for?"

"Never you mind, Dragonbreath," I replied airily, folding the letter up and sliding it into my pocket, making sure it was secure. "You'll find out soon, I expect."

"How soon?" Zabini asked curiously.

I cast a glance to the Gryffindor. "Oh, probably about four days from now, I imagine. Depending on how things go."

"How what things go?" Malfoy pressed.

"Never you mind," I repeated, smiling mysteriously. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go wish my brother luck."

As I stood up and headed for the Gryffindor table I heard Zabini mutter, "Was anyone else a little creeped out by how excited Potter looks this morning?"

I snorted into my scarf as I crept up behind Harry. I held a finger to my lips, warning them to be quiet. The Gryffindors around him looked mildly amused as they got the message, continuing their conversations like nothing was happening.

I swooped down on Harry, wrapping my arms around his neck and yanking him over so I could plant a big, wet kiss on his cheek. He yelped in surprise and then groaned when he realized it was me.

"Mwah!" I announced as I separated from him, planting myself backwards on the bench next to him.

"Morning Rena," he muttered, giving me an annoyed look. "Was that strictly necessary?"

I pretended to pout. "I come over here to wish my beloved brother good luck on his first Quidditch match – against my own house, may I add – and this is what I get. Well, I can see how much I mean to you."

"Yeah Harry," grinned George, who was sitting to his right and who I had squished up against to sit by my brother. "Be nice to your poor sister."

"See? George cares about me," I said, but Harry didn't smile. In fact, he looked vaguely ill. I noticed that his plate was completely bare, not even some crumbs to show that breakfast used to be there. I scowled at him. "Have you eaten anything?"

"He won't, we've tried," Hermione jumped in. I turned to stare at her, narrowing my eyes. I still wasn't terribly fond of her, considering my brother had risked his life for her.

"Harry, if you don't at least eat a piece of toast I will steal your glasses and hide them somewhere before the game," I threatened. "See how well you can find the Snitch then."

"I'll just steal yours," he countered. My hand moved towards the plate of toast.

"Let's keep it civil here kids," Fred said nervously. "We need him, Lorena."

"Right, we have the same prescription," I muttered bleakly. "That won't do. Fine, I'll steal your broomstick."

"Already down in the changing room."

"Curses! Alright, then I'll hex you from the stands if you fly close to me."

"And what purpose would that- mph!"

I shoved a piece of toast between his teeth. He glared at me reproachfully. I just smiled.

"Bite," I cooed. Harry bit. I tugged the toast away. "Chew and swallow, please." He chewed up the bite of toast and swallowed, still giving me that reproachful look. I almost felt a little bad, but he was sort of adorable when he pouted like that. Not that I'd ever tell him. "Good boy," I said, tossing the toast onto his plate and patting his head patronizingly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Sometimes I don't like you," Harry muttered.

"I'm your sister, that's expected." I nodded in understanding. "Try and eat some more of that toast, would you?" I requested as I stood up. "Thank for the help," I added to Fred and George. They grinned and gave me simultaneous thumbs-up.

"You're very welcome!" they chorused.

I ventured back towards the Slytherin table and sat back down.

"That was disgusting," Daphne observed. I blinked at her.

"What?"

"You hand-feeding Potter," Malfoy sneered. "You're not his mother."

"Aw, you want me to feed you too, Malfoy?" I cooed. He scoffed. "He wasn't eating. I fixed that," I explained with a shrug. "All in a day's work."

"You looked awfully comfortable with those Gryffindors," Parkinson sneered. "Will you be cheering for them today?"

"Yes, can't you see my blatant Gryffindor pride?" I said slowly, lifting up one end of my green and silver scarf. I pulled off my glasses and offered them to her. "Here Parkinson, I think you need these more than I do."

Parkinson turned up her nose. "I'm going down to the pitch," she announced snootily, standing up. "Who's coming?"

Bulstrode, ever her eager follower, agreed to join her.

"Yeah, I'm ready too," Daphne said, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

"Shall we all go?" I asked Lily and Tracey.

Most of us first years stood and moved down towards the Quidditch pitch together. We climbed the steps into the Slytherin stands, huddled together against the chilly wind that was blowing through the grounds. We claimed seats as close to the middle of the stands as possible. I sat between Tracey and Lily, the other's scattered around us.

I looked around at the stands. The Gryffindor section was a mass of red and gold. In fact, red and gold dominated the stadium, aside from our block of silver and green. Most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed to be siding with Gryffindor, which wasn't terribly surprising. I noticed a few people in other houses had donned green and silver, but some particularly equality-minded people were wearing green and red, so that they looked like walking Christmas decorations.

Madam Hooch stepped out onto the field then, clad in black and white striped robes. She was refereeing.

"And here we are folks, the first game of the season is about to begin, Gryffindor v Slytherin! And here come our teams!"

From one side of the stadium came the Gryffindor team, clad in scarlet robes. From the other side came Slytherin in emerald green. I saw Harry looking incredibly small among the other players, clutching his broom nervously.

The teams gathered around Madam Hooch. She said something to them that couldn't be heard from as far away as we were sitting. I watched as Wood stepped forwards to shake hands with the Slytherin captain.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - Quaffle taken by the Slytherins – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goal posts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Even I joined in on the moans. To my surprise, I was really getting into it, leaping and screaming with Daphne and Tracey, cheering on our Chasers.

I nearly screamed as a Bludger came pelting for Harry. He dodged it at the last second and Fred Weasley came streaking after it.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry had seen the Snitch and so had the Seeker Terrence Higgs had too. They both dove for it. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch. I rose up from my set with the other Slytherins, all of us waiting on pins and needles to see what would happen.

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below. Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

"Harry," I muttered worriedly, hoping he hadn't been hurt. Flint was no lightweight, getting hit by him going full speed had to smart.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, I thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. I watched worriedly.

"Hang on Harry," I pleaded. No one else seemed to have noticed. Luckily for me I'd spent most of the game watching Harry and listening to the commentary on what was happening to keep informed on what everyone else was doing.

"Slytherin in possession - Flint with the Quaffle - passes Spinnet - passes Bell - hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose - only joking, Professor - Slytherins score - Ah no..."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Harry!" I screamed in horror as the broom continued to buck wildly, like it was trying to throw him off. He wouldn't survive a fall from that height. If Harry let go, he was dead. I looked desperately towards the teacher's box – surely one of them could do something!

Most of them just seemed to be watching with bated breath. Most, not all. I saw Snape was wildly mouthing words, eyes locked on Harry's broom. I could only pray that whatever he was doing would be enough.

I looked back at Harry. The broom stopped jerking as suddenly as it had started. He was able to swing up onto the broom and get his grip back, firmly seated once again. I let out a relieved breath.

"Thank Merlin."

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick - he hit the field on all fours - coughed - and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

I watched as Marcus Flint soared down, ranting as he went, "He didn't catch it, he almost swallowed it!"

"Well that was depressing," Tracey sighed, dropping back into her seat.

"I don't like your brother," Malfoy announced.

"Tell me something I don't know, albino," I replied carelessly, straining to see over the crowd as Harry walked away from the field. "I'm going to go check on him," I said, heading for the stairs.

"Potter, he's fine!" Daphne protested.

"Probably," I agreed. "But I'm a good sister."

I headed down the stairs, casting one last dark glance at Flint, who was still ranting at Hooch that the catch wasn't fair. It seemed I had someone else to put on my revenge list.

I got a few odd looks as I headed for the Gryffindor changing room. I knocked on the door and called out, "I'm looking for my brother, is he in there?"

The door opened and I stepped back hastily to avoid getting hit. Fred's beaming face stuck out from the crack, George's above him. George had apparently taken a shower, because his hair was dripping wet.

"Come to congratulate us?" Fred asked cheekily.

"Yay team," I deadpanned. "Now come on, is Harry in there?"

"No, sorry. Ron and Hermione grabbed him and dragged him off to Hagrid's," George explained. He gave his head a shake, spraying me with droplets of water.

"Thanks," I said, wiping water off my face in distaste.

"Hey, we should thank you!" Fred grinned cheekily. "Looks like your good luck kisses work! We've gotta get you to do that before all of our games!"

I stared at them blankly. "I'm not kissing your team every time you play."

"Aww, please?" George pouted.

"Just a little one?" Fred wheedled.

I put on a wide-eyed, innocent look. "But sirs, you're my teachers! Having relations like that with your student would be most inappropriate."

"Drat, foiled!" George grumbled, snapping his fingers. "Ah well."

"Go find your brother," Fred ordered. "Make sure Flint didn't knock him loopy."

"I will. Oh, and congratulations."

"Thanks. See you later, Potter."

I left the changing rooms and joined the flood of students making their way from the pitch. I split off halfway to the castle and turned towards the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid's hut sat. I could see smoke drifting from the chimney, so I assumed he'd already put the kettle on.

I raised a hand to knock on the door. Immediately the barking started and I could hear Fang's claws scrabbling on the floor as he raced to the door.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called.

"It's me, Lorena!" I replied. Almost immediately Fang's barks changed to eager whimpers. I smiled slightly. I had gotten that dog addicted to my ear scratches apparently. It was a duty I would continue happily.

"Ah, Lorena!" Hagrid opened the door and greeted me with a beam, holding Fang back with one leg. "C'min, the others're already here!"

"I know, I asked Fred and George where you'd all gone," I said as I stepped inside. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting at Hagrid's table with steaming mugs of tea in front of them. Harry was still in his Quidditch robes, Hagrid went about preparing a mug for me as I sat down next to Harry. Fang placed his head pleadingly in my lap. I laughed and started scratching his ears and ruffling him under the chin.

"Hello Fang, happy to see me?" I cooed at him.

"Turns inter a puppy whenever yeh come," Hagrid grunted, giving his dog a betrayed look. I leaned down and wrapped my arms around Fang's thick neck as Hagrid sat a mug in front of me.

"All part of my evil plan to steal your dog," I promised him, and Hagrid snorted. I let go of Fang to take a drink of tea before turning to Harry. "Congratulations Harry," I said, patting him on the shoulder fondly. "Aside from getting hit, losing control of your broom, and nearly swallowing the Snitch, that was some really good flying."

Harry scoffed. "Thanks, Lorena. That's so sweet."

"I know," I nodded, and took another drink of tea. "What _did_ happen to your broom, anyway? Do you think Flint jinxed it when he hit you?" I asked curiously.

"It was Snape," Ron said furiously. "Hermione and I saw him, staring at your broom and muttering. He was cursing it; wouldn't take his eyes off of you."

"Rubbish," Hagrid insisted. "Why would Snape do summat like that?"

"He's a professor!" I agreed. "You must have seen it wrong. Why would he try to injure a student?" I reasoned, shaking my head.

"Aside from the fact that he hates me?" Harry challenged.

I rolled my eyes. "I doubt he hates you enough to try and hurt you, Harry."

"Snape tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween," Harry burst out suddenly. I gaped at him. Hagrid dropped his teapot.

"How d'yeh know about Fluffy?" he demanded incredulously.

"Fluffy?" Ron repeated, voice going higher with disbelief. "That thing has a name."

"Course he's got a name, he's mine!" Hagrid said proudly. "Bought 'im off a Greek chappie I met in a pub las' year. Lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

Harry leaned forwards eagerly. "Yes?" he urged.

"No, don' ask me anymore," Hagrid said gruffly. "Tha's top secret that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it!" Harry insisted.

"Rubbish," Hagrid insisted. "Like yer sister said, Snape's a teacher! Why would he do a thing like that?"

"Wait," I cut in. "Harry, what makes you think Snape was trying to steal it?"

"I saw his leg!" Harry said triumphantly. "He's been limping since Halloween, haven't you noticed? I went to ask for a book back that he'd confiscated and I saw him in his office with his robes lifted up. Filch was helping him bandage claw marks on his leg. He said something about 'how are you supposed to watch all three heads at once.' That proves it!" he insisted.

"That only proves he went near the thing," I disagreed. "Not that he was going to steal anything."

"Oh, and why else would he want to visit it?" Ron asked like it was obvious. "Wanted a nice chat about the weather?"

"No," I said shortly. "Maybe he came to the same conclusion I did and realized that whoever let the troll in meant for it to be a distraction and tried to head them off. If I can figure that out I'm sure someone as smart as Professor Snape can too."

"What about Harry's broom?" Ron demanded, looking like he'd scored the winning point.

"What about it?" I countered. "That's simple prejudice. Tell me, if it had been McGonagall staring at the broom and muttering, would you have assumed she was the one cursing the broom? You would have assumed she was trying to save him. But because it's Snape you've already made up your minds!" I ranted.

I was getting very defensive and I knew it. I also knew how stupid the idea of Snape trying to kill my brother was. I knew he wasn't fond of Harry, but I also knew that the only reason the Gryffindors were insisted Snape was part of some kind of convoluted plot to steal from Dumbledore and kill my brother is because of their own prejudice.

"That's different," Ron said, like that set the matter to rest.

"How?" I challenged. "Because she's not a Slytherin?" I dared him to agree, fingering my Slytherin scarf pointedly. "Face it, your argument's weak. Even if Snape did loathe Harry – and I'm not denying he does – I doubt he hates you enough to risk his job and his freedom on some half-arsed plot to hurt you – in front of an entire box of teachers who would immediately rush to your aid the moment you fell, may I add! He's smarter than that."

"Then how do you explain the fact that the broom stopped trying to throw Harry the moment I set Snape's robes on fire?" Hermione demanded.

I stood up and smacked my hands down on the table, staring at her incredulously. "You set my head of house _on fire?"_ I demanded. " _That_ was your plan to break his eye contact? Are you _stupid?_ "

"Don't talk to her like that!" Ron said sharply.

"I'll talk to her however I like if she's going to go around setting people on fire," I retorted. "Did it ever occur to you that a man on fire would distract _most people?_ I'd imagine half the box looked away from the match to try and put him out! That's still no guarantee that it was Snape who did anything!"

"Lorena, calm down," Hagrid said, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder comfortingly. He nearly knocked it out of joint.

"I am calm," I insisted, letting out a long breath through my teeth. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid, it was lovely. Sorry I ruined the visit," I grumbled, tossing back the last of my tea and wrapping my scarf tighter around my throat. "I've got things to do. See you later."

I stomped for the door and yanked it open. I was about to storm through when something made me stop. I grit my teeth and mumbled, "I'm glad you're not hurt, Harry." Then I was gone, slamming the door behind me and striding back up the hill towards the school.

It wasn't time for me to meet Fred and George yet, and I knew trying to start on my homework for Monday would just end in frustrated page flipping and ripping holes in my parchment with the tip of my quill. I headed down to the Slytherin Common Room and went inside.

The mood was, in a word, depressed. The team was already back, slumped around the fire looking disappointed. Some of the older students were patting them on the shoulder and offering condolences.

"It's not fair," I heard Flint mutter spitefully. "Potter didn't catch the Snitch."

I rolled my eyes and mentally added him to the tally of people on my 'to hit' list.

As far as people in my year, I saw Nott curled up in an armchair in one corner. I wanted over to him and sat down on the arm of his chair, looking over at his book.

"What're you reading?"

"Nothing," Nott said, shutting the book sharply. I stared at the back and realized that it was a novel of some sort. I hid my smirk – never thought Nott would go in for that stuff – and shrugged.

"Alright fine. Touchy." I stuck my tongue out at him. "Hey, you didn't go to the game, did you? At least I didn't see you in the stands."

Nott shook his head. "No, I didn't. I stayed here. The Common Room's quiet when everyone's gone."

"Good environment for reading?" I guessed, gesturing to his book.

"Something like that," he agreed.

"I'll leave you to it," I said, standing up and heading to my dorm. If nothing else, I could grab a quick nap while I waited for my appointment with the Weasleys.

"Potter! Come here!"

I scowled and turned around. "I'm not a dog, snowflake, don't order me around," I ground out, glaring at Malfoy. He was sitting in one of a pair of armchairs, a table set up in front of him. Once again his chess set was out, and it looked like he was playing himself.

"Just come here," he said, rolling his eyes. I rolled mine back but walked over, dropping into the chair across from him.

"Well?" I demanded. "What?"

"Play with me," Malfoy ordered, reaching out to move the pieces back into their starting positions.

"Didn't we just talk about not ordering me around?" I scowled.

"Yeah, but I'm in a foul mood so I don't really care about your feelings right now."

"You say the sweetest things, Malfoy," I simpered. "Really, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy."

"Well, it's your brother's fault I'm in a foul mood to start with."

I scoffed and made my first move. "What a coincidence. He's ruined my mood as well, as it happens."

"Greengrass said you ran off the check on him after the game," Malfoy noted, ordering his opening move as well.

"I did." I nodded, staring at the board. I moved a pawn. "Ron and Granger had already hauled him off to Hagrid's for tea."

"I'm sure you scurried off after them to act like a good little sister," Malfoy sneered, taking my pawn with one of his. I scowled as my pawn's body was hauled away by Malfoy's.

"I did, actually. Found them all talking about how Snape was trying to kill Harry by cursing his broom."

"Snape?" Malfoy repeated incredulously. "Why the bloody hell do they think it was him?"

I rolled my eyes and moved a bishop. "Granger. 'You have make eye contact for curses and Snape wasn't blinking. I've read all about them!'" I quoted in a mockingly high-pitched voice.

"That filthy know-it-all Mudblood," Malfoy seethed, pushing forward another pawn to claim one of mine. "Like Snape would do something that stupid."

"Language," I warned absently, claiming one of his pawns. "That's what I said, but they wouldn't hear a word about it."

"Your brother's friends are idiots," Malfoy scoffed.

I shrugged. "I suppose like most people they have their areas. But yes, on the whole I agree with you."

"Your brother isn't much better," Malfoy added, glaring at the chess board. I could tell he was one of the ones who was very frustrated by how Gryffindor had won. He ordered a knight with a little more force than necessary.

"Watch it," I threatened, taking his knight with a bishop. It was a careless move from him. "He's my brother and I'll beat you with this knight." I scooped up the remains of the knight and pulled my arm back warningly, as if to throw.

"Whatever," Malfoy huffed, taking my bishop with one of his own. "You know, you're not terrible at this now that you know how to play."

I sneered. "What, worried I'm going to beat you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I've been playing for years." He took my other bishop with a pawn and I winced in embarrassment. He smiled smugly.

"Why do you like chess so much?" I asked curiously. Malfoy seemed to have an actual interest in very few things. Most of the time he acted like classes were beneath him in some way. The only things I'd ever seen him be passionate about were his love of Quidditch, chess, and potions, and his hatred for my brother.

"My dad taught me how to play," he said with a shrug. "We used to play every night before bed."

"Used to," I noticed. "Why don't you anymore?"

"He's busy," Malfoy said shortly, casting me a dark look that, in conjunction with his vicious destruction of my knight, I took to mean he wasn't keen on the subject of his relationship with his father.

Still…

"Must be nice," I mused, directing a pawn forward without really thinking. "To have your parents teach you things."

"Didn't your Muggle aunt teach you to cook or something?" he recalled vaguely.

I couldn't help it. I let out a mad little giggle. Malfoy looked up at me in surprise. "Aunt Petunia?" I snickered. "Teach me to cook? Hardly! She gave me a cookbook, pointed to a recipe, and told me not to burn anything or I wouldn't get any supper. _That's_ how I learned to cook."

Malfoy looked me up and down. I had gained some weight since coming to Hogwarts and getting real, consistent meals, but I was still painfully skinny and small for my age. "You burned things a lot, did you?" he observed.

"No, not really," I admitted. I gestured to my torso. "Most of this was finally snapping and saying what was on my mind. Turns out my uncle didn't like being called an idiot. He was the one that usually said no food. My cousin just hit me if he was mad."

Malfoy looked incredulous. "And you stick up for Muggles and Mudbloods like Granger?"

I shrugged. "Muggles are just like wizards in that some of them are alright and some of them, like my family, are only alive because I couldn't figure out how to get away with their murder."

Malfoy scoffed. "And there's the Slytherin in you. You were sounding like a Hufflepuff for a minute there, Potter."

"The horror," I deadpanned, then smirked as I took one of his castles.

We stayed quiet for a minute, playing seriously and contemplating our moves instead of talking. Malfoy took two more of my pawns and I managed to get one of his before he spoke again.

"If I'd been playing Seeker I wouldn't have let Potter get the Snitch," he mumbled. I let out an annoyed sigh.

"Are you still on that? It bothers you so much just try out for the team next year," I said irritably.

"Oh, I'm going to," Malfoy said immediately.

"Really?" I smirked. "Even though you've been flying wrong for years?"

Malfoy glared. "Shut up, Potter. You're not funny."

"Agree to disagree."

"Are you going to?"

I stared at him blankly. "Am I going to what?"

"Try out for the team," Malfoy said as thought it was obvious. "You're not a bad flyer, and you'd make a decent Chaser." He rubbed the back of his head, scowling.

"Hadn't considered it," I said honestly. "I like flying, sure, but I don't know how I'd feel about actually playing Quidditch."

"Think about it," Malfoy said. "I want to see Potter's face if you play against him." He snickered. I drew back my hand and nailed him with the remains of one of his knights. "Oi, what was that for?" he demanded.

"I warned you."

Malfoy and I finished our game and played another – I lost spectacularly both times – and then we headed to dinner. After dinner I headed to the fourth floor, where there was an empty room where I'd arranged to meet Fred and George.

I tried to open the door, only for it to be pushed closed in my face.

"Seriously?" I demanded.

"Password," I heard Fred ask in a spooky voice.

"You're both idiots," I replied.

"Ouch, that hurts."

George pulled the door open and I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. The twins had pushed the dusty desks back to open up a little training arena in the middle of the floor.

"Did you bring the list?" George asked. I nodded, plucking the list of pranking spells from my pocket. He and Fred grinned.

"Then let's get started."


	12. Getting Even

My lessons with Fred and George had been going amazingly well. They were excellent –if slightly lackadaisical – teachers. I learned a lot of spells that I would probably never use unless I was trying to mess with someone. McGonagall definitely wasn't going to be teaching us how to turn a cushion into a porcupine. My skills at sneaking were already on the twins' level, thanks to years of smuggling food. Once they told me about a couple of secret passages, I was completely confident in my ability to get around the castle without getting caught.

And tonight I'd be putting that to the test. I waited until the girls in my dorm had fallen asleep before throwing off my sheets. I was dressed in my normal pajamas with my robes over them because they were black. I ignored my shoes and tucked my wand into my pocket, leaving the dorm in my sock feet.

Luckily there was no one in the Common Room, so I was able to sneak out of there without too much trouble. I was used to the dungeons, so the darkness wasn't a problem for me as I crept up into the main portion of the school. Unfortunately, I had a way to go without getting caught.

It went pretty well at first, but then I nearly ran into Peeves on the second floor. I had to dive behind a statue of a lion to avoid him as he floated down the hallway, cackling to himself. I waited until I was sure he was gone and then headed out again, taking one of the secret passageways the Weasleys had told me about to get up to the fourth floor without being spotted.

There again I almost ran into trouble. Snape was patrolling, and while I figured I'd just get a detention from him at worst, I still didn't want to get caught. I ducked into the shadow of a doorway and pulled my dark robes up to hide my vibrant hair. Snape paused and seemed to look around, but he didn't notice me. After a while of squinting into the darkness, he took off again. I let out a breath of relief.

I made it to Gryffindor Tower without any further problems. I found the Fat Lady dozing in her frame. Considering how snippy she'd been when I came by last time, I took great pleasure in waking her up.

"Wha- What? You! You shouldn't be here! It's after curfew!" she ranted at me. "What do you think you're doing, waking me up?"

I smiled at her. "Hey Fat Lady, guess what?"

"What?"

"Lionheart."

I got a glimpse of the Fat Lady's horrified face before the portrait swung open, revealing a hole behind it. I climbed in, peering cautiously into the Gryffindor Common Room. Thankfully it was empty too. I took a moment to stare around at the warm woods and blazing fireplace before I headed for the staircase that led up to the dorms.

Fred and George had been nice enough to tell me which dorm Kensington and Fuchs shared. I followed their directions to the door and opened it cautiously, peering inside. I could see Fuchs and Kensington dimly illuminated by the light from the windows. They were snoring loudly along with the three other boys in their dorm. I smirked as I crept inside. I had to pick my way around the clothes discarded on the floor to get to the bathroom, but I managed to sneak in without any trouble.

The countertop was littered with bottles of shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and a couple mysterious stains I didn't want to think about. I shuddered at the mess and began hunting through the bottles of soap and shampoo for sandalwood. Daphne had mentioned that they both stank of it. I found a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of body wash, both with the scent. For good measure I grabbed both of them and unscrewed the tops. I pointed my wand inside and whispered an incantation.

Smiling maliciously to myself I quickly screwed the lids back on and set the bottles back where they'd come from. Satisfied with my small revenge, I crept from the bathroom. But then I saw that Fuchs and Kensington had both laid out their clothes for the next day and I couldn't resist.

I did Fuchs first, sneaking his robe from the pile and spreading it on the floor, crouching over it and moving my wand in different shapes, whispering softly. Work complete I folded the robe again and put it back where it came from. I crawled across the floor towards Kensington's bed and snuck his robe away as well, spreading it out like I had with Fuchs.

I was almost finished when I heard a snuffle and a grunt. I froze as I heard bedsprings creak. Someone pushed their covers back and stood up, I couldn't tell who. I laid on my side and pressed as close to the bed frame as I could, trying to make myself as flat as possible. Whoever it was wandered past me, sleeping kicking a pair of boxers out of the way, and went into the bathroom.

I sighed in relief when he shut the door behind him. Quickly I finished the spell, folded the robe, and put it back. I didn't waste time trying to be quiet, I just ran on my tiptoes for the door and slipped out. I fled the Gryffindor Common Room without any more trouble, despite the Fat Lady protesting that I had to come back and tell her how I'd gotten the password.

I ignored her and crept down the halls. I took a passageway down to the fifth floor, but the moment I'd stepped out, I heard a meow. I turned and stared in horror at Mrs. Norris, who was sitting there staring at me with her lamplike eyes.

"What is it, my lovely? A student out of bed?"

I could hear Filch shuffling his way towards me from around the corner. I knew I couldn't just duck back into the passage, Fred and George had warned me that Filch knew about that one. I didn't know any other tricks that I could use on this floor, but if I made it down one I could take the same passage I'd used down to the second and hopefully gain some time.

I sprinted on my tiptoes for the stairs, leaping down them. My socks slipped and slid a little, but I managed to stay upright as I hit the fourth floor. I exited the stairwell at a run, breaking for the passageway.

At least, that was the plan. Instead I smacked into a wall of black fabric. I heard a grunt and then vice-like hands gripped my shoulders. I winced, looking up to see who had caught me. I found Professor Snape staring back down at me, looking faintly surprised.

"Potter," he said slowly.

"Professor," I replied. I plastered a breezy smile on my face and met his gaze. "What brings you out this lovely evening?"

"Patrolling for students out of bed after hours – quite like yourself. _What_ are you doing out, Miss Potter?"

I bit my lip. I could tell him, but I'd get in even more trouble for breaking into Gryffindor Tower. Then McGonagall would get involved and I'd end up worse off than if I'd tried to lie. But I'd never lied to Snape before and I wasn't keen to start. I figured whatever sort of odd understanding we had would be shot the moment I tried.

"Erm… you'll find out tomorrow, sir," I tried.

"I will," Snape repeated slowly. "And what does that mean?"

"You'll see," I repeated a little more forcefully. "Trust me professor, it'll be worth the wait."

" _There_ you are, you little brat! Think you're above the rules, eh? Well I caught you!"

I whipped around and saw Filch puffing his way down the stairs with Mrs. Norris following him, tail thrust smugly into the air.

"Actually, Mr. Filch, I believe _I_ caught her," Snape corrected. Filch nodded eagerly.

"Yes, so you did sir! Can I have her sir? I could give her so much detention for this!"

I looked up at Snape, begging him not to hand me over. Snape was one thing, Filch was another. He'd stretch a punishment out as long as he was capable of before Dumbledore got involved for cruel and unusual punishment.

"No, Filch." I could have kissed Snape if I didn't think it'd get me hexed nine ways from Sunday. "I've already given her a detention for tomorrow night. She'll be serving it with me."

Aside from Filch, Snape was the hardest on whoever came to him for detention. Filch looked disappointed, but he seemed mollified by the fact that I'd be having detention with Snape. Having experienced detention with Snape, which involved cleaning cauldrons, I was perfectly content with my punishment.

"Right then, sir."

"I'll escort Miss Potter back to her Common Room. And make sure she stays, this time," Snape added, giving me a stern look. I hastened to look contrite when really I was just pleased that I was getting off so lightly. "Come on, you." Snape grabbed me by the back of my neck, but I couldn't help but notice that his grip could have been a lot harsher.

He made up for it by dragging me along after him. His legs were a lot longer than mine and I had to stagger to keep up with him as he forced me through the hallways and back towards the dungeons.

"I would hate to think you're following in your father's footsteps of breaking rules," Snape said as we walked.

"Erm… for a good cause?"

He snorted. "I look forward to see what you have planned for tomorrow, Miss Potter. And just so you know, you'll be cleaning cauldrons again."

"Right sir," I sighed. "I figured. Thanks for saving me from Filch."

"I did no such thing. I caught you out of bed, so it's my responsibility to punish you."

I looked up at him, not quite buying it. "Yeah, sure, sir."

Snape gave me an annoyed look as we stopped outside of the Slytherin Common Room.

"Titanoboa," he said to the wall, and it ground open. I stepped inside and turned back to Snape.

"G'night Professor," I said, waving at him cheerfully. He snorted.

"Good _night,_ Potter," he grumbled as the stone wall shut behind me. I snickered, but my night wasn't quite over yet. I had one more stop to make. The dangerous one. We Slytherins weren't supposed to go against each other. However, Flint shouldn't have run into my brother.

I knew where his dorm was and crept into that one with just as much ease, wand in my hands. Flint's bed was easy to find, seeing as it was plastered with Quidditch posters and pennants. I crept to his trunk and lifted the lid. Reaching in carefully, wary of making any noise, I pulled out his potions kit and opened it up.

It was a quick fix to take the labels off and switch them around with ingredients that looks similar enough to not be immediately noticeable as the wrong thing. I was hoping he'd at least mess one thing up before he realized that someone had tampered with his ingredients and went through to check each one. Hopefully, he'd blow something up.

I sent a silent apology to Snape for the chaos that this would hopefully unleash in his classroom before replacing the potions kit and heading for my bed.

* * *

"She looks too happy," Zabini observed.

"She's grinning like a Hufflepuff," Parkinson sneered.

"It's a little creepy," Tracey admitted.

"Clearly up to something," Nott said decisively.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Potter, it's putting me off my breakfast," Malfoy scowled.

"So sorry," I sang, shoving a bite of toast in my mouth before turning to look at the doors to the Great Hall.

"What are you waiting for?" Daphne demanded. I turned to her, grinning widely.

"You really want to know?" I asked coaxingly.

"Yes!" she insisted.

"Your revenge," I explained smugly. Daphne gave me a blank stare.

"My what?"

"Revenge," I repeated. "Yours, Tracey's, and Lily's."

The three girls exchanged looks, smiles slowly stretching across their faces as they realized just who I was waiting for. Their eyes lit with malicious enjoyment as they imagined what I might have done.

"You beautiful thing," Daphne breathed.

Lily squeezed me tightly, exclaiming, "You're the best, Potter!"

Tracey beamed at me. "I owe you one Potter, seriously."

"What in the name of Salazar did you do?" Zabini huffed.

"And more importantly," Parkinson jumped in, "is it going to lose us points?"

"Not a one!" I grinned back. Not even Parkinson's pug face could ruin my mood this morning. "I got detention coming back to the Common Room, but it's from Snape, so I'm not overly concerned."

"You're lucky," Nott observed.

"You don't know the half of it." I opened my mouth to tell them about Filch, but at that moment, I heard roars of laughter coming from outside the Great Hall. And the sounds were coming closer.

"That has to be them," Daphne said, sitting up eagerly. Suddenly our section of the Slytherin table resembled meerkats as we all strained to get a look at Fuchs' and Kensington's entrance.

It was even better than I imagined. The shampoo apparently belonged to Fuchs, because his hair was now glittering silver and green over his thunderous scowl. The body wash was Kensington's and he'd definitely used it this morning, because his skin was streaked with green and silver smears, like he'd rolled in paint.

"That's brilliant!" Lily howled, clutching her stomach.

"Wait for it," I said, still grinning. As they moved farther into the Great Hall, the backs of their robes became visible, and suddenly we Slytherins were doubling over in fresh cackles.

Scrawled across the backs of their robes in green letters lined with silver were the words _I curse little girls because I have no balls._ Apparently no one had told them yet, because they didn't seem to realize what set the whole hall off again.

"How did you even do that?" Parkinson asked, looking awed despite herself.

"I broke into Gryffindor Tower and-"

"No way!" Zabini yelped. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I just hung around until I overheard the password," I said with a shrug. "No big deal."

" _Who is responsible for this?"_

McGonagall had stormed over to the Slytherin table looking furious. I suppose it wasn't terribly hard to figure out what house was responsible for the prank. I'd emblazoned Fuchs and Kensington with our colors after all.

"Who did this?" McGonagall demanded, sweeping up the table, eyeing all of us like she was waiting for someone to crack. I kept my head down, eating my breakfast like nothing was wrong. I saw Daphne, Lily, and Tracey bow their heads and smother giggles when McGonagall passed.

"Minerva."

I turned around and saw Snape standing behind me. He glanced my way, completely aware that I was the culprit. I stared at him, begging not to sell me out. He stared back at McGonagall.

"I will handle this internally," he said. "No one will tell you who is responsible."

McGonagall threw up her hands in frustration. "I know that! But the matter remains that one of your students got into Gryffindor Tower somehow. That's my concern."

Snape's eyes very carefully stayed away from mine. "I'm certain whoever did this won't share what they know."

McGonagall looked like she knew she wasn't going to win this fight. They were both the most defensive heads of houses, and neither would allow the other to mess around within their own house. She turned away and returned to the head table, watching us Slytherins carefully.

I turned back to my breakfast, only to feel a dark shadow looming over me. I straightened up and tilted my head back, greeted by the sight of an upside-down Snape.

"Professor?" I asked.

"You detention will be held tonight after dinner in my classroom," he said coolly. "And well done, Potter."

I beamed. "Thanks sir."

I rode high on my triumph the rest of the day, and my mood was only bolstered when Fred and George smuggled a letter of congratulations into my bag when we passed in the hallway. I grinned to myself as I touched the parchment, which was still tucked away in my pocket. I was on my way to the potions classroom to serve my detention, and unlike most people who made their way into the depths of Snape's domain, I was actually pretty chipper.

I knocked on the door politely, and heard Snape call, "Enter."

"You have some cauldrons for me, sir?" I asked jovially as I stepped inside and shut the door. Snape was at his desk grading papers, and I saw a half-depleted bottle of red ink next to him. The tip of his quill was dyed a menacing red. I felt bad whoever's essay he was grading, because I could see a fairly substantial amount of red on the paper, and he was only halfway done.

Snape pointed to the pile in one corner with the point of his quill. I saw burned bits of potion congealed to the bottom and sides of some. Resting on the desk was a bucket, a scrub brush, and a vial of vibrantly green liquid. I recognized it as Caldwell's Cauldron Cleaner. I'd used it last time.

"You will stay until they are all clean," Snape said. I examined the pile and guessed it would take about two and a half hours, maybe three.

"Alright," I said, and rolled up my sleeve. I grabbed the bucket off the table and dragged it over to the faucet in the corner. I filled the bucket and lugged it back to the pile of cauldrons. I poured in some of the vial and reached back to tie up my hair. I reached for my scrub brush, settled my first cauldron between my knees, and got down to work.

I really didn't mind cleaning. I actually kind of liked it, in a way. It was a mindless task, which meant my thoughts could wander to whatever they wanted to.

First, my thoughts settled on Harry. I was missing him a lot these days. We never saw each other because the school was smart enough to keep Slytherin and Gryffindor separated most of the time. I could only hope that would change after third year, when we got to pick some of our own classes. Maybe then we'd be able to wrangle more classes together.

I could do without some of his friends though. Actually, I could do without Hermione, specifically. Ron was alright, he was the first person to talk to Harry and I on the train, and after a bit of staring, he'd calmed down enough to actually have some decent conversations with. He might not have been the smartest person I'd ever met, but he was able to make me laugh, which didn't happen a whole lot, at least not genuinely.

I also really liked his brothers. I was a little sad that my lessons with Fred and George would be ending within a couple of weeks. They'd agreed to a month of tutoring and then they were going to turn me loose on the world. I'd learned a lot from them: fascinating spells, out-of-the-box thinking, some manipulation skills, and a few dirty jokes I would probably never admit to knowing. They made me laugh even harder than Ron did and they got me to loosen up enough to joke around with them.

My main problem with Hermione was what everyone's main problem with her was – she was a know-it-all. Now, in all fairness, I could be too. If I knew something for certain, I had no qualms about letting someone know precisely how wrong they were. However, Hermione took it to the point of pedantry, to where one slightly misworded comment would trigger an entire rant on the subject. I also didn't like how close-minded she was.

The incident with Snape came to mind. She had seen two and two and put it together to make what she thought was four. However, she missed the one hiding over in the shadows that made the answer five. She was unwilling to accept new information once she'd reached her conclusion, and that annoyed me to no end.

She was also quite boring. I could only imagine what she would say if she knew I was responsible for the scene at breakfast this morning.

Daphne, Lily, and Tracey were still quite pleased with me for that. They'd been hugging me and thanking me on and off all day. I was completely glad to have done it, not just for their sakes, but because of the way Fuchs and Kensington slunk away whenever they saw a Slytherin. They'd definitely learned their lesson, which had been compounded when Amelie and her friends nailed them with no less than six separate jinxes in the hall after lunch.

They were currently in the Hospital Wing, and I was satisfied justice had been served.

I wondered vaguely if Malfoy would be waiting up for me when I went back to the Common Room. Somehow our chess matches had turned into a fairly regular thing. We usually played before bed about four or five times a week. On his part I think he missed the routine of playing with his dad and I was a suitable replacement. For my part, I loved the teasing I got to do more than the actual playing, although the smugness when I made a move that surprised him in how well-planned it was came in a close second in terms of enjoyable feelings.

We'd sort of come to a truce. Sort of, because we still weren't exactly friendly. More of a friendly rivalry, actually. We competed in potions class to see who could come up with the best potion. I nearly always won. We competed at chess to see who would win. I nearly always lost. And then of course there was our near-constant verbal digs that were fun to test against each other.

However, the friendliness of the rivalry depended solely on how he was treating my brother. When he backed off for a few days, things were civil bordering on camaraderie. When Malfoy had come out with something particularly vicious, things got tense. I took to sabotaging his potions when I could and he crushed me brutally at chess in retaliation.

I remembered Malfoy mentioning that I should try out for the Quidditch team and began to ponder on that. Certainly, I loved flying. Not as much as Harry, but quite a bit. And I knew that my flying would be few and far between. Fred and George had mentioned inviting Harry and I for the summer, playing impromptu Quidditch matches in the orchard behind their house. However I knew that wouldn't be enough for me.

Flying lessons had officially ended two weeks ago. I was starting to really feel the urge to climb on a broom and soar around with the wind roaring in my ears and whipping my hair into my face. I was seriously considering breaking down and asking Harry to loan me his broom so that I could to a couple of laps around the grounds, just to take the edge off. I couldn't even imagine what the summer would be like, when I would have zero access to a broom, period.

Joining the Quidditch team would definitely put a stop to that. And I had to admit, it would be fun to compete against Harry. Not directly, as he played Seeker and I knew I wasn't quite talented enough for that, but at least in some manner. I could see it being very fun, a sort of sibling rivalry we'd never really had before.

I was discovering a newfound love of competition. It came down to my chess matches with Malfoy, if I could brew the potion the best that day, if I could get the spell down faster than the rest of my house, if I could outwit Parkinson enough to make her pug like face go red and her jaw gape open. Playing Quidditch against Harry sounded terribly tempting.

Of course, I'd need a broom. Maybe when we got supplies for our second year I'd buy one. Harry and I had unrestricted access to the Potter fortune; I could definitely buy a broom and not even make a dent in it. Even if I didn't try out for the team, I'd still be able to run out to the pitch and soar around a little whenever I wanted, which was incredibly appealing.

For quite a long time I'd been lost in my thoughts, not even really processing when I set a cauldron aside and grabbed another or when I emptied out water that had gotten too dirty and got some clean water from the faucet. I was jerked out of my thoughts and back to reality when I heard a desk drawer slam. I looked over to Snape and saw that he was pulling out another bottle of red ink. The other was totally empty.

"The essays can't be that bad," I reasoned. "I mean, can they?"

Snape scoffed and crossed out a line viciously. "I mentioned that I teach dunderheads, did I not? They are indeed that bad."

I bit my bottom lip. "Sir, I'm pretty sure you're a hard grader. That may be part of it." Snape gave me a dark look. I held up my hands in submission. "Just saying it may be a contributing factor."

"I agree. But I wouldn't have to be if my students put even a modicum of brainpower into their work."

"There have to be a few students at least that can write a decent essay," I reasoned. I knew I was one of them. My essays came back with red – no one escaped the wrath of Snape's grading, no matter how much he liked them – but they weren't drenched in it like these essays seemed to be.

"Distressingly few," Snape allowed. I rolled my eyes.

"The Ravenclaws have to be doing pretty well. I mean, that's what they do, isn't it? Eat, sleep, and breathe essays?"

Snape scoffed and lifted up the essay he was reading. "Oh really? _'Valerian root was known as All Heal several centuries ago because it was believed to heal all. Because it healed so much stuff, it was very popular in medicine.'"_

I was incredulous. "You're kidding. You _have_ to be kidding, sir."

Snape offered the essay to me. I'm pretty sure there were rules against that, but I wasn't overly concerned. I took the essay, staring at the name in the corner. It was Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw in my year. I scanned through and quickly found the part Snape had read aloud. What followed was nearly as pointless as that.

"This is ridiculous!" I ranted. "It was known as All Heal in the Middle Ages, yeah, but it's not like they just slapped it on everything! Mostly it was used as a sleep and nerve remedy, it's not like they were stuffing it up people's noses when they got the sniffles. Then it was used for epilepsy… But really? _'It healed so much stuff…'_ Valerian has a long history, show the poor plant some respect."

I looked up. Professor Snape looked mildly amused by my rant. I smiled sheepishly and passed the essay back.

"And what grade would you give this essay?" Snape asked curiously.

"A Dreadful," I said bluntly. "Aside from 'it used to be used in medicine' there's not much else to the paper. And that's a fine topic… if he'd gotten more specific."

Snape reached into his drawer once more and plucked out a slightly ragged quill, passing it over to me. I took it, confused. Snape lifted off the top half of his essay pile and thrust it toward me.

"The less of this idiocy I have to read the better," he groused. I took the essays in surprise. I'd love to help grade, but that wasn't why I was here.

I cast a glance over my shoulder. "But the cauldrons-"

Snape rolled his eyes and flicked his wand. The scrub brush and cloth sprang to life, cleaning the cauldrons by themselves. With another flick of his wand there was a straight-backed wooden chair in front of his desk for me to sit in.

I eagerly took a seat and started grading. Snape's system was easy. No more than five Os in all the essays. Slytherins passed. Didn't matter if the essay was terrible, so long as there was an essay there, they passed. Whatever I thought a Gryffindor deserved, I lowered it by a grade. Corrections were to be made often and in red ink.

I spent the rest of my night helping Snape grade the essays, which was actually a surprisingly enjoyable way to spend my time. I'd have to get detention more often if this was how it was going to be. Every now and then when one of us found a particularly moronic line we read it aloud for the other to sneer at.

When the essays were all graded ad set aside, I took my leave, giving Snape a cheery, "G'night sir!" as the door shut behind me. I made my way back to the Common Room. It was full of older students gearing up for practice OWLs and NEWTs. I was glad I wouldn't have to worry about those for several years. I stayed as quiet as possible, because some of the older students had been known to throw hexes if you talked too loudly or breathed near them. I knew for a fact that we currently had a third year in the Hospital Wing with a pair of antlers and his hands transfigured into hooves.

I strolled into the dorm to find all the other girls were already in their pajamas. Bulstrode seemed to have already passed out, but Lily and Tracey were lying in bed writing essays, Daphne was reading, and Parkinson was writing a letter.

"You look cheerful for a girl that just got out of detention," Parkinson observed suspiciously. "What happened?"

"Snape let me grade essays," I said as I ducked behind my curtains to pull on my own pajamas.

"Well I hope you gave me a good grade," Daphne grumbled. "I'll need the cushioning. I can't for the life of me figure out how to say another three inches about mistletoe berries."

"You got an E," I recalled. "Aside from a few misspelled words yours was okay."

Daphne let out a sigh of relief. "Thank god. I'll just ramble about some Muggle Celtic beliefs for a while and call it a night then."

"He passes all the Slytherins, don't worry," I assured her. "He wouldn't even let me give Crabbe and Goyle anything less than an A, and trust me, they deserved it."

"That's a shock," Tracey snorted.

"Well we _are_ his house," Parkinson sniffed. "He _should_ pass us."

I scoffed as I tugged out my own Potions essay. It was due tomorrow. "That's not how school's supposed to work Parkinson."

"Hey Potter, what's another part of a unicorn that came be used for potions?" Lily asked, scratching her temple with the nib of her quill and leaving a little black line. "I've got horn and tail hair, but I'm having trouble with a third one."

"Blood," I said, flicking through a potions book I'd gotten for help with my essay. I found the right page and shoved it at her. "See, here?"

"'Unicorn blood can be used in potions to lengthen life, but at a cost,'" Lily rear aloud.

"Ooh, _scary,"_ Tracey giggled, wiggling her fingers at us mockingly. "Too bad Halloween was last month."

"And Christmas is next month," Lily said happily. "I can't wait! My parents and I are going skiing in France."

"That's what we did last year," Parkinson smirked. "This year we're going to our island in the Caribbean. A whole holiday of sun and the sea. When I come back I'll have _such_ a tan."

Daphne smiled. "My father's rented a little chalet in the Swiss Alps. We're staying there with my grandparents for the holiday."

Tracey sighed. "Sounds great. I wish I could do something like that, but my dad's insisting that we stay home and spend time with family." She stuck out her tongue.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked absently, clenching my book in a white-knuckled fist.

"Nothing, but my family's terrible. My aunt will spend the whole time drunk and my snobby older cousin will brag about her career as a model in Paris." She scowled. "She'll probably bring some cute French guy with her and make me feel like a Muggle."

I grit my teeth, trying to keep calm. But inside I was angry. Not really at Tracey. She didn't really realize she was having such an affect on me. She had every right to not want to be around her family – I had a good feeling if my family was like that I wouldn't want to be around them either.

But for someone who'd never had a family to spend Christmas with – not a real family anyway – that sounded like absolute heaven. Cozying up by a fire listening to grandparents harp on about something that happened decades ago or the current political climate. Helping my mother wash up dishes after a huge Christmas dinner, ham and vegetables and stuffing. Settling in to make smores with cousins, even snobby models, was entirely too tempting a thought.

"I think I'll finish the essay in the morning," I said absently, shutting it into my book and tossing it to the foot of my bed. I drew my curtains shut around my bed and skid under my covers, trying to block out the murmurs around me.

"Did I say something?"

"I dunno, maybe she doesn't like Christmas?"

"Probably reminded her that she doesn't have a family to spend Christmas with," I heard Parkinson sneer, and I had to restrain myself from flying out of my four-poster and throttling the pug. Particularly since she was dead on.

The fact was that I _hated_ Christmas. Always had. For me it was always another reminder that it was me and Harry against the world. Every Christmas we'd have to watch Dudley ripping into his presents and protesting that this wasn't the right color or the right size. If we were lucky, Harry and I would get a pair of socks each tossed at us when we walked into the kitchen to make breakfast.

And then later on, we'd help Aunt Petunia make the Christmas dinner. If we burned anything, we didn't get to eat any of it. Considering how many dishes were usually cooking at once, that happened far more often than not. Dudley, of course, would eat enough ham to make himself sick, because he knew that was my favorite. He would then choke down as much custard as humanly possible, because he knew that was Harry's favorite.

Afterwards the Dursleys would sit around the tree and watch Christmas specials on television until the wee hours. Harry and I would, of course, be in the kitchen scrubbing dishes until our hands were raw. Only then would we be allowed to join the rest of the household in the living room. That would usually last about half an hour before Uncle Vernon found some excuse to send us to our cupboard. He'd used everything from we were breathing too loud to the feigned concern of 'growing children need sleep' while Dudley smiled meanly at us.

All in all Christmas was actually worse than a regular day for us. It had always been my least favorite holiday. For me it was a vibrant reminder that while the rest of the world was happily celebrating with family and embracing each other Harry and I were trapped in a family that hated us and shoved away into a dark cupboard under some stairs.

At least here at Hogwarts the Dursleys couldn't control us. We wouldn't have to make meals, we wouldn't have to watch Dudley rub his presents in our faces. We might even get presents of our own. Actual presents that had been bought for us and not dug out of the back of a drawer or a coat pocket. Maybe we'd get to play in the snow or stay up late and stare at the tree.

I realized how sad it was that I didn't have any idea how I would be spending my Christmas. Would I hang out with Harry and his friends? Harry sounded appealing, his friends I could do with or without. I still hadn't quite forgiven them for being so paranoid about Snape. Maybe I could play a friendly game of chess with Harry, I heard Ron had been teaching him. I wished I had something to give him, but I couldn't think of anything. Unlike the older kids, I couldn't get something on a Hogsmeade weekend.

It was a little depressing thinking that now that we actually had access to funds we still couldn't do simple things like give each other Christmas gifts. I'd think of something, I supposed, but as far as it being terribly impressive, I didn't have high hopes.

I burrowed my head under my covers and tried to go to sleep.


	13. Christmas

As Christmas grew closer and closer my temper got shorter and shorter. My dorm mates were all chattering excitedly about their Christmas plans. I couldn't blame them really. Skiing, private islands, and rented chalets all sounded like amazing ways to spend the holidays. But that didn't stop me from hating them a little for it. I'd taken to spending most of my free time either holed up in the library between the shelves of books on potions or, surprisingly, down at Hagrid's, drinking tea and learning quite a bit about magical creatures as we chatted. I knew I'd be safe from Slytherins there.

Malfoy had become another huge problem as well. Our chess matches, while they still continued, were downright vicious on my part and almost patronizing on his. I was angry and making rash moves, desperately trying to smash his pieces to bits. He responded by smugly decimating my side of the board. The problem really wasn't even what he was saying to me, it was what he was saying to Harry. It usually applied to me as well though, so I usually took offense no matter who he meant to insult.

"I do feel so sorry for all those people who will be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home," Malfoy drawled one Potions lesson. I saw Harry spill a little too much powdered spine of lionfish into his measure, making it overflow. Malfoy snorted.

I scowled, set a mistletoe berry on my table, curled my finger, and flicked. The berry flew through the air and landed neatly in Malfoy's cauldron. The moment it broke the surface the potion exploded, spattering him with globs of congealed purple potion.

" _Potter!"_

I winced. Apparently I hadn't been as subtle as I'd hoped. Malfoy whipped around to glare at me, blobs of potion falling from his stupid pointed chin to splat against the ground. I waved at him sweetly as Ron and Harry cracked up at the table across the room.

"Detention," Snape said shortly, Vanishing the potion from Malfoy's face and cauldron with a flick of his wand. "That was completely unnecessary."

"Of course, sir," I replied, turning back to my potion dutifully.

I wasn't overly concerned about detention with Snape. Every since that time in November I'd had detention with him no less than four times. Every time he let me grade essays with him instead of doing anything too strenuous and we shared a few sneers at what my fellow first years called essays.

"What's your problem, Potter?" Malfoy hissed at me.

"Your mouth, at the moment," I replied, pouring my perfectly-measured spine of lionfish with the addition of a mint leaf into my cauldron and watching in pleasure as the potion turned a glimmering gold. "It's been saying some terrible things about my brother. I've been taking them rather personally, to be honest. I've been spending my free time designing a potion that will glue your lips together."

When we left the dungeons at the end of Potions, we found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told us that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" Malfoy drawled. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose - that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron made the mistake of lunging for Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs. Otherwise I would have cheered for him to kick Malfoy's butt. As it was, I just shrank back and let Snape stride past, robes whipping as he yelled, "WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes, paling slightly.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, emerging from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking. In my pocket I fingered my wand, wondering if I could possibly hit them with some jinx without Snape seeing. I decided blowing up a potion in Malfoy's face was enough revenge for one day – after all, it was Ron he'd insulted this time, not Harry. Ron could defend himself; he had his own siblings to back him up.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him..."

"Wouldn't recommend it," I said absently, pausing by Harry's side.

"Shame about that detention," Harry observed.

"I don't know what you were thinking!" Hermione exclaimed. "Throwing a random ingredient into the potion was really dangerous, you could have blown up half the potions lab and-"

"No, I wouldn't have," I said shortly. "I knew exactly what would happen if I tossed in that mistletoe berry. Why do you think I waited until Malfoy leaned over the cauldron to toss it in? Why do you think Malfoy was the only one affected?" I challenged. Hermione's mouth opened to respond, but I wasn't in the mood to fight with someone who didn't have an argument.

"I'll see you at dinner," I said to Harry, and stalked down the halls. "Ah, the holidays," I mumbled to myself. "Happiest time of the year my _butt."_

My fuse was noticeably shorter, which was why I was feeling less that gracious when I graded essays with Snape that night. I poked holes in parchment and scribbled more vicious remarks onto the papers than Snape on a bad day. Needless to say, the professor noted.

"While I do agree with your assessment that Miss Jones 'might want to bother cracking a book, you idiot, and learn to spell like an adult,' I'm fairly certain you're annoyed with something besides her poor spelling."

"You would be correct," I growled out, scrawling an angry D at the top of the Hufflepuff's paper and smacking it down on to my pile of finished essays. "Like a mind reader you are, sir."

Snape scoffed. "Only Muggles speak of reading minds. The human consciousness if far more complex than a book. But if you're going to continue in this vein I'll have to set you scrubbing cauldrons. You're scratching my desk."

I lifted up the essay I had started on to see that I had in fact been writing so hard that I'd left a couple of faint scratches in the varnish on Snape's desk. I hastily buffed them out with my sleeve, blushing at just how childish I was behaving.

"Sorry sir," I said sheepishly.

"What has you so angry, Miss Potter? Aside from Mister Malfoy."

"I hate Christmas," I said bluntly. "I hate the whole blasted season. Good will to all, yeah right. I've never seen a hint of good will around this time of year."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Really? I was under the impression children were supposed to enjoy greedily collecting as many toys as they could."

I scoffed. "Yeah, they are. Hard to do though, when the nicest Christmas gift I've ever gotten was a new toothbrush."

I saw the skin around Snape's mouth tighten like he really wanted to scowl but had decided he shouldn't.

"Is that so?" he said blandly. "I've never been terribly fond of the Christmas holidays either."

"Problem is I'd like to be fond of them," I admitted.

Snape was perhaps the only person I'd admit this too. Definitely not Harry, he had experienced every crappy Christmas right there with me. He didn't need my angst over the holidays, he had his own. The Slytherins would laugh at me. Hagrid, bless him, would try to be sympathetic, but tooth-breaking baked goods weren't exactly what I needed right now. What I needed was a heaping helping of blunt honesty, and I knew Snape would deliver.

"I'd like to get all excited to wake up on Christmas morning to open presents, not that I'll actually get any. I'd like to send present to the girls in my dorm, and to my brother, but I don't have anything to give them. I suppose I could make something, but the only thing I'm even slightly decent at involves adding ingredients and applying heat. Basically, Christmas is very frustrating to me, sir."

Snape's eyebrows were raised. I sighed, waiting for him to deliver a verbal smack down that would hopefully snap me out of my funk.

"Your mother was fond of baked goods."

That… was not even close to what I was expecting.

"Sir, have you been huffing your ingredients?" I asked bluntly, for which I received a dark look.

"I am simply recalling that your mother sent baked goods to people every Christmas. And I also happened to recall that to get to the kitchens you have to tickle the pear in the portrait of a fruit bowl off the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff Common Room. What an odd thing to think of," he said absently, returning to his grading.

I grinned widely. I knew there was a reason I liked this man. "Professor Snape, has anyone ever told you you're kind of a softie?"

"Only if they're seeking detention."

I snorted and turned back to my pile of essays feeling a little bit of my hatred of Christmas lift off of my shoulders.

* * *

Having a plan made me feel better. But sadly, my plan was a little trickier than it appeared at first glance. For starters, I was working with perishables. There was no guarantee that the cookies I had decided to make would be fit for consumption after a trip swinging from the claws of owls. It took me a week to find the spells I'd need to make sure they arrived safely and another week to get them right.

Then came the fact that making cookies took time. Lots of it, in fact. I needed an evening when I wasn't going to be busy. That was looking harder and harder to find. Malfoy had thankfully let up on our chess matches for a while, but the teachers seemed to be trying their hardest to crush our Christmas spirit. It seemed like every time I thought I might have a free night all of the teachers got together to collaborate and dumped three essays onto us.

My chance came on the first day of break. My dorm was empty except for me. I was the only first year Slytherin still at Hogwarts. And with most of my teachers gone as well, I was no longer bombarded with homework from all sides. So that afternoon, I headed to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

It was surprisingly hard to find the right portrait. All of the pictures in that hallway seemed to be made of food. That was less surprising now that I knew what was down there, though. I finally found the fruit bowl and, feeling incredibly silly, I raised a finger and tickled the pear. It squirmed under my finger, giggling. Then it turned into a doorknob with a small pop. Grinning slightly – Hogwarts always managed to surprise me – I grabbed the doorknob and tugged the painting out. It swung on oiled hinges to reveal-

Well, Hogwarts was still surprising me.

It was the kitchen alright, walls covered in shelves of ingredients and utensils and gleaming brass and copper pots. It was the same size as the Great Hall above, with tables lined up below their counterparts. Huge ovens roared along one wall. The whole room was ringed in counter tops where pans and bowls were resting, half-prepared meals filling them.

No, my surprise was purely because of what was manning the kitchens. They were like no creatures I had ever seen; tiny humanoids with bat-like ears and spindly limbs. Their heads and eyes were oversized. I couldn't tell the males from the females – if there even were genders- and they all wore the same tea towel draped like a toga, emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. Their voices were high and squeaky.

Or at least, they were until they saw me. And then the kitchen went dead silent.

"Erm… hello?" I greeted uncertainly.

I'm not quite sure what I had expected to find manning the Hogwarts kitchen. I think I was anticipating a sorcerer's apprentice situation, with pots and pans darting about the kitchen of their own accord, spoons merrily stirring away at soups under their own power. Maybe goblins, if anything. But these little creatures were not what I had expected.

I also hadn't expected a half-dozen of them to suddenly rush at me bearing trays of cakes and pies and flagons of the butterbeer I'd heard older students talking about. They bowed and scraped and stammered out apologies in their high-pitched voices. I felt a bit like I'd just been mobbed by highly apologetic three-year-olds who'd overdosed on sugar.

"We is sorry we didn't sees you miss!"

"We will go iron our earses for ignoring you, miss!"

"We's so sorry miss!"

"Whoa!" I held up my hands hurriedly. "Please, stop apologizing!"

"We's sorry for saying sorry miss!"

"Yes, we's all very sorry."

"We don't mean to upset miss!"

"One at a time," I begged.

One of them muscled through the crowd around me, looking up at me with big blue eyes. It was wearing a tea towel that looked to be the cleanest and newest of any of the creatures.

"Me is Tippy, miss," it said. I thought this one might be a girl, mostly because it's voice was higher than the others. "We's very sorry for ignoring miss, only we didn't see miss come in. We's also sorry for saying sorry so much to miss. We didn't mean to annoy miss."

"You didn't annoy me," I said hastily. "I just couldn't hear with so many of you talking at once. Er… what are you, exactly, if you don't mind me asking?"

Tippy's chest swelled with pride. "We is the house elves of Hogwarts school! We love working in the kitchens here. Professor Dumbledore don't beat us or make us iron our earses or shut our noses in the ovens!"

Personally, I couldn't imagine what kind of monster would make them do something like that. They seemed like sweet creatures, if a bit obsessively devoted to their work. "That's very nice of him," I agreed.

"Yes it is! Professor Dumbledore is the bestest master ever!" Tippy exclaimed energetically. "He lets us elvses help all the students and teachers! What can we help you with, miss?"

"My name is Lorena Potter," I told her. "You can just call me Lorena, or Potter. Whichever you prefer."

Tippy's eyes immediately swelled with tears. I wasn't sure if I'd just committed some sort of major breach in house elf etiquette or if she was having some sort of attack.

"How wonderful Miss Potter is!" Tippy wailed. "Miss Potter talks to Tippy like Tippy is her equal!"

I blinked uncertainly. "Are you not?" I asked, not quite sure how to take all this. It was absolutely dizzying.

Clearly, house elves didn't lead the best of lives. I guessed that a lot of wizards treated them like slaves and punished them with self-inflicted injuries when they did something wrong. It seemed like Hogwarts was a sort of haven for them, where they could work in decent conditions and not have to hurt themselves.

"Tippy, Tippy," I said hastily, trying to stop the house elf's sobs. She was making me a little uncomfortable, to be honest. I'd never moved someone to tears before. "Listen, I need your help."

Tippy gasped in pleasure. "Tippy is happy to help Miss Potter however she can!"

"Thanks," I said. Tippy burst into a fresh wave of sobs. I could have face palmed. "No, no, Tippy, please stop crying!" I begged.

"Tippy can't help it miss!" Tippy sobbed. "Miss Potter is just so nice to Tippy!"

"Okay. Okay, would Tippy – sorry, would _you_ mind to help me with something?"

"Anything, Miss Potter, anything!" Tippy said eagerly.

"Okay, well, I'd like to give my friends cookies for Christmas," I began.

Tippy turned around and yelled "Cookies!" with so much force that her tiny little frame doubled over and her face went red. Immediately I was surrounded by house elves holding trays of cookies over their heads on silver platters. I saw sugar cookies, gingerbread, shortbread, snickerdoodles, peanut butter, and chocolate chip cookies.

"No," I corrected hastily. "I mean I'd like to make them myself."

Tippy's eyes went wide with horror. "You mean… Miss Potter doesn't like our cookies?" Before she could start sobbing again I hastened to correct her.

"No, no! Your cookies all look delicious!" I assured her. "But these are Christmas gifts, and if I give my friends cookies that something else made, it's like cheating, you understand?"

"So… Miss Potter would like to make her own cookies for her friends… because they means more that way?" Tippy said slowly.

"Yes, exactly!" I beamed. "That's it!"

"Miss Potter is such a good friend!" Tippy said, clapping her hands together and jumping in place happily. "What does Miss Potter need?"

The only recipe I could remember by heart was the one for chocolate chip cookies. That was the one Dudley ordered me to make the most often. One batch wouldn't do it, I'd need at least two for all the people I wanted to give them to, and…

I stared around at all of the house elves bustling around. I did a little mental math, sextupled the ingredients, and listed them all off for Tippy, who sent off a whole squadron of house elves to gather ingredients. I was a little surprised then I saw a couple of house elves scurrying over to one counter under the weight of huge sacks of flour and sugar. I hadn't thought their spindly little arms could hold that much weight. Apparently they were stronger than they looked.

"Tippy," I asked as the house elf ushered me over to where the ingredients lay. "Would you like to _help_ me make them all?"

Tippy looked up at me, wide-eyed. "Isn't that cheating, Miss Potter?"

"Not so long as I do most of the work," I assured her.

Tippy was delighted to help. I had her sift together the dry ingredients while I creamed the butter and sugar. It took a heck of a lot longer that it normally would have with a beater. By the time I'd finished my arm was aching, and I still had to add all of the dry ingredients and beat them in.

I groaned aloud at the thought of how much my arm was going to hurt by the time this was over. Then I steeled myself, reminding myself that this was my idea. I'd gotten the house elves to drag all of this out, so I was committed.

I added the egg, vanilla, and then the dry ingredients, and finally the chocolate chips. Tippy helped me portion out the individual cookies onto the baking sheets and carried them over to the oven for me, shoving them in next to a couple of pies that looked like they were almost done.

"Miss Potter must have many friendses!" Tippy announced as we started on the second batch.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Then Miss Potter is very nice to her friendses!"

I smirked slightly. "Not really," I repeated.

Tippy didn't have anything to say to that, so she went back to mixing dry ingredients.

We finished that batch just as the first was coming out of the oven. We popped the second batch in and let the first cool on racks. Then we made the third, fourth, and fifth batches the same way, except that this time the cookies were significantly smaller.

It was hours before all of the cookies were out of the oven. They were spread across the Ravenclaw table on wire cooling racks, waiting for me to put them inside the clear wrap the house elves had provided and tie them up with little ribbon bows.

I quickly made up four bags, each containing about ten cookies. Harry would get some, and I supposed Ron, Fred, and George too. Percy, by default, as the only Weasley left out of that list. Daphne, Tracey, Lily… Snape had suggested this to me, and he was by far my favorite teacher, so he'd get some… And Hagrid too. I hadn't eaten half the rock cakes he'd given me, but I would repay him for them anyway.

I stared at my cookies. A few house elves had taken the empty racks over to the huge sink to be washed, but I still had enough for one more present. I wrapped them up and tied them in green ribbon, considering who I would send them too.

I smiled slightly as I made up my mind and gathered up all of the packages, putting them into the little basket the house elves were letting me borrow to carry them all up to the owlery. I turned towards the door, but Tippy stopped me.

"Miss Potter! Miss Potter! You forgot the rest!" Tippy cried, pointing to the other racks. I smiled at her kindly and shook my head.

"No I didn't," I corrected. "Those are for all of you. Merry Christmas."

The house elves around the kitchen froze, staring at me. Again I wondered if I had committed some kind of insult. But then about half of the house elves burst into tears, a quarter of them passed out where they stood, and another quarter ran at me, hugging any part of me that they could reach. Over all of it I could hear Tippy wailing, "Miss Potter is so good to us elfses! Miss Potter makes cookies for her friendses, and she gives them to us elfses. Miss Potter is our friend!"

That wasn't quite how I'd meant it, but I didn't feel like correcting her and stomping on her dreams. It took me about ten minutes to detach myself from the thankful elfs holding cookies, but I finally managed it. Not without having an entire pie, a flagon of water, and two shiny red apples added to my basket. The elfs wouldn't hear of me leaving without proper thanks, which for them meant food. That was the least I could get away with without offending them, it seemed.

I ventured up to the owlery, the basket cutting into the crook of my arm. I had to keep shifting it from side to side to keep my arm from falling off. My shoulders ached from all the stirring I'd done and the weight of the basket wasn't helping, but it had to be done. The long trek up to the owlery nearly killed me, I swear.

When I got there, Artemisia flew down to meet me. She perched on my shoulder and pecked my ear affectionately. I reached down and tugged a bit of crust off of my pie, passing it to her. She took it with a hoot of thanks and devoured it as I stroked her feathers.

"Sorry sweetie, I need some long-distance fliers for this one," I apologized. Artemisia gave an indignant hoot. I snorted. "Yes, I know you can do it, but I don't know what kind of conditions there will be, see?"

Artemisia nipped my hand in annoyance and took off to one of the higher perches, turning her back to me and ruffling her feathers indignantly.

I huffed and drew out the little slips of parchment in my pocket, as well as the ink well and quill I'd brought. I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to say, but I'd worked it out while I was cooking. Something simple, something not terribly intimate. Something to say 'I'm thinking about you over the holidays' without being maudlin.

I quickly scrawled _Merry Christmas, From L.P._ on four slips of parchment, each of them headed with a name. There was one for Lily, Tracey, and Daphne. The last package was, surprisingly, for Malfoy. I figured I should at least do something for him after he took the time to teach me how to play chess, even if he did it for selfish reasons.

Harry's, the Wealseys', Hagrid's and Snape's I kept in my pocket. I'd give them theirs in person on Christmas. I intended to spend the whole day with Harry, like I hadn't been able to in months. I was really missing him. I wasn't used to being apart from him for so long, and it got to me sometimes. I would see something or hear something and think 'I should tell Harry,' only to be brutally reminded that I couldn't, not without raising eyebrows and making life for me in Slytherin house that much harder.

I attached the notes to the packages and sent them off with four school owls. I sent one last glance up at Artemisia and called, "I'll let you give Harry his, alright? And Professor Snape and Hagrid, too?"

Artemisia gave a hoot of acknowledgement, but she still seemed annoyed. I sighed. Great, my owl was mad at me. Making a mental note to bring her up some owl treats later, I headed from the owlery.

The next place I went was Hagrid's. I figured that was probably the place Harry was most likely to be aside from Gryffindor Tower. I shuddered and pulled my cloak tighter around myself as I crossed the grounds. I'd rather foolishly decided not to stop and grab my thicker cloak and mittens, and now I was paying for it. My fingers were numb as I raised a hand to knock on Hagrid's door.

I heard the familiar booming bark of Fang and smiled as the door opened.

"Ah, Lorena! What brings yeh by?" Hagrid asked cheerfully, holding Fang back from lunging at me with an extended foot.

"Is Harry here?" I asked curiously.

"Nah, I have'n seen him or Ron or Hermione since b'fore break."

"I see," I said, slightly disappointed. I'd been hoping to spend the day with Harry, but I supposed he was probably up in Gryffindor Tower spending time with Ron. I immediately told myself not to be mad about it, but then I stopped.

Why shouldn't I be mad? It was Christmas and Harry hadn't even attempted to find me. He spent most of every day with Ron, he only saw me when we had Potions together or at meals. And his first reaction was to spend time not with his twin sister at the holidays, but the friend he saw daily. And I wasn't supposed to be a little hurt by that? Forget that, I was.

My hands fisted at my sides. I'd hoped that once Harry and I were at Hogwarts we would be able to become closer, to talk openly without fear of the Dursley's overhearing us. Even when we were separated by our houses, I'd still kept that dream alive. Apparently it was a foolish dream. I could count on two hands the amount of real conversations we'd had that lasted longer than a few minutes. Ever since we'd come here, we seemed further apart, not closer.

And it hurt. It hurt that the moment Harry had other options, other people to spend his time with he left me in the dust and ran off to spend time with them. It made me wonder just how much of our childhood closeness was us and how much was the fact that Harry didn't have anyone else. If we had grown up in a normal house, would Harry and I have been as inseparable as we were? I'd thought we were equally fond of each other, but I was starting to wonder if maybe I was a little more attached than he was. It was certainly starting to seem that way.

"Er… Is there anythin' else?" Hagrid asked.

I was snapped out of my musings to realize that I'd been standing on his front stoop glaring irritably at his kitchen table for nearly three minutes. I quickly blinked away the last of my bitter thoughts and plastered on a polite smile. It came easier than it ever had as I turned annoyance into faked cheer. It unnerved me a little, in fact, how quickly I was able to shove the angry expression off my face and replace it with something friendly. It happened unnervingly quickly and without any real thought.

"Yes, I was wondering how that issue you were having with the centaurs was going?" I pressed. "The one you were telling me about last time."

"Oh, abou' their land problems with the Acromantulas? Sure! Come on in, jus' put on some tea."

I stepped into the inviting warmth of Hagrid's cabin, ruffled Fangs ears, and sat down at the kitchen table like I normally would. I smiled and nodded just like I normally would, and contributed my opinions just like I normally would. But inside, this little knot was pulling tighter inside of my stomach.

* * *

That knot was still in my stomach as I lounged in the Gryffindor Common – much to the horror of the Fat Lady. I'd met up with Ron and Harry in the halls earlier and they'd invited me up for a rousing game of wizard's chess. Apparently Ron was teaching Harry these days. The look on the Fat Lady's face when they dragged me inside…

I snorted. Priceless.

Ron and Harry had both assumed I knew nothing about the game. So, Ron decided it would be a good idea to have Harry play me so he could sit on the sidelines and hiss advice to us whenever needed. I let them think that I was completely helpless, allowing Harry to take a few pieces of mine while I followed Ron's advice to the letter.

Then, ten minutes in, I abruptly made one move and stomped all over Ron's game plan. Within the next five turns I claimed one of Harry's pieces each turn – he had a bad habit of forgetting where his pawns were – and forced him into a checkmate before sitting back smugly.

"What was that?" Harry demanded, staring at the board incredulously.

I shrugged, still smiling smugly, and crossed my legs elegantly. "That, brother dear," I cooed, "was me kicking your butt."

"You know how to play!" Ron accused.

"Sort of," I admitted shamelessly. "I play in the Slytherin Common room some nights."

"Who taught you?" Ron asked curiously.

I shrugged, about the answer, and hesitated. If I said Malfoy, that would be opening up a can of worms that I did not at all want to deal with. Harry would get angry and then sulky, and Ron would side with Harry, of course. Then the atmosphere would be so awkward I was practically forced from Gryffindor Tower.

I wasn't willing to give up on my time with Harry yet. I had time to spend with him, more time than I'd had in a while, and I wasn't done.

"Around," I finally decided on. "I've picked stuff up from all over."

And that was true, to an extent. Malfoy had unequivocally been the one to teach me, but every now and then Nott or Zabini would take my place across from him and I'd pick up things from their moves, or they'd drop some advice in passing. I'd even checked a book on chess strategy out of the Library at one point to try and get a drop on Malfoy next time I played him.

"You could have told us that," Harry said, looking a little hurt. I sighed.

"Harry, come on, it was kind of funny."

"I was a little, mate," Ron agreed, smiling slightly. "Come on Rena, play me now."

I paused slightly at the nickname. He'd obviously picked it up from Harry. The question was, did I mind? Harry was the only one who'd ever called me Rena, and I liked it that way. Was I okay with someone else using the name? Was I okay telling Ron that I didn't feel that close to him? If I was going to do it I'd have to do it carefully, or Ron would immediately retreat back into sulking at Harry's side when I was around, and I was just now getting to know Harry's friends.

So I turned it into a joke, winking at Ron as he set up the pieces. "Only Harry calls me Rena," I chuckled. "He's the only one I can't beat up for it!" I nudged Harry in the side with an elbow teasingly. I was relieved when Ron and Harry both laughed. Then Ron went about cheerfully destroying me.

* * *

Christmas morning I woke up with a grunt and tried to roll out of my bed. The sheets tangled around my feet and I ended up barely catching myself before my face smacked into the ground.

I huffed. "Nothing like early-morning gymnastics." I twisted to look over my shoulder, glaring at my sheets.

My eyes went huge and I lunged back into my bed. At the foot, pinning my sheets in place, were a mound of Christmas presents. Most of them were wrapped in silver and green but there were a few that looked professionally wrapped in delicate white paper.

I couldn't believe it. I had never in my life gotten a Christmas present that was wrapped. Usually when Harry and I emerged from the cupboard on Christmas morning we had whatever we were given that year chucked at us on our way to fix breakfast. I still vividly remembered the year I had a half-used box of pencils tossed at me and only barely kept it from hitting me in the eye.

This was… This was not something I knew how to deal with.

My hands were shaking slightly as I reached for the closest box. It was flat and wide, wrapped in white paper with some French word stamped into it in swirling silver letters. There was a tag tucked under the delicate white ribbon. I tugged it closer.

 _To Potter from Moon._

Making a mental note to thank Lily on bended knee when she returned – at least in my head - I reached for the paper uncertainly. I wanted to rip into it and throw bits everywhere like I saw Dudley do eagerly every year, but I also wanted to preserve the wrapping. It was lovely…

Deciding I wasn't going to be anything like Dudley, I removed the ribbon with a quick flick of my wrist and flipped the package over, quickly sliding a finger under the edge of the wrapping and tugging it free. I unfolded the paper and lifted out the box, turning it back over. It had the same stamp on the lid.

I took a deep breath, some part of me thinking that this might be an elaborate joke, and lifted up the lid.

I gasped at the sight of light blue satin. There was a piece of parchment perched on top of the fabric. I scooped it up, flipping it over and staring at the words. I recognized Lily's writing.

 _This should shut Parkinson up about your sleepwear._

I giggled and set the note aside, reaching into the box. I luxuriated at the feeling of satin and pulled the nightgown out, stepping out of bed and holding it up. It was gorgeous, modest, and simple, coming down to just above my ankles with the collar edged in lace.

I swayed a moment in front of the mirror – I was feeling incredibly elegant, I won't lie – and then hustled over to my trunk, tucking the nightgown away. I'd save it for when Parkinson got back. I could already imagine the look on her face when she got ready to insult my pajamas, only for me to drag out _that!_

I grabbed at the next package eagerly. This one was far smaller, wrapped in silver paper with a green bow. Once again I stripped the ribbon off and unwrapped the paper carefully, setting it aside. I gaped at the jewelry box in my hands.

I'd never in my life owned a piece of jewelry. Well, that wasn't exactly true, I reconsidered. Once I found a bracelet on the playground at school. It was shabby and made of threads woven together, obviously having come untied from whoever owned it. Instead of turning it into lost and found, I'd kept it until it fell off my own wrist a month later.

I flipped the lid up on the box and gasped. Inside was a pair of earrings. They were little silver snakes, bodies waving, dangling down from a hook. And set into the head of each was a tiny diamond. Immediately I wish I had pierced ears so that I could wear them. I'd even worked up the courage to ask Aunt Petunia once, saying that all of the other girls in my class had pierced ears and hoping that fitting n would convince her. But she'd just snapped about 'not having the money to waste on trinkets' and went back to doing the laundry. Considering that Dudley got a set of eight action figures he'd been asking for three days later, I was pretty sure she just didn't want to spend money on me.

I wondered if Diagon Alley had places to do that and immediately vowed to look into it before the start of my next year.

My eye caught a little bit of parchment tucked into the top of the case and picked it out with a fingernail. This one was in Daphne's handwriting.

 _I got everyone in the dorm a set. We should all wear them when we come back!_

I stared at the earrings, trying to figure how much they might have cost and then multiplying that by five. It was only then that I started to grasp how much money some of my housemates had. I regretfully set the earrings aside, knowing it would be a while before I ever got to wear them, and tore into my next present.

This one was a large box, wrapped in blazing scarlet and gold. I had an inkling of a clue as to who that one was from before I even pulled the ribbon off. When I did, the box exploded open in a burst of red smoke and gold stars, spilling a load of practical jokes onto the bed, and that clinched it. I dug through curiously, coming up with Dungbombs, Sugar Quills, Hiccough Sweets, and a book in a sickening yellow color entitled _Practical Jokes to Appall Your Friends!_

I got a book on potion development from Tracey – _I hope this helps you help us!_ – and, surprisingly, a carved wooden chess set from Malfoy – _maybe you'll be decent enough to deserve this soon._ It was nowhere near as nice as his own set and I was a little less than pleased with his note, but I was also touched that he bothered.

That was the last of the neatly-wrapped packages. The rest were obviously wrapped by hand and yes, surprisingly, there were more. I picked up a rather large, lumpy parcel wrapped in brown paper and bound up in twine. I opened it up and out spilled a wool sweater and a box of fudge, along with a note. I picked it up.

 _I don't know if you remember me, dear, but we met on the platform. Ron's mother? Well, you and Harry are now honorary Weasleys, and here are your Weasley gifts._

I picked up the sweater. It was emerald green with a silver L on the front, and deliciously soft. I immediately yanked it on. It was freezing in the dungeons and Common Room in the winter, and the sweater was a welcomed extra layer. I tried a piece of the fudge, and it was delicious.

I was more touched by Mrs. Weasley's gesture than by any of the other gifts. I knew that she hadn't just randomly decided to send two kids she met on the platform Christmas gifts. Ron had probably mentioned that he was friends with Harry and, to an extent, me too, and that we weren't exactly expecting much out of Christmas. But she'd gone out of her way, knitted two extra sweaters and made more fudge, in the hopes of brightening our day.

I smiled softly and reached for a small envelope. I rolled my eyes when I realized it was from the Dursley's – a small note with a fifty-pence piece taped to it. I tossed it under my bed and forgot about it, reaching for a small package. It was from Hagrid, containing a note that wished me a Merry Christmas and a whistle that looked hand-carved. When I blew it, it sounded a bit like an owl.

I had one more present on the foot of my bed. It was wrapped in black paper and looked incredibly out of place in the midst of all the silver, green, and white on my bed. I tugged the paper off, revealing a book entitled _Potion Masters and Their Achievements._ I flipped through it eagerly, absorbing snippets like Damocles and his invention of the Wolfsbane potion and Zygmunt Budge's patented Doxycide.

There was no note on it, not even an inscription in the book. I looked from it to the black paper, smiling slightly and making an educated guess that it was from Snape. I was very glad I'd made him a gift too.

That reminded me… I shoved my gifts to the end of the bed and dug through my trunk for my last gifts to distribute and tossed them into the basket from the kitchens. I traded my pajamas for a pair of jeans, socks, and trainers, and tugged on my Weasley sweater. I quickly brushed my teeth and hair and then headed for the owlery. Artemisia was sent off with Hagrid and Snape's gifts. Hagrid probably wouldn't have objected to me giving it to him personally, but Snape definitely would have.

I snickered to myself at the idea of myself bounding up to the dour Potions professor with a grin and a flourish, announcing, "Merry Christmas, sir!" I could only imagine how much detention that would earn me.

I walked into the Great Hall. There were only a scant few Slytherins left at school for the break, mostly older students for whom the novelty of luxurious Christmas trips had worn off or those who simply wanted to spend Christmas with their friends. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had a few clusters of students laughing as they ate and pulled Christmas crackers that exploded in puff of sparks and smoke, letting out hats, toys, and, oddly, white mice.

Definitely the loudest spot in the hall was a cluster of red-heads at the Gryffindor table, one dark head right in the middle of them. Percy, funnily enough, seemed to be trapped by his sweater, his arms stuck to his sides instead of through the holes. Fred and George sat on either side of him, looking very smug as they mockingly held bits of food in front of his face, which Percy sniffed at and turned away from. I could guess the twins had something to do with his current state.

Harry and Ron sat on the opposite side of the bench. I strode over and claimed the empty seat beside Harry, reaching out with one arm and wrapping it around his shoulders. I hauled him into a hug, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"Happy Christmas," I murmured. Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around my waist, squeezing tightly.

"Happy Christmas," he replied, then dropped his voice slightly. "Can you meet me by the trophy room after curfew?

I smirked, letting him go. "Of course, brother dear. But breaking the rules again?"

Harry shook his head. "I really want to show you something."

"Alright, I'll meet you there," I said with a shrug, and began eagerly spooning turkey, peas, and cranberry sauce onto my plate. I slathered the meat in gravy and then dug in eagerly.

"Why Miss Potter," Fred began.

"What's in that basket of yours?" George pressed.

"Gifts, perhaps?"

"Presents?"

"For Gryffindors like us?"

"Is that allowed?"

"Go on," I said, pushing the basket towards the center of the table. "All of you get one." Harry and the Weasleys eagerly reached in, all except Percy, who glared at the twins and took the chance to right his arms in the sleeves and adjust his glasses.

"Very kind of you, Potter," he said stiffly, trying to get his composure back as he claimed his gift.

"Mffft, these are really good!" Ron said around a mouthful of cookie. His bag was already open on the table.

"Hey!" Harry said, taking a bite. His eyes lit up as he recognized the taste. "These are the kind you make!"

Ron stared at me, awed. "Did you get into the kitchens?"

Percy gave me a stern look. "Potter, the kitchens are strictly off-limits to-"

"Oh, shove it Percy!" George said, shoving one of his own cookies into Percy's mouth. Percy choked and spluttered on crumbs as half of the cookie broke off and dropped into his mashed potatoes.

"It's Christmas!" Fred agreed, sampling one of his own. "Give her a break! Wow, these are good Lorena!"

"Cracker?" Harry asked, offering me one. I took the other end and tugged. Our poured purple smoke and silver stars. A few jokes on paper fluttered out as well as a tiara.

I immediately swept the tiara up before Harry could deny it and planted it on his head, proudly announcing, "Presenting Princess Harry of Gryffindor!"

After some good-natured ribbing on everyone's part, we finished our meals and headed to our rooms to put on warmer clothes. I left with the tiara – Harry refused to keep it – a feather boa that Fred had immediately turned from red to green – "So we don't offend your Slytherin sensibilities" – and, of all thinks, a purple teacup.

The snow battle that ensued on the grounds was one of epic proportions. Even Percy joined in, targeting Fred and George with extreme prejudice after the sweater debacle that morning. I noticed that I took a lot more fire than Harry, but chalked that up to Harry being on better terms with the Weasleys than I was and hurled back snowballs packed so tightly they were nearly ice.

It was, without a doubt, the best Christmas I'd ever had.

* * *

 **So this will be the end of the purely new material for a while. I've had some reviews about people saying they want Lorena to be more involved with Harry's adventures. The problem I'm having is that I don't want her tagging along on EVERYTHING, so I have to find a nice balance. But from now on we'll get back to things like Norbert and the teacher's defenses. There are about five more chapters of year one, probably, and then we'll hit the summer before fourth year to start the second section of the story. After that, I will probably post a story with random bits and pieces of Lorena in second and third year - I've had a lot of requests for what happens when Sirius and Snape meet in the Shrieking Shack, so that's one I'll definitely do.**

 **Anyway, enough with the update on the story's status. Please review!**


	14. Mirror of Erised

**So I've been obsessed with this story lately. Like in the past four days I've written like six chapters. So I figured you guys deserved an update! This chapter actually got away from me a little. I had no idea where it was going to go, but I decided to see what happened and I ended up making myself cry, so... I don't know, make of that what you will.**

* * *

I stood hidden a niche by the door to the trophy room, shivering slightly and wishing I'd thought to pull on my cloak over my pants and shirt. Curfew had come and gone several minutes ago and Harry had yet to show his face. Then again, he had to go a little farther than I did, but still, I'd been waiting for a while…

A huge shiver ran down my spine and I resolved that if Harry _bloody_ Potter didn't show up in the next _thirty seconds_ I was leaving.

"Rena?" the whisper seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I peered out of the niche, looking up and down the hallway. The torches burned lower than they did during the day, but Harry sounded close enough that I should have been able to see him, and yet…

"Harry?" I called uncertainly.

"Here."

Not two feet from me, Harry suddenly appeared out of thin air. I opened my mouth, about to scream on instinct, and clapped my own hand over my mouth to keep from giving us away. I bit the fleshy part of my palm instead to set off my feelings. When I was much calmer – and Harry was starting to look at me like he was concerned I'd gone into shock – I whipped my hand away and demanded, "Where the hell did you just come from?"

Harry raised his hands, holding up a cloak. "This is what I wanted to show you," he said. He glanced up and down the hallway. "But not here," he decided, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards the trophy room. We slipped inside and moved to a corner that was partially concealed by a life-size cauldron-shaped trophy for some sort of potions competition. The corner was a little dusty, but we made do.

"This was one of my Christmas presents," Harry explained, offering the cloak to me for inspection. I took it, marveling at the feel of it; smoother than silk, lighter than air, like it wasn't really all there. "It's an Invisibility Cloak."

I looked up at him, shocked. Immediately I whipped it over my shoulders and watched in awe as my body faded away into nothingness. My eyes flicked from where my body should be to Harry and back again several times. He nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too. But that's not all." He thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled out a slip of parchment, passing it to me. I took it curiously. I had to squint to make out the loopy handwriting in the dim light.

 _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you._

"This-" I choked out, poking my hands out of the cloak to run them up and down the edges. "This was _dad's?"_

I bit my lip as my throat tightened and my eyes started to water. I ducked my head, curling into the cloak. Questions tumbled around my mind. Who had sent it? Why did they have it in the first place? How had dad gotten it? What had he used it for? The faint scent of animal and forest seemed to cling to the fabric. Was that how my dad smelled?

"I suppose so," Harry said, reaching out and tugging away one edge of the cloak. He scooted under it with me, both of our bodies vanishing. "Why would whoever sent it lie about that?"

"That's true," I allowed. "But why be so secretive about giving it to us? I mean, you don't know who it was, right?" Harry shook his head. "And I don't recognize the handwriting," I mused, staring at the note again. "So who?"

"I don't know," Harry said, running a frustrated hand through his hair and making it ever messier than it normally was. "Do you think… Do you think dad ever did anything like this? Ever snuck out of the dorm and wandered around the school after curfew?"

"I'd imagine," I said immediately. Everyone said Harry looked just like our father, and I could easily see an older version of him traipsing through the halls with a small, cocky smile on his face, ducking into shadows and passageways when teachers walked by. "It'd be too tempting, wouldn't it? I mean, theoretically we could go anywhere in the castle in this." I grinned slightly, a wonderful feeling of freedom sweeping over me as I realized that was true. We could go _anywhere._

"Go where?" Harry asked.

"Go _someplace_ ," I suggested. "Someplace we're not allowed."

"Where?" he mused though. "I don't really fancy a night-time stroll through the Forbidden Forest…"

"It doesn't have to be the Forbidden Forest," I insisted. "We could go…" I thought for a minute, and a wicked grin spread over my face. I grabbed Harry's arm. "Let's go to the Restricted Section!"

Harry snorted. "Leave it to you to want to go look at books." He paused. "But…" He grabbed my arm eagerly. "We can look for information on Flamel!"

I stared at him blankly. "On _who?_ "

Harry spun out a long story about Hagrid letting slip what Fluffy was guarding. Not any details, but who owned it – namely, this Flamel person. Apparently he, Ron, and Hermione had been coming books after book in the library trying to figure out who he was and what he might own that would be worth hiding under a three-headed dog in Hogwarts.

Harry snatched the Invisibility Cloak from my shoulders as he stood, stepping out from behind the cauldron-shaped trophy. I flinched slightly as the warmth and soothing scent were gone in a puff. For a moment I wanted to wrench the cloak back and curl up in it for just a little longer. Harry owned it, certainly, but surely I could have another few minutes with the only thing we had of our father?

And suddenly I was angry. Why did Harry deserve the cloak? Why not me? Was it because he was the one people always compared to dad? All he'd done since he got here was break rules and get rewarded for it. He flies without permission and makes the team. He sneaks into a forbidden corridor and he gets something of our father's. What was fair about that?

I quickly squashed that down, hoping that Harry hadn't noticed the momentary shift in my expression. Predictably he didn't, too caught up in the supposed genius of his new idea.

"This is perfect!" Harry was rambling. "We can get into the Restricted Section. And you're great at research, you'll be loads of help!"

"Really?" I asked icily. "Then why didn't you tell me about this holy quest of yours earlier."

Harry's jaw went slack and he blinked like I'd just suggested he walk up and give Dumbledore a trim. "W-Well, I…"

I waved a hand absently. I knew very well why. Because he already had Ron and Hermione helping him, so he didn't need me. "Never mind. The more important question: why do you need to know?"

"What?"

"Why. Do. You. Need. To. Know." I repeated slowly. "It's a simple question. It's none of your business, not really. Like Hagrid said, it's between Dumbledore and this Flamel person."

"But-" Harry floundered. "But it's in danger! You said it yourself, whoever let that troll in during Halloween wanted to use it as a distraction. So someone's after it!"

I shook my head. "Harry, there's no guarantee that whoever let the troll in was after Flamel's treasure." He opened his mouth to respond and held up a hand. "I know it's _likely_ , but it's not a _certainty_. There's probably loads of stuff in Hogwarts worth stealing. And secondly, if Fluffy is guarding the thing, it's probably pretty secure, right? I mean, the thing's got three heads!" I burst out. "So it's not your business, and poking your nose into places it doesn't belong is going to get you in loads of trouble!"

"But Snape's trying to steal it!" Harry protested loudly. I straightened my spine, glaring.

"That _again?_ " I demanded. " _No,_ he's _not._ _Professor_ Snape is a teacher, there's no way he'd be trying to steal something."

Harry shook his head defensively. "You just don't see what he's like! Just because you're in his house and he favors you…"

I scoffed. "He favors me but it's not like I don't have _eyes,_ brother-mine." Harry scowled. "I'm perfectly aware of the fact that he's an ass. In fact, I'd say I'm more aware of that than you are, considering I've spent more time with him that you have. But listen to me when I say that being prejudiced doesn't make you outright evil."

Harry threw up his hands. "Fine, I don't want to fight. Are you going to help me or not?"

I scowled. If I said yes, then I was getting involved in something that couldn't end well. If I said no, I was going to irritate Harry, and it seemed like I was doing that enough lately. I still wasn't pleased about how resolved he was to hate my Head of House, but I was quickly seeing that I couldn't change Harry's mind.

He liked to rag on Snape for being prejudiced? He should take a look in the mirror sometime.

But he was still my brother, and I wanted to help him, I did. I saw him so little today and if this little project gave me a few extra hours with him then so be it. I'd take the consequences when they came. I was perfectly willing to do something I wasn't terribly fond of if it meant more time with him.

"Let's get to the Library," I grunted, seizing an edge of the cloak and tugging it over my shoulders. I had a brief glance of Harry's bright smile before he ducked under too and we took off. The castle was dark and eerie at night with the torches banked, but I was getting used to wandering around the halls in the dark. We crept along the corridors, keeping an eye out for teachers. Invisible didn't mean silent, after all.

The Library was one place I hadn't been after dark, and it was enough to stand my hair on end. The towering shelves blocked most of the moonlight from the windows, making it much darker than I'd expected. Almost dark enough to send me into a panic, but not quite.

Harry had the good sense to duck out from the cloak and grab a lamp, lighting it quickly before ducking back under. I breathed a sigh of relief at the flickering flame and Harry squeezed my hand in support. I smiled slightly, realizing he'd done it because he knew I didn't like dark places.

The lamp seemed to be floating in front of us as we walked. It gave me the creeps, even though I could see Harry's hand raised and holding it under the cloak. I smiled slightly, wondering if before the night was over there'd be rumors of a new ghost haunting the Library.

The Restricted Section was at the very back of the Library. We had to step over a faded velvet rope to get to it, moving carefully so that one of us didn't trip the other or pull the cloak off. We stepped up to the first shelf together and Harry positioned the lamp so that the light fell over the titles.

It didn't help much. I hadn't been to the Restricted Section before, and now I understood why it was known as 'restricted.' The books were old, worn, some of them looking so fragile that lifting them off the shelf might do them in. On top of that, some of them had odd stains on them. A few were probably old potions stains, but one had a thick, dark brown stain that looked alarmingly like dried blood.

"Start at the bottom?" Harry suggested. I nodded and we crouched down. Harry set the lamp on the ground, revealing the books on the lowest shelf. We both reached for one. Harry went for a black and silver volume, heaving it off its place on the shelf, and I grabbed a thin volume covered in thread-bare blue fabric that was crammed against the side. I had to pick it out slowly with my fingernails before I could get a hold on it and pull it free.

I had just opened it to the first page when Harry's book let out a blood-curdling scream. I yelped in shock and jerked away, losing my balancing and toppling out from under the cloak. I heard a muffled thump as Harry slammed the book shut, but the book kept on screaming.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, hurried and eager. I saw the book shoot out from under the cloak and back on the shelf and grabbed at empty air. I managed to get a handful of cloak and lifted it up, diving back under. My foot connected with the lamp and it toppled over, instantly doused.

Together we rose up and leapt the dividing rope in what would have been a truly impressive synchronized move, had anyone been around to see it and had we not been invisible. We careened down the Library aisles, trying to be fast and silent at the same time. Filch loomed in the doorway in front of us, lamp-like eyes boring through us. Harry ducked under Filch's outstretched arm and grabbed my arm, dragging me along after him.

That night I learned that it was possible to sprint on tiptoe, and it was quite a workout for the calves. But we got away scot free, sliding to a clumsy stop near a tall suit of armor.

"Where are we?" Harry hissed.

I looked around for a landmark, but things looked different in the dim light, and I couldn't be sure. "We're either on the fourth floor or the sixth," I muttered. "I'm not sure."

I raised a hand to wipe away the sweat that was collecting on my brow. That was quite the run we'd just gone on and it was hot under the cloak. I was surprised to feel thin fabric under my fingers. I winced, realizing that I still had a tight hold on the book I'd pulled from the shelf in the Restricted Section. I could have cheerfully slapped myself – that was like keeping the murder weapon as a trophy in terms of stupid moves. Instead, I tucked the book into the waistband of my pants, resolved to find some way to sneak it back to the Restricted Section later.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and someone's been in the Restricted Section."

Filch must have known a shortcut, because it was his wheezy voice coming at usdown the corridor. I looked at Harry, whose face was pale with horror. I was sure mine looked about the same. We both turned another few shades closer to the color of a piece of paper when a second voice replied.

"The Restricted Section? Well, then they can't have gotten far, we'll find them."

It was Snape. I could have groaned aloud at the idea of getting caught not only by Filch, but caught in front of my Head of House, and with Harry no less. I couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing at that moment. My eyes started moving, darting around and looking for a niche, a tapestry, something we could slip into or behind and hide.

My eyes landed on a classroom door that was to our left and slightly behind us. The door was hanging open just slightly. I latched onto Harry and started hauling him towards it. We squeezed through, and for the first time I was glad we were so thin. We managed to get through the gap without moving the door, sliding through into what seemed to be an abandoned classroom. Dark outlines of desks and chairs were piled against the wall and a larger teacher's desk at the front covered in a white cloth dominated the front of the room, an upturned wastebasket next to it. But propped against the wall was something that definitely didn't look like it belonged there.

It was an absolutely gorgeous mirror, as tall as the ceiling, with an elaborate golden frame and two clawed feet. Carved around the top was an inscription. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. I struggled with that for a moment, trying to figure out what it might mean. It sure wasn't English, and it didn't quite sound like Latin, either.

"What is it?" Harry whispered to me. The sounds of Filch and Snape had faded, but I almost didn't care, entranced by the mystery of the mirror.

"I don't know," I murmured. I grabbed his arm and tugged him closer to it. "Let's see!" I ducked out from under the cloak and moving closer, tracing my fingers over the details on the frame. It looked almost like stylized hearts, but I couldn't quite say for sure in the half-light of the moon coming through the window. I bent closer, narrowing my eyes, and ran my fingers over a section, trying to feel.

"Harry, come look at this, does it seem like-?" I paused. "Harry?"

He was staring at the mirror, the cloak in a puddle by his feet, his hands clapped over his mouth. He was looking between the mirror and the classroom behind him frantically, eyes wide with confusion and a little fear. Instantly I rushed to his side.

"Harry? Harry what's wrong?"

He slowly lowered his shaking hands, eyes fixed on the mirror suspiciously. "Do you see them?" he asked hoarsely. I looked all around, from the mirror to the spot behind him where he'd been staring. All I could see was us, reflected in the mirror.

"See who?" I asked uncertainly. I was definitely concerned now.

"Them!" Harry said, his tone insistent as he pointed accusingly at the mirror. "They were just there!"

"Who was just there?" I pressed gently.

"About ten people. They went away when your reflection appeared. Hang on." Harry was clearly getting himself back together. He gestured for me to step back, out of the mirror, and I did, watching him worriedly. He squinted at the mirror, muttering, "They're back. There's a lady, she's pretty, and she's got red hair like yours. She…" He reached out behind himself slightly. "She should be right here," he muttered, frustrated.

"They're just in the mirror," I said slowly, working out that whatever the mirror showed was specific to the person in front of it. It wasn't really there. When I'd stepped in front of it, it hadn't known which one of us it should change for, so it had just showed us. "Harry, what else?" I asked again, now incredibly intrigued by the item. A magic mirror, a staple of Muggle fairy tales, and here was a real one, right in front of me!

"She's got eyes like ours, same shape, same color," he muttered, stepping closer. "And she's… she's crying." He frowned. "But she's smiling, too. I think… I think they're happy tears. There's a man next to her, he just put his arm around her. He's tall, and he's got glasses. His hair's dark and it's really messy… like mine."

Harry had been stepping closer the whole time he was talking, and now his nose was nearly pressed to the glass. I don't know if he'd realized it or not, he seemed so entranced by the people in the mirror. So was I. Hair and eyes like us, a man who sounded like an older Harry, and a woman who was like an older version of me.

"Mum?" Harry whispered to the mirror, echoing the feeling, the idea, the hope that was welling up in my chest. "Dad?"

Whatever happened in the reflection then, I didn't know, but Harry pressed his hands to the glass, staring hungrily, his eyes darting here and there. His expression was torn between sadness, joy, and longing, and I knew then that whatever the people in the mirror had done had confirmed it for him. It was our parents he was seeing there.

"Move!" I said, suddenly desperate. "Move, let me, let me see!"

I darted to the mirror, shoving Harry aside roughly, and clutched the frame so tightly that the carvings I'd been so interested in before were cutting into my palms, but I couldn't bring myself to care, because now I could see them too.

The woman was just like Harry had described. She looked like I imagined I would when I was older, and there next to her was our father. They both smiled at me, my father raising his hand in a wave. Slowly, I pulled one hand free and waved back cautiously. His mouth dropped open in a silent but full-hearted laugh and mum's shoulders shook as she chuckled too, one hand dropping to rest on his hand around her waist.

My parent stepped up beside me, placing their hands on my shoulders. I shivered, trying to imagine the warmth of a hand really resting on me, but I couldn't. From behind my dad Harry stepped, keeping slightly behind him. The expression on his face was a normal smile, one he might give me now.

I stared at the image desperately, trying to figure out what I was seeing. I could see my parents, myself, and Harry, obviously. I knew that. But what exactly was that image to me? What did this mirror show? Was it designed to make you happy? To torture you with things you knew you could never have? It could go either way, really.

I remembered the near-desperation and the half-strangled joy on Harry's face as he stared at the mirror and it clicked suddenly. Possible or not, this mirror showed us what we wanted. What we really wanted, deep inside us, beneath trivial things like good grades or an easy class, beyond pipe dreams like being a millionaire or an astronaut. It showed the truth of our desires.

And that was when, with a horrible sort of clarity, the truth of what I was seeing in the mirror washed over me. My desire was two-fold. Harry saw only family, but I saw my family and something else. My parents stood beside me, their hands on my shoulders, their focus on me, while Harry stood almost in the background.

I saw a scene in which I was the important one in our family, and Harry had taken my place as the 'extraneous Potter.'

I was horrified, wrenching myself away from the mirror and turning from it. Heart pounding, I burst out of the classroom and fled down a floor and into the safety of a passageway Fred and George had told me about. I collapsed against the wall and slid down onto the ground, clutching my upper arms and panting wildly.

Was that me? Was that really what I wanted? Was I truly so jealous, so bitter, that Harry's fame had turned me into a twisted creature that would desire pride of place in her family so much that a mirror like that would show it? The truth of it slapped me in the face with my own selfishness, and I was horrified.

I was not a good person. I wasn't, and I could be worse, I could certainly be worse, but I wasn't good. I was jealous and angry and bitter and sad and selfish and terrible things like that. I couldn't look through rose-colored glasses and tell myself it was just house prejudice or that it was just an outside perspective. No, that mirror showed only myself. I couldn't blame anyone but myself for what it showed.

I slowly came to realize that I was curled into a ball, sobbing quietly and clutching myself. The cold stone had soaked into my bones and settled deep inside me. Or maybe that coldness had always been there with all those other bad things and I was only just now realizing it was there, had always been there. The idea made me cry harder and I clutched desperately at my mouth, trying to muffle the sobs.

They only came harder, like I subconsciously wanted to get caught, like I wanted someone to find me like this, find me curled up in pain and offer their comfort. I wanted someone to wrap me up in their arms like my dad had wrapped his arm around my mum; supportive, caring, soft.

But I was also deeply ashamed to be like this, to be reduced to this state by something I should have known about myself. In fact, I think I had already known part of it. I had known that I was jealous of the way Harry was treated compared to the way I was treated. I was angry that he got that and I didn't. I'd already known, but I hadn't _understood._

"Potter?"

I recoiled, scrambling back against the wall and looking up through tear-filled eyes. Surprise momentarily stopped my sobs as I catalogued black robes that nearly blended into the darkness, a sallow face, and dark eyes that made me burn with horror and shame.

Of all the people to find me like this, it had to be _him._

"P-Professor Sn-Snape," I sobbed out, heaving myself up the wall. I staggered against it, swaying a little even with its support as I gasped for breath so hard I nearly threw myself off balance. I plastered a wide smile on my face. My face was so stretched when all it wanted was to crumple that it hurt. "F-F-F-Fancy seeing y-y-you here."

"Potter," Snape repeated, stepping forwards and grabbing me by my shoulders, pulling me around to face him. I saw his eyes roaming over my face. "What the bloody hell happened to you? Are you injured?"

"N-No, sir," I replied, that painful grin still in place. "I-It's just been a b-b-bad night, s-s-sir."

"What happened?" Snape snapped. "And wipe that foolish look off your face, girl!"

For once, I didn't listen. "S-Sorry sir, if I d-d-do, I think I'll s-start s-sobbing again."

Snape arched one eyebrow. "And what has you sobbing like a heartbroken Hufflepuff?" he asked slowly, daring me to defy him on this.

"I-I've just come to the r-r-rather h-horrible realization that I-I-I'm a t-t-terrible person, s-sir," I announced brightly. That smile didn't hurt quite so much anymore. It was almost like the stupidness of it was sinking into my brain and dulling my mind just enough to babble like I was without it hurting.

Snape blinked. He wasn't expecting that. "And what, pray, has brought you to this conclusion?"

"C-C-Can't s-say, sir. D-Don't want t-to get in m-m-more trouble. Funny thing, i-isn't it?" I muttered thoughtfully. "So m-many people try so hard to be as good as they c-can, myself included, and then to realize that I… I'm not like that. S-Strange."

Snape straightened up slightly, plucking his wand from within his teaching robes and waving it over me. He was muttering spells under his breath. I didn't know what I was doing, but I could guess.

"'m not under a s-spell, sir. And I haven't drank a potion," I said, stepping away from his wand. Snape examined me from head to toe, eyes gleaming in the blackness.

"Then what, exactly, has brought you to this self-discovery?" Snape asked shortly. "Was it something someone said to you?"

"Oh n-n-no," I choked out. The tears built up again, tightening my throat. "F-F-Funnily enough, i-i-it was my p-p-p-parents, sir."

And then I lost it, the sobs coming out full-force. I remembered my parent's hands on my shoulders in the mirror, how I'd tried to imagine the warmth of it. In an odd twist of fate, Snape had grabbed me almost the exact same way. Maybe that was why I lunged at him, wrapping my arms around his middle and sobbing into his teaching robes like a Hufflepuff.

"Potter?" his voice was strangled, with what I couldn't tell. It might have been surprise, or anger, or maybe I was just squeezing tighter than I realized.

"S-S-Sorry, sir," I cried. "C-Can't help it."

His hands hovered awkwardly over me and I could just imagine the expression on his face, torn between anger and disgust. But then he dropped his arms. One hung limply at his side, and the other hand rested on my shoulder.

"Potter," he said, his tone absolutely dripping superiority, just like it did in class. "It's rather arrogant of you to assume you know more of your parents than I do. After all, you've never met them, and I have. And did I not tell you that they would be quite pleased with some of the things you've done here?"

"Y-Y-Yes, sir. S-S-Sorry, sir."

"Then you think me a liar?"

"N-N-No, sir!"

"Then do me the courtesy of assuming I haven't simply lied to you for my own amusement and trust my words. Whatever put the idea of your parents finding you to be a bad person, I can assure you, is less of an authority on the subject than I."

"Y-Y-Yes, sir. Th-Th-Thanks, sir."

Slowly, his words sinking in, I was able to pull away, wiping at my eyes. Snape was right. As usual. The mirror may know me, but it didn't know my parents. No matter who I was or what I was, even if I was the way I was, even if I wasn't as good as they had been, they were my parents. They would love me if only because I was their daughter. And somehow, that made it okay, knowing that even if I was all those horrible things and more, they would still have loved me.

As the horror at myself faded, embarrassment and chagrin were quick to replace it. I had broken down into a sobbing mess, and, even worse, it had been in front of Snape. I had hugged him and sobbed into his robes, for Merlin's sake! I felt terrible, standing there in front of my professor with my hands folded in front of my stomach, a few aftershock sobs breaking loose of my quivering lips. My eyes were sore and my head was throbbing from crying to hard.

I felt truly wretched.

"Sorry, sir," I muttered, finally managing to speak without stuttering. Snape grunted, spinning on his heel. His robes spun around him, nearly smacking me in the face.

"Come, Potter. I must return you to the Common Room."

I smiled slightly, following Snape out of the passageway. "Right, sir. Of course, sir."

* * *

Christmas holidays went. Harry had tracked me down the day after we found the mirror and asked in concern why I had fled the room and if I'd made it back to the common room okay. I just said it was too much, seeing our family like that, and yes, I got back to the Common Room without much trouble. Which was the truth, or at least, the answers to the questions he'd asked.

When classes resumed and our housemates returned that space between us that I used to hate was back, but now I was almost grateful for it. It kept Harry from asking any more questions about that messy night. The whole night really had been a disaster, from fleeing the Restricted Section with Filch on our heels and an incriminating book in my hand to finding that mirror and my getting caught by Snape. Who, unsurprisingly, hadn't said anything else about that night to me, and the book was safely hidden in the very bottom of my trunk.

And nothing had changed, which was a relief. I went through my days as I had before. I talked to Daphne and Lily and Tracey down in the Common Room, played chess with Malfoy, fought with Pansy, and occasionally studied with Nott. Between classes and during meals I'd speak with Harry or one of the Weasleys for a few minutes.

"Oi, Potter!" Daphne called from across the Common Room. "What was that thing you did in Potions today? With the newt eyes?"

I called back on my way to the door, "Added an extra one and took away a sprig of the rosemary."

"Thanks!" Daphne said, and hastily made a note in her potions textbook. I shook my head, laughing slightly as I left the Common Room. I was headed up to the Library to get a book Nott had recommended to me to help with the Transfiguration essay McGonagall had set us. Unfortunately it was pure theory, which meant I was lost.

I trooped up to the Library, remembering the absolute chaos that had reigned the first few days after everyone had come back. Teachers could barely keep order – people were more concerned with what they'd gotten and where they'd been over the holidays than whatever class they were in. In particular, I remembered my classmates being very impressed when they'd found out I'd baked the cookies myself. They were even more impressed that I knew where the kitchens were, a secret I refused to share.

Now, thankfully, things were calming back down. Classes and lectures were back in place, and homework had to be done, which was why I was headed to the Library in the first place.

I paused at the end of the corridor, frowning slightly. Just outside the Library, Malfoy had Crabbe and Goyle at his back, the trio having herded Neville into a corner, where he stood, trembling.

"Longbottom, excellent!" Malfoy announced. "I was just looking for someone to practice on!"

Neville paled. "P-Practice?"

"P-Practice?" Malfoy mocked, making his voice go high-pitched and quivery. He scoffed. "I haven't even done anything and you can barely talk. And that's a Gryffindor." He shook his head. "I knew Gryffindor was really scraping the bottom of the barrel, but this is just sad. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost. Locomotor Mortis."

I recognized the spell as the Leg-Locker Curse. Neville's legs snapped together and he swayed, barely managing to catch himself on the wall and save himself from sprawling at Malfoy's place.

"T-T-Take it o-off, Malfoy!" Neville stammered, trying to look fierce as he fumbled with his wand. It was shaking as he directed it at Malfoy. It'd never seen anyone look so incredulous to have a wand directed at them before.

"Seriously, Longbottom?" Malfoy laughed. "You think you could actually take me? You're barely a wizard!"

Neville's eyes were darting every which way, looking for someone to help him. His eyes landed on me, widening in relief. I knew exactly what he was thinking: I had come to his defense when Malfoy took his Remember-all, maybe I'd help him now.

"Lorena!" he pleaded. "Lorena, get a teacher, please!"

Malfoy whipped around at Neville's shout. For a moment he'd looked concerned, but his face fell into a relaxed smirk as he saw me.

"Potter," he greeted lazily. "Come to join the fun?"

"Fun?" I repeated mildly, fingering the edge of my sleeve and letting my wand slide free into my hand. "Mm, I suppose I could," I replied, a sly smile sliding across my face as I sashayed forwards, hips swishing. "What are we playing?"

Malfoy was gaping, looking like he was honestly surprised I was joining him. But then his face broke into a wide grin. "I don't know, haven't thought of a name yet. Any suggestions?" he offered as he turned to Neville, who was looking up at me in horror.

"I like Leg-Lock the Loser, personally," I suggested, placing the tip of my wand under my chin and observing Neville thoughtfully. I tilted my head towards Malfoy, blinking innocently. "What do you think?"

Malfoy laughed. "Not bad, Potter, not-"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

My wand snapped to the side and Malfoy yelped as he was jerked off his feet and into the air. With a twist of my wrist he was floating upside down in front of me, his robes dangling around him. His face was red with rage and embarrassment as I bobbed him lightly in the air.

"Potter," Goyle rumbled, taking a threatening step forwards. I held up my free hand.

"Ah, ah!" I warned, wiggling a finger back and forwards. I lifted my wand and Malfoy floated higher. If he came down now, it was going to hurt. A lot. "Back, off, boys, or you're getting a pancake back instead of Malfoy."

" _The hell,_ Potter?" Malfoy demanded furiously, thrashing about. I lowered him again until his face was upside down in front of mine.

"We need to have a talk, Malfoy," I began slowly and saccharinely, like I was teaching a preschool class. "You have this terrible habit, you see, of being an absolute _arsehole._ And you should really look into fixing it."

"It's _Longbottom_ , Potter, I don't know _what_ your problem is!" Malfoy ranted. "Now _let me down!"_

"It is Longbottom," I said, tilting my head to face Neville, who was watching me with awe as I levitated Malfoy. 'Go' I mouthed to him. He nodded and hopped off down the hallway as fast as he could go. Admittedly, it was pretty funny, but laughing would ruin my show.

"Answer three questions for me, Malfoy, and I'll let you down. I'll even do it gently," I offered. Malfoy thrashed and spat, and I just waited for him to wear himself out before he finally, sulkily, agreed.

"Fine, Potter, ask your questions."

"Good," I smiled. "Now, question one. Has Longbottom ever insulted your family?"

"No, of course not!"

"I see. And has he ever insulted anyone you care about?"

" _No!"_

"So you still think this was fully justified?" I finished. Malfoy rolled his eyes at me.

"It's Longbottom."

"Yes, and yet, your attack on him was less provoked than my attack on you. You see, all those things Neville's never done to you, you've done to me. So if you could attack him for being _Longbottom_ , that would mean what I'm doing now is totally and completely justified," I summed up. "Which means this is completely okay."

I then proceeded to bounce Malfoy along the ceiling before spinning him in wild, jerky circles. He yelled and protested and thrashed for a minute before the spinning got to him. He faded into groans and protests.

"But," I said, pausing suddenly. Malfoy came to an abrupt halt and groaned. "I did promise to let you down if you answered my questions. Gently, even, so…" I slowly lowered Malfoy to the ground and removed the spell. He collapsed against the cobblestones, groaning, and I turned, striding carelessly into the Library.

I paused amongst the shelves, thinking. So maybe I wasn't as good of a person as I could be. But I could still do good things. And getting Neville away from Malfoy? That was good. Had I done it in a good way, by torturing Malfoy a little? No. Did he deserve it? Eh, maybe. Did it make me feel like the world was a little more balanced? Oh yes. Oh very yes. And the act itself was good, so…

I'd take it.


	15. Deals

The Gryffindor v Hufflepuff match was more anticipated than I was sure it ever had been. From what I'd heard in the halls, the Hufflepuff team was a bit of a joke this year, while Harry's Seeking skills had put Gryffindor in the lead of some of the betting pools around the school. It was a give at this point that Gryffindor would be the winner.

Until, of course, Snape was announced as the referee.

"I mean, it's not on!" Ron insisted as we walked down towards the pitch. I rolled my eyes.

I'd made the supreme mistake of joining Harry at the Gryffindor table for breakfast and a good luck kiss on the cheek this morning, just like I had at his first match. That somehow turned into me walking down to the stands with Ron and Hermione, the former of whom had done nothing but rant about Snape the whole time.

"Can they even allow him to referee?" Hermione enquired. "I mean, since he has invested interested in Slytherin winning? Surely there's some kind of conflict of interest-"

"This is Quidditch, not a court room," I grunted. "Snape can do whatever he likes, so long as he doesn't violate one of the rules. I wouldn't worry too much though."

"Why not?" Ron demanded incredulously as we mounted the stairs up the stands. "This is too perfect for him! He can knock Gryffindor out of the running, and they're the only ones who have a chance of breaking Slytherin's winning streak this year."

"Because of my dear brother," I muttered irritably under my breath. "Whether he wants Slytherin to win or not-"

"He does!" Ron insisted. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"-he can't just make up rules on the spot," I finished. "Unless something happens, he can't do anything. He'll be in front of the whole school, and there's enough Quidditch fanatics in the crowd," I looked pointedly at Ron, "that he won't be able to pull a fast one on any calls."

"I understand why you'd be defensive of him," Hermione said in a way that I supposed was supposed to be soothing. Mostly it sounded patronizing. "He's your Head of House after all. But don't you think he might try-"

"No, I really don't," I snapped, and resolutely took a seat behind them instead of next to them. "'lo Neville," I greeted as we sat down.

"Hello Lorena!" Neville said, looking at me with something close to hero worship. Twice now I'd come to his aid when Malfoy was laying into him. Going against my own house for him, that was practically declaration of loyalty for the Gryffindors.

Really, it was me trying to make myself feel better. But I'd let them believe what they wanted. It meant fewer spells coming my way in the hallways.

The teams took to the fields just then, circling around Snape, who looked as annoyed as I'd ever seen him.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron observed. "Look, they're off. Ouch!"

"Ooh, sorry Weasley," cooed a malicious voice. I looked up as Malfoy took a seat next to me, Crabbe and Goyle filing into the bleachers after him dutifully. "Didn't see you there."

Ron narrowed his eyes but turned back to the front of the game, hands clenched into fists on his knees. Malfoy nudged Crabbe and Goyle, grinning.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time?" Malfoy asked loudly. "Anyone want to bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but jerked around as the crowd gave a mix of boos and cheers. He hadn't seen, but I was watching both the game and the confrontation with equal interest. Snape had awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had winged a Bludger in his direction.

"He can't do that!" Ron protested angrily. I gaped at the back of his head.

"Seriously?" I muttered to myself.

Hermione was watching the sky, back perfectly straight and straining upward, eyes pinned on Harry as he circled, looking for the Snitch. Her fingers were crossed in her lap and her attentive expression was almost painful to look at.

Even I had to admit Snape was getting nasty when, a few minutes later, he awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for nothing at all. Granted, he had another Bludger come painfully close to him and one of the Gryffindor Chasers had nearly unseated him a few minutes before. If Gryffindor was trying to get out of this game unscathed, they were idiots to keep antagonizing him.

Then again, I figured I was one of the very few who noticed Snape's discomfort in the air. I'd seen Harry swooping around, gripping his broom with surety and the other players dodging and weaving expertly. In contrast, Snape flew jerkily, nearly strangling the handle of his broom in a death grip. He didn't look pleased to be in the air to begin with, let alone with balls and students hurtling at him.

"You know how I think they pick people for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy announced. "It's the people they feel sorry for. There's Potter, who's got no parents, the Weasley's, who've got no money – You should be on the team Longbottom, you've got no brains!"

I smothered a chuckle at the well-set-up insult. Say what you like about Malfoy – he was a jerk, but he was a smart jerk. You could always count on him to find an interesting way to insult someone.

Neville turned around, face bright red, and I quickly composed myself before he saw my small smile.

"I-I'm worth t-t-twelve of you, M-Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously for a moment before collapsing in laughter, Crabbe and Goyle howling along with him. Ron couldn't be bothered to look away from the game, mumbling, "You tell him Neville."

"Longbottom!" Malfoy crowed around his laughter. "If brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something!"

Ron's ears went bright red, hands fisting tighter. "I'm warning you Malfoy… one more word…"

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "Harry!"

"What? Where?"

Harry had gone into a dive, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd. I shot to my feet, screaming encouragement at the top of my lungs as Harry shot towards the ground.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground," Malfoy smirked, but his face was tense. He did not want Gryffindor to win.

Ron snapped and lunged over the back of the bleachers, flinging himself at Malfoy. He was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over to help him, inadvertently shouldering me aside.

I yelped as I pitched forwards on top of Ron and the writhing Malfoy. Ron shoved me off, no doubt assuming I was Crabbe or Goyle come to Malfoy's rescue, and I rolled across the filthy floor of the stands.

Cursing, I threw myself into the pile, trying to break the fight up before someone did enough damage to end up in the Hospital Wing, where questions would get us all in trouble.

"Neville, get your foot out of Ron's side! Malfoy, get your hands off Ron! Merlin, Crabbe, that's not helping! What is wrong with you four?" I shrieked as I shoved Neville out of the way and seized Ron around the middle. He jerked, elbowing me in the nose. I yelped as I felt the cartilage break and my glasses snap across the bridge of my nose.

"Son of a-!" Furiously, I tightened my grip on Ron and heaved bodily, dragging him off of Malfoy.I stepped between the pair of them, holding out my hands to keep them from lunging back together

"What is wrong with you lot?" I demanded furiously. "Malfoy, you earned a punch for what you said, but Merlin, Ron, get a grip, he's just shooting his mouth off, that's all he ever does, so ignore him, and Neville, if you're not involved in the fight, don't start throwing punches, giggling and pointing doesn't help anything Crabbe and _holy Merlin my nose hurts!"_

The stands around us were rapidly emptying as Gryffindor rushed to the field. I looked up in confusion to see Harry grinning and holding the Snitch up triumphantly as a mass of red and gold-clad students lifted him onto their shoulders.

"He won," I said dumbly, then yelled happily, "He won!"

"Good for him," Malfoy muttered thickly, gently prodding the rapidly-forming bruise around his eye.

"Oh, sod off, Snow Cone!" I shouted as I rushed down the stands with Ron and Hermione to join the crowd cheering for my brother.

* * *

By some miracle, none of us got in in trouble for the fight in the bleachers. Neville had been knocked out when I shoved him, so he couldn't say anything when he first got to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey, who was always on hand at Quidditch games, had seen Ron and I in the back of the crowd bleeding and hastily rushed the lot of us off to the Hospital Wing.

Ron and Malfoy were ready to sell each other out, but before they could I'd jumped in, explaining about a chain reaction of falling and a struggle to get up when Harry caught the Snitch and Gryffindor's rushed the field. Madam Pomfrey was understandably skeptical – it wasn't my best lie – but she patched us up and sent us off without any more questions.

It was a week later and I had been roped into studying with Harry and his friends, somehow. Actually, I knew exactly how it had happened. Harry had grabbed me in the halls between classes and hauled me off to the Library, saying as he did so, "Hermione's on an exam rant, and if I have to suffer through it I need moral support."

That was how I found myself trapped at a table in the Library while Hermione drew up study schedules and color coded her notes.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away," Ron attempted to reason with her, but Hermione couldn't be swayed.

"Ten weeks," she snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her.

"Possibly more like a long weekend," I put in snarkily, earning a glare from underneath bushy hair. I gave my own dark look to Harry, who shrugged unabashedly.

I couldn't be too angry at him though. I enjoyed spending time with Harry, and I didn't mind Ron. I was even getting better at tolerating Hermione, when she wasn't being all holier-than-thou. But I had a reputation to maintain as a Slytherin, and grinning and settling in with my brother and his friend would get me effectively exiled from the Common Room under the lake.

"Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it's an A," Ron pointed out.

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy?" I bit back a comment about how Hermione seemed to be the crazy one right now. "You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

Sadly, Hermione's sentiments seemed to be echoed by the teachers. They were piling on more work than usual and were being harsher than ever when it came to grading. I'd even gotten an A on my potions essay three days before, when I'd never gotten less than an E before. Charms had turned into a nightmare for me as we delved into theory, which was what always tripped me up.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the Library window. It was the first really fine day we'd had in months. I couldn't blame him – I'd been headed to review my Transfiguration theory on the grounds when Harry accosted me and dragged me to the Library. I sent him another dirty look, but he was busily looking up dittany in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._

"Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

I looked up in surprise as Ron spoke up. Hagrid shuffled into view from a thin aisle, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. In fact, his coat looked like it could be used to bind most of the aisle.

"Jus' lookin'," he said dodgily, instantly piquing our interest. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," said Ron proudly. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St-"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"What was Ron bout to say?" I hissed, leaning over to Harry. I knew about Flamel, but I had no idea they'd figured out what was actually under Fluffy's trapdoor. Once again I felt the pang of exclusion.

He shook his head. "Tell you later." He looked up at Hagrid determinedly. "There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," he continued, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy-"

"SHHHH!" Hagrid hissed again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"

"See you later, then," said Harry, and Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione mused thoughtfully."Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, leaping up.

"I'll help!" I said, lunging to my feet and hustling after him, leaving Harry alone with Hermione. He gave me a betrayed look and I wiggled my fingers tauntingly.

"What's in here?" I muttered, looking at the shelves. At first they all seemed to be varied topics, but I quickly picked out the key that linked all the books. _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland. From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide._

Ron and I exchanged incredulous looks and chorused, "Dragons."

Each of us seized a book and hurried back to the table, tossing them down for Harry and Hermione to see.

"Dragons!" Ron whispered furiously. "Hagrid's looking at stuff about dragons!"

Harry looked up at me, recalling. "Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told us so the first time we ever met him, remember?"

"But it's against our laws," Ron insisted. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" Harry asked. I caught him glancing at the window nervously, like he expected one to swoop by with a pretty Ravenclaw in its claws or something.

"Of course there are," I answered. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I talk to Hagrid a lot," I admitted stiffly. "And I like animals."

"Well, Lorena's right." Ron nodded. "The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione worriedly.

* * *

We knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later. I leaned around, trying to peer around the closed curtains.

Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let us in, hustling us through the door and then shutting it quickly behind us. I jumped as the door nearly caught on the hem of my robe and scooted further into the cabin.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid didn't seem to mind the heat, to at least, he seemed to have accepted it. He poured them tea as If the cabin was as balmy as usual and offered stoat sandwiches like it was any other day.

We took the tea, but refused the sandwiches.

"So - yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?" Hagrid finally asked once he'd run out of things to offer us. I took a sip of my tea and made a face, adding a couple of sugar cubes to it before taking another sip.

"Yes," said Harry bluntly. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone… apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowned at him. "O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all?"

"The break in was the same day we went to Gringotts," I recalled.

Hagrid grunted. "Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione warmly. I rolled my eyes at her blatant flattery. It seemed to be working though, because Hagrid's beard twitched and I could tell he was smiling.

"We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," Hermione continued. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him… apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione. I rolled my eyes once more.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let's see... he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments... Professor Sprout - Professor Flitwick - Professor McGonagall." Hagrid ticked them off on his fingers. "Professor Quirrell – an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

I braced for the explosion. "Snape?" I closed my eyes. There it was.

"Yeah," Hagrid said, blinking at the shout. "Yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

"You understand you're asking a bunch of Gryffindors to believe a Slytherin is innocent?" I asked him pointed as Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged meaningful, excited looks, like something huge had just been proved.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. Aren't you, Hagrid?" pressed Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others.

I rolled my eyes for a third time in half an hour and took a sip of my tea. I quickly set is aside though. Normally I liked Hagrid's herbal teas a lot, but it was entirely too hot for a hot drink.

"Hagrid, can we have a window open?" I requested, fanning myself pointedly. "I'm boiling."

"Can't, Lorena, sorry," said Hagrid. He glanced nervously at the fire. I glanced that way too and saw something heavy and dark sitting amongst the flames.

"Hagrid – what's that?" I asked slowly, even though I already had a good guess as to what was in the fire. It certainly explained Hagrid's trip to the Library. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's, er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid, looking a little proud. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione incredulously.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, fetching a large, slightly charred book from beside his bed. "Got this outta the library. _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit._ It's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour."

Hagrid began flipping through the pages, growing increasingly more excited as he did so, pointing out passages of particular interest. "An' see here, how ter recognize diff'rent eggs - what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

Hagrid looked very pleased with himself, and I felt for him, really I did. What sort of person wouldn't want a dragon for a pet? But really, something needed to be said, something that I thought should have been painfully obvious fm the beginning, but that Hagrid seemed too excited to consider.

"Hagrid," I began seriously. "You live in a _wooden house_. Dragons _breathe fire."_

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

"Good Merlin," I groaned.

* * *

Two weeks later, I got a note at breakfast. Clutched in Artemisia's claws was a grubby paper with two simple words written on it.

 _It's hatching._

"What's that?" Parkinson asked, leaning over to try and get a look at the note. I shoved it into my pocket, glaring down my nose at her sharply.

"Reading other people's mail? Bit tasteless, Parkinson," I sneered, before standing up sharply.

I was nearly giddy as I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder. I was eager to see this, for sure. And normally I wasn't one to condone missing classes, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of event. Also, I had History of Magic first thing. If anything happened that was absolutely critical, I trusted Daphne would keep me informed of it and loan me the notes. She already owed me a lot for my help in Potions class.

I was too caught up in my excitement as I headed for the door. Consequently, I didn't notice the person coming through the door until I smacked into them.

"Oof! Watch it Potter," Malfoy snapped, peeling himself off of me and straightening the front of his robes, one hand flying up to check his hair. I snorted. I wasn't sure an act of god could muss his hair through all the gel he put in it.

"Sorry Draco," I muttered absently and hustled off, heading through the front doors. I all but ran down the grounds towards the forest. Hagrid's hut still had the curtains drawn, so I rapped sharply on the door.

"Who is it?" Hagrid called.

"Hagrid, it's Lorena!" I called. The door swung open just enough for Hagrid to poke his hairy head out, looking down at me in surprise.

"Lorena? What're yeh doin' down here? Yeh've got classes!"

"No way am I missing this!" I protested. "Besides, I've got Binns."

Hagrid still looked a little hesitant, but I could see in the gleam in his eyes that he was as eager as I was.

"Alrigh' bu' jus' this once!" he said, opening the door. I slipped inside.

Hagrid had already set the egg on the table, where it wobbled and shook every now and then as the baby dragon inside of it shifted slightly. There were scratching and shifting noises coming from within. I sat down on one side of the table, bag by my chair, and Hagrid sat down on the other, the pair of us watching the egg in fascination.

Watching the egg hatch, despite what one might think, was exciting. Hagrid and I jumped and exclaimed and cooed over every new crack, every time a crack widened, and every time we heard a little draconic warble from inside the egg.

"First classes have ended," I said, stretching and shifting to loosen my muscles. I'd been hunched over the table for nearly an hour, and my back was starting to protest. "It's break now, Harry, Ron, and Hermione should be coming down. I assume you sent them notes too?"

"Yeah," Hagrid nodded, standing up. "I'll go an' wait fer 'em. Yell if summat happens."

I nodded and fixed my eyes on the egg, watching as it gave a particularly large wobble. Looking around suspiciously, not sure if I was supposed to do this or not, I reached out and touched the egg, tracing my finger along the crack. The egg abruptly stopped shaking and I felt tiny little breaths as the dragon sniffed my finger tip.

"There you are, lovely," I cooed. "We're all very excited to meet you. Come on, you can do it. Come on out of that egg and meet everyone."

The door opened and I whipped my hand back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione practically spilled in.

"Have we missed it?" Ron asked eagerly as they drew up chairs and sat down to watch.

"No, it's still working," I said, smiling slightly as the egg began to wobble and creak with a little more vigor. A clicking noise came from inside.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes. I still had to restrain myself from reaching out a cuddling it close like a kitten.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful ?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

Almost like the dragon was trying to prove him wrong, it rose up on its wobbly legs and staggered towards me. It accidentally stepped on one trailing wing and rolled off the table into my lap. I giggled, reaching down and trailing a finger down the baby dragon's back.

"There you are, lovely," I cooed at it as it curled up contentedly in my lap. "See? It's nice out here, isn't it?"

"Hagrid," Hermione said nervously, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face - he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?" I asked, looking up from the dragon. He yowled and flapped his wings when I stopped petting him. Remembering his fangs, I quickly resumed.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. "Malfoy," he said grimly. I darted to the door, peering out. I recognized him too, from the platinum hair to the swagger in his walk. It was definitely Malfoy, and he'd seen the dragon.

"This is not good," I muttered, watching as he vanished through the front door. "He'll go straight to Snape, or worse, he'll get to Dumbledore. I'm going," I said, heading to grab my bag.

"No, Rena!" Harry protested. "Malfoy probably won't say anything against you, just stay out of it and-"

I snorted, throwing my bag over my shoulder. I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow at my brother and smirking. "Harry Potter," I said innocently. "When have I ever done that?"

Adjusting the strap of my bag I headed to the door and sprinted up to the castle, hair flying. There were only a few places Malfoy would go. He might have gone straight to Snape, in which case it was already over. He might be standing outside of Dumbledore office, waiting for the headmaster to appear, but Malfoy wasn't the type to wait for others.

No, far more likely he'd retreated to the Common Room to sit and preen about his new knowledge and work out how best to use it. Taking my chances, I headed for the dungeons.

"Corallus caninus," I said to the wall, which ground back out of the way. I calmed my breathing – it wouldn't do to look as stressed as I was – and quickly fixed my hair, combing the flyaway that had been raised by my sprint to the castle. Satisfied, I strode into the Common Room.

Jackpot.

Malfoy was sitting on the couch by the fire in one of the leather chairs, legs crossed and looking sickeningly smug. I strode forwards quickly, but not fast enough to raise any eyebrows from the handful of third years playing cards in the corner or the seventh years huddled over notes.

"Malfoy," I greeted, perching myself on the arm of his chair. I draped an arm across the back of the chair and leaned down. "We need to talk."

"Do we?" Malfoy asked, looking up at me smugly. His face was split into a wide smirk. "Something going on that I should know about, Potter?"

"Cut the crap," I barked. "I know what you saw."

"I saw you, your brother, the idiot ginger, the Muggleborn, and that oaf huddled around a baby dragon. A highly illegal baby dragon," he added with relish.

"So who are you going to tell?" I challenged. "Snape? Dumbledore? Or will you write your dad and have him take it directly to the Ministry?"

"Haven't decided yet," Malfoy said, setting into the chair and putting his chin in his palm in mock thoughtfulness. "What would you recommend, Potter?"

"Me?" I asked, as though innocently surprised. "Well, I'd recommend keeping your mouth shut."

Malfoy scoffed. "And why would I do that, Potter? You dangle me upside down in the corners again and I'll make sure you're a pariah in this house," he threatened.

Annoyingly, he was completely capable of doing so. The name of Malfoy commanded an almost god-like amount of power in Slytherin house, and because I was a Potter, and, worse, the half-blood daughter of a Muggleborn, the sister of Harry Potter… well, my position was precarious at best. Being exiled from Slytherin was about the worst thing that could happen in Hogwarts, because no one else would have a Slytherin.

"What do you want?" I asked bluntly. "What will it take to keep you quiet?"

Malfoy paused in his gloating long enough to look genuinely surprised. "What?"

I grimaced. "Come on Malfoy, spit it out. What will it take? What do you want from me in exchange for not telling?"

Malfoy stared at me. The look on his face would have been hilarious if I wasn't about to become his slave. It was a mix of incredulity, skepticism, awe, and cunning. Any other time I would have laughed, but no way was I letting Malfoy take Hagrid down. Hagrid's hut was one of my few retreats at Hogwarts and Hagrid adored that dragon. I did too, for that matter, and who knew what would happen to it once Hagrid lost it? Say what you wanted about Hagrid, but he knew how to take care of an animal.

"Anything within reason," I rephrased. I didn't know what was going on in his bleached little head, but I did not like the slow, serpentine smirk that was slowly slithering across his face.

"Anything within reason," Malfoy repeated, his grey eyes going distant as he contemplated. "Hmm, that's quite an offer, Potter. What should I have you do?"

" _Within reason,_ Blondie," I stressed. Malfoy scowled.

"That's rule number one. No more of your nicknames. My name's Malfoy. Use it."

"Rule number one?" I said incredulously. "What, you're making a list?"

Malfoy pointedly began to stand up. I seized him by the shoulders and hurled him back into the chair.

"Alright alright," I growled in annoyance. "Malfoy it is then. What else?"

"Well, there's lots of potential there," Malfoy snickered. "Like… you're partnering with me in Potions until further notice."

I stared at him blankly. "But… you're good in Potions."

"Yeah, but Crabbe and Goyle aren't, and I keep getting landed with them," Malfoy scowled. "And in Herbology, you're doing the dangerous bits for me. And… you're carrying my bag and fetching food for me from the kitchen!" Malfoy said, eyes lighting up with potential.

"Okay, okay," I said, cutting him off before he got on a roll. "Call you Malfoy, help you in Potions, get attacked by angry plants, carry books, fetch food… Anything else?" I asked, bracing myself for another laundry list of duties.

"I could make you clean my room," Malfoy mused, then shook his head. "Nah, the castle handles that. Yeah, those are my demands."

"I agree," I said, offering my hand to shake. Malfoy took it and grinned as he shook. My stomach swooped.

"This is going to be fun."

"Good," I said, and started to rise. Malfoy grabbed my arm, stopping me from leaving.

"Potter," he sang. I groaned internally. Already I could tell that he was going to make this as difficult as possible.

"Yes Malfoy?" I replied, biting back the 'Frosty' that tried to come out instead of his name.

"I'm feeling a bit puckish," Malfoy continued. "Be a dear and fetch me an apple or two from the kitchen, would you?"

"Of course, Malfoy," I growled, fisting my hands at my sides.

"Hurry back!" Malfoy called after me mockingly as I stalked out of the Common Room. I took two steps down the hallway, ducked into an empty classroom, and proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs for a full thirty seconds.

My throat was incredibly sore as I stormed from the room and headed towards the kitchen, fairly radiating rage. The things I did for people...

* * *

 **Guys. Guys. I can't stop. I can't stop writing for Lorena and I went from having 14 chapters written to having 24 in like a weeks and I've reached critical mass. Good news for you guys because I have all kinds of chapters saved up and I'm starting to feel bad about not posting them. Anyway, in summary, we've got about four more chapters left of year one and after that we'll skip to year four. Periodically I'll probably post things from year two and three and maybe random scenes from throughout the series. Anyway, fourth year I'm probably going to blend it between the movies and work. So, that's all.**


	16. Malfoy's Servant

Like I'd predicted, Malfoy in no way made things easy on me. He made the most of each and every one of the conditions he'd set out, and if I ever gave him a dirty look or opened my mouth to complain, he'd innocently remark that Hagrid had been spending a lot of time indoors lately, or that he'd seen smoke coming out of the windows of Hagrid's hut. I'd grunt and grumble internally, but I bit my tongue for the sake of Hagrid and the dragon, who I was fast becoming friends with.

Every spare moment I had lately I was down at Hagrid's, frequently accompanied by Harry, Ron, or Hermione in some combination. They were all very pleased that I'd managed to get Malfoy to shut his mouth, even though I refused to tell them what I'd promised him. Harry in particular wasn't okay with this, but I just assured him over and over that it wasn't anything creepy. He spotted me carrying Malfoy's bag and bringing him food often enough, and he seemed to think that was the extent of it.

Most of the time I was at Hagrid's, though, I was spending with the dragon. I adored the scaly little guy. He was like a cat in some ways – very picky about who touched him and when, prone to fits over his food, and prone to scratching. Harry and Ran had accumulated a couple of scrapes of their own trying to wrangle him. Luckily, the dragon's claws were still soft enough not to do too much damage. Hermione spent her time trying to coach the dragon towards flying and breathing fire, but he outright ignored her, much to her frustration.

Hagrid and I were the only ones the dragon seemed to like. And surprisingly, he seemed to like me more than Hagrid. Hagrid said it was a natural gift for animals that I had. Personally, I thought it was that I mixed up the chicken blood and brandy in the proportions Norbert liked and I scratched under his chin whenever he wanted me too. Whatever it was, he seemed to like curling up with me more than anyone else.

Sadly, I didn't get to go down to Hagrid's nearly as much as I liked. Malfoy was running me ragged.

In Potions, he would lounge around and let me handle our potion whenever we were partnered up, hastening to look busy when Snape came our way only to relax when he went away and go back to doing nothing. I considered sabotaging the potion several times just to teach him a lesson, but I wasn't willing to sacrifice my grades like that for a petty squabble. I did vow to make sure that a lot more incorrect ingredients found their way into Malfoy's cauldron once this was all over though.

Herbology was even worse. We were coming towards the end of the year, which meant Professor Sprout thought we were ready for more dangerous plants than we'd yet worked with. We needed our dragonhide gloves nearly every day at this point. Or rather, I needed my dragonhide gloves. Malfoy walked smugly from Herbology with nary a speck of dirt on him while I staggered out, sweaty and panting from wrestling with snapdragons that _really_ didn't want to be watered.

Outside of class was definitely the worse part though. Malfoy had taken to carting around so many books one would think he was cut from the same cloth as Hermione. He crammed his bag full of as many books as he could, insisting he needed them for class, which I knew was absolute unicorn crap, because he had a dusty treatise on ghoul rights that was as thick as my waist tucked in his bag one day, and no one cared about ghoul rights.

It seemed like whenever I thought I'd managed to scrape some free time, Malfoy would pop out of nowhere, asking innocently for an apple or a piece of pie of a flagon of pumpkin juice. It didn't matter if we'd just left a meal or were about to go, he would still send me off to the kitchen to fetch him something.

One day he sent me off twenty minutes before Potions started to fetch some fruit for him, dumped his bag on me, and strolled off down the hallway. Cursing wildly, I sprinted to the kitchen, panted out my request, snatched the fruit from a pair of concerned-looking house elves and then tore out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell.

I slammed through the Potions classroom door with all of ten seconds to spare. The entire class turned to look at me, including Snape, who was at the front of the classroom with his brow raised. I slumped against the wall for a second, panting for breath, too tired to be embarrassed.

Once I could take a step and breathe at the same time I wobbled towards the empty chair next to Malfoy. Harry caught my sleeve as I passed his table.

"You okay, Rena?" he whispered, looking up at me in concern. I nodded, still trying to regulate my breathing, and continued on to my seat. I dumped the bag gratefully from my shoulders and collapsed into my seat spread-eagled with a groan, eyes closed.

"Now that Miss Potter has been kind enough to grace us with her presence," Snape said tartly, beginning the lesson.

"Where's my apple?" Malfoy asked, leaning over and nudging me. Wearily I plucked it from my pocket and placed it in front of him. He made a face. "Yellow? I asked for-"

I glared at him. "You rat bas-"

"What?" Malfoy grinned, blinking at me innocently. "What am I, Potter?"

I gritted my teeth. "Nothing, Malfoy," I hissed, and yanked out my textbooks, slamming it onto the table and flicking through the pages so fast they were on the edge of tearing. I found the potion for the day and scanned through it, relieved that it wasn't anything too complicated.

Malfoy leaned his chair back onto its rear legs as he took a crunchy bite of his apple, looking completely relaxed. I glared at him from under a chunk of hair that had fallen loose from my ponytail. I wore my hair back quite a lot now, not just in Potions.

Giving a huff of annoyance and wishing I could tip Malfoy those last few inches onto the floor without getting myself or Hagrid in trouble, I started on the Potion, skinning my dirigible plums with a little more vigor than was strictly necessary and imagining I was slicing off chucks of perfect platinum hair. I kept up a steady internal monologue of threats of bodily harm.

I was just finishing up a particularly vivid threat of gutting when the knife slipped and cut open the fleshy part of my palm. I yelped in pain and dropped the plum and knife to clutch my wrist, staring at the long line of blood gushing from my palm.

"Son of a banshee," I hissed under my breath. I bit my lip to fight down tears.

"Oi, Potter, why aren't you skinning plums?" Malfoy asked arrogantly.

I whipped around to face him, a snarl on my face. At first he was leaning back just like I'd left him, a cocky expression in place and a half-eaten apple in hand. Then he saw my face and saw the blood dripping from my hand. Abruptly his chair smacked down to the ground on all fours as he sat forwards.

"Merlin," he breathed. "Professor!"

"Yes, Malfoy, what is i- What have you done you silly girl?" Snape demanded as he snatched my hand and dragged it closer to his face for inspection.

"My knife slipped," I grunted, giving Malfoy a baleful look. If I hadn't been as mad at him as I was I wouldn't have been distracted and I wouldn't be bleeding all over the floor right now.

Quick footsteps made me look up. Harry had hustled over to my desk, concern written all over his face.

"Lorena, are you okay?" he asked worriedly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Do I need to take you to the Hospital Wing?"

Snape sniffed. "I am perfectly capable of repairing a small cut like this, Mr. Potter. Now return to your seat and finish your potion."

"It's not a small cut!" Harry protested hotly. "She's bleeding all over!"

"Harry," I muttered, flushing slightly. "I'm fine, really," I promised, taking his hand and squeezing. "Go do your assignment, I'm okay."

Harry squeezed my hand back and refused to leave as Snape drew his wand along the cut on my hand, mumbling a spell under his breath. The cut healed over as the tip of his wand passed. With another flick of his wand, Snape cleared away the blood on my palm and the table.

"See?" I said, offering my hand to Harry. He squinted and looked it over for any sign of a cut, but there was none. Snape had done well; there wasn't even a line of lighter skin to show it had healed.

"Okay," he said, returning to his desk.

"See me after class, Miss Potter," Snape said as he breezed off to critique Neville's cauldron.

"Yes, sir," I sighed, slamming my head on the desk and groaning. But then I smiled as I realized – this was my last class for the day. Once it was over I was free, and since Malfoy would be leaving earlier, he wouldn't be able to have me fetch something for him. I was free to have an uninterrupted few hours down at Hagrid's.

"Oi, Potter."

"What?" I snapped at Malfoy furiously. "I'm _working_ on the potion, Malfoy, so just forget-"

I looked up and was surprised to see something like concern lingering in his eyes. But it was immediately washed away by a wave of annoyance.

"I don't see you working," he snapped. "So hurry up! I want a good grade on this!" He slumped back into his chair, taking an angry bite from his apple and chewing. Snarling, I made myself turn away before I lost my temper and blew up at him.

I was scowling thunderously for the rest of class, but I made sure to pay attention. I had no desire to chop something off next time, and once had apparently been enough to make Snape touchy. I had no idea what he wanted to see me about. I couldn't think of any reason why he'd get mad at me for hurting myself. It wasn't like I'd cut myself up for the heck of it.

When the class was finished I bottled a bit of my potion – I refused to call it mine and Malfoy's considered he hadn't so much as touched a stirring rod the whole time – and took it up to Snape's desk for grading. The Slytherin's had learned their lesson about trying to stay behind and eavesdrop the first time, so none of them lingered after they cleared their tables.

"Sir?" I asked holding my breath as I approached Snape's desk. "Look, I know I was careless with the knife, but in my defense, I didn't mean to-"

"What is going on with you and Mister Malfoy?" Snape cut me off sharply. I blinked.

"I… what?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Potter, I am neither blind nor stupid. I noticed that you have been consistently partnering with Malfoy for the past three weeks when normally the two of you only interact with the barest amount of civility. On top of that, you always show up carrying his bag, and many of the teachers have seen you passing him food. So I'll ask again," Snape said in a tone that made it clear this was also the last time that he would ask. "What is going on with you and Malfoy?"

I bit my lip. I debated lying, sheepishly admitting to having lost a bet. I could say I owed Malfoy for something. Lots of options spun through my mind, some more believable. But lying had never seemed like a good idea when it came to Snape. Not only was I pretty sure he'd see through any line I tried to feed him, I respected him too much. So, like always, I told the truth.

"Malfoy knows something I'm trying to keep secret, sir," I admitted. "I'm doing this to keep him quiet."

Snape looked vaguely surprised. "And what does Mister Malfoy know that's so bad you'd degrade yourself like this?"

I winced at the mention of degradation. "I'd tell you sir, but it doesn't just involve me."

Snape pursed his lips and didn't seem pleased with that answer, but he nodded. "Then Miss Potter, I would advise you manipulate the situation to your advantage. Make sure that if Malfoy ever does decide to open his mouth, he is too late to hurt you."

I nodded. I knew I had to, otherwise who knew how long this would go on? The problem was that I had no idea what to do. The dragon would have to go, which would absolutely break Hagrid's heart, and mine too a little. Besides, we couldn't exactly just set him loose in the Forbidden Forest. We needed some place to send the dragon, and some way to get him here.

Snape asked a few questions about the way I'd tweaked my potion – extra dirigible plums and a few stirring tricks – and then turned me loose. I grabbed my bag, pleased to be only carrying one for the moment, and headed down to Hagrid's. It was a relief to stagger through the door into my sanctuary.

"L'rena!" Hagrid greeted me warmly as I stepped inside. I took the only empty seat at the table and dropped into it wearily. The dragon, who had been gnawing on a bone in a corner, gave a cheerful warble and headed towards me, staggering across the floor like a toddler.

"There are you, my lovely," I murmured to the dragon, picking him up when he came close enough and dropping him into my lap. He curled there contently, folding his leathery wings against his side and butting my hand with his nose, a few streams of smoke rising from his nostrils. "I know, I know." I scratched under his chin and he gave a happy purr.

"'e's really taken ter yeh," Hagrid said proudly. "Such a good boy. I've decided ter name 'im Norbert!"

"Why did Snape want to talk to you?" Ron asked curiously. Harry's face immediately darkened.

"If he said anything to you about accidentally cutting your hand open-"

"Yeh cut yerself?" Hagrid burst in, looking concerned. I quickly held up my hands, palms facing him, to show Hagrid that there was no lasting damage.

"Yes, but Professor Snape patched me up," I said, casting Ron a pointed look. "And no, he didn't have anything to say about it. He wanted to know why I was doing Malfoy's potions in class and carrying his books."

Hagrid looked horribly confused. "Why've yeh been doin' that?"

I bit my lip, wincing. I didn't want Hagrid to know what was keeping Malfoy's slimy trap shut. I had no problem doing a good deed for a friend, but I didn't exactly want Hagrid to know what I was going through for him. It would only make him feel bad to know I was basically Malfoy's slave to keep his secret. And besides that, I didn't like being the sweet one who went out of her way to help people. I didn't deny that I sometimes did, but I didn't do it for recognition, I did it because I cared. It wasn't my most Slytherin quality, but there you go.

"It's…" I sighed. "Malfoy was going to tell, but I caught him in the Common Room and made a deal. I make hi potions, I do the grunt work in Herbology, I carry his books, I fetch him snacks… and he keeps quiet about Norbert," I said, looking down at the little dragon, who had taken to gnawing on my sleeve. Chuckling slightly, I gently guided his mouth away from my clothes and began trailing my nails down his wings gently, which he loved.

"Rena, seriously?" Harry demanded. "I thought it was just carrying his books and making his potions, I didn't realize… that's why you've been running all over the castle lately, fetching Malfoy food?"

I nodded, ashamed.

"That git," Ron said venomously. I smiled at him thankfully.

"I agree."

"Blimey, L'rena," Hagrid said thickly. "I had no idea. Yeh don' have ter… I mean I know I can' keep 'im forev'r, bu' yeh shouldn' put yerself through tha'."

"I made the deal," I said forcefully. 'I knew what I was getting into. But… you're right," I admitted sheepishly. "I can't keep it up forever. If nothing else Norbert will get too big to hide or one of the teachers will start asking questions about why I'm doing all of the things I am for Malfoy."

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," Hagrid sighed. "He's too little. He'd die."

"Hagrid," Harry insisted, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip. "I-I know I can' keep him forever, but I can' jus' dump him, I can'."

"And I wouldn't let you," I agreed with him, tickling Norbert's nose with the end of his tail gently. "We need to find some way to get him off the grounds without anyone knowing he was ever here."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. "Charlie," he announced, grinning excitedly.

"You're losing it," said Ron blankly. "I'm Ron, remember?"

But I understood. "Harry, that's great! You're a genius!" I grinned, reaching over and yanking him into a one-armed hug. Norbert made a sound of protest as my lap shifted under him. "Sorry, sorry," I apologized, shifting back to my original position. Norbert blew smoke at me balefully.

"Oi, what am I missing?" Ron exclaimed, looking annoyed.

"No. Charlie, your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons," Harry babbled. "We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

Hagrid wasn't too fond of the plan. To be honest, if Hagrid didn't know Charlie from when he was a student and know how Charlie loved animals, I don't think he would have gone for it. But Charlie was our best option so, regretfully, Hagrid agreed to let us send him a letter asking for help.

In the meantime, things were particularly stressful. Charlie replied, making arrangements for us to pass Norbert off to Charlie's friends from the top of the Astronomy Tower on Saturday night. That would have been fine, except Norbert bit Ron the same day we got the letter. He insisted he was fine. I insisted he go to Madam Pomfrey. He refused.

By the next day his hand was swollen and oozing greenish pus. I'd been reading up on Norwegian Ridgebacks and as it turned out, their bite was toxic. Not poisonous, just toxic, kind of like a Komodo dragon. They didn't have actual venom, but their mouths were hotbeds for bacteria to grow and unless bites were properly treated, they were almost guaranteed to get infected. People had lost limbs and lives to untreated Ridgeback bites.

I kept all of this to myself when I visited Ron in the Hospital Wing with Harry and Hermione, having snagged a moment away from Malfoy by the less-than-noble expedient of sprinting past him in the Common Room with my fingers jammed in my ears.

"It's not just my hand," Ron whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off."

"It shouldn't, Norbert's not actually poisonous, his mouth just isn't very clean. You got to Madam Pomfrey quick enough, so you should be fine," I assured him.

Ron scoffed. "Fine, right, yeah. Listen, Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me - I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me." I knew I wouldn't. "I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

"He's doing this because he's a git," I said shortly. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," soothed Hermione. Ron shot bolt upright in bed and went pale and clammy. His eyes were blown wide in horror.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no, oh no. I've just remembered – Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert!"

I resisted the urge to swear violently and instead just clapped a palm to my face, letting out a groan. Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"Off you go, Weasley needs his sleep," she said, waving her apron at us as she shooed us off. "You can come visit tomorrow, he should be feeling much better by then!"

The three of us said our goodbyes to Ron and left the Hospital Wing, ducking into a niche down the hall to discuss.

"It's too late to change the plan now." Harry sighed. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

"What if he takes the letter to a professor?" Hermione fretted, but I shook my head.

"No, he won't."

"What makes you so sure?" she protested. "He has the evidence, all he'd have to do is-"

"He won't," I insisted. "Malfoy's a drama queen, he'll go for maximum impact. He'll want to get you lot caught in the act. If he catches you transporting the dragon he can get all of us. With the letter he's just got Ron nailed, and much as Ron might like to think he's Malfoy's target, he's not. Harry is."

"Me?" Harry asked blankly. "I'll admit, I hate him and I know the feeling's mutual, but why go after me with this when he's already got Ron. Ron's the one that hit him," he reminded us. I scoffed.

"Why go after you? Because you're famous, Harry, and he's not. Malfoy's a drama queen, like I said. Worse, he's a spoiled one. He's used to getting all the attention. I bet he came to Hogwarts expecting to rule the school and instead he ends up with Harry Potter showing him up at every turn. You're on the Quidditch team, people are fascinated by you… he tried to share some of that and get to you on the train, but you turned him down."

I was a classic Slytherin tactic. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Harry could have been either one to Malfoy in the beginning, so Malfoy went for friends, which was more convenient. But Harry had turned him down flat, insulting him and depriving him of either sharing Harry's spotlight or tearing him down from the inside, whichever course he chose.

"What about you?" Harry pointed out. I scoffed.

"Malfoy's not overly concerned about me. The rest of Slytherin barely tolerates me; it's only my year mates that have anything to do with me," I said bitterly. "I'm a halfblood, and what's worse, I'm a Potter. To them I might as well be Hermione." I didn't bother to add 'no offense.' "He doesn't need to tear me down, I'm already low man on the totem pole."

Harry's face softened. "Lorena, I didn't realize-"

"It doesn't matter, I'm handling myself," I said, waving away his concerns. "What matters now is getting Norbert to safety."

Hermione and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Like Harry said, he has the cloak," Hermione mused. "It shouldn't be too hard for he and I to get down to Hagrid's, the problem will be once we've got Norbert…"

"Hah, no," I snorted. "You're staying in your dorm, Granger."

Hermione drew herself up, looking offended. "Why?" she protested. "I'm just as capable-"

"Sure you are," I said dismissively. "But Norbert _hates_ you and seeing as we're sneaking him up a couple floors or patrolled hallways, it might be best to have someone he _likes_ along to keep him quiet, eh?" I suggested pointedly. Hermione paused, biting her lip.

"You have a point," she admitted.

"And Harry's going because it's his cloak," I said, trying not to sound too dangerous, even though it _still_ ate at me that he got dad's cloak over me. "We can meet at the entrance to the dungeons. I can get that far on my own but after that, I'll need the cloak to keep hidden."

Harry and I set up a time and a place to meet and then we split, Harry and Hermione to Gryffindor Tower and me to the dungeons. When I stepped inside, the scene was painfully familiar. Malfoy was sitting in a chair by the fire looking annoyingly smug. And just like last time, I walked over and sat on the arm of his chair, draping my arm across the back.

"So, I hear you found out about their plan," I said quietly. Malfoy nodded, pulling the crumpled letter from Charlie out of his pocket and holding it up proudly.

"It's all laid out here," he grinned. "This is enough to get Weasley, but I bet you anything Potter and Mudblood Granger will be in on it. I get all of them caught and that oaf will end up thrown out of Hogwarts. What does he think he's doing, keeping a dragon so close to a school?" he sneered.

I scowled furiously. "And how does that benefit you? Seriously, Malfoy, aside from general dickishness, why are you doing this?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Malfoy asked blankly. "People like that Mudblood don't belong here, and that freak Hagrid barely qualifies as a wizard. You're _lucky_ , Potter, that you got into Slytherin. Your brother, he's surrounded by blood traitors and filth like them. Worse, he's made friends with them." He sneered like it was the worst crime imaginable. "You have the opportunity to make friends with powerful people in Slytherin, better people, people who deserve their magic. Even a half-blood like you could make something of yourself."

"A half-blood like me," I whispered, touching my hair gently. My flaming red hair that I shared with my Muggleborn mother. My mother… what would she think, to see me sitting casually next to people like Parkinson and Malfoy, even Greengrass, who would have disdained her existence?

What did it say about me that I was so willing to step fully into Slytherin and try to make it work that I was willing to try and be nice to people like them? So maybe Slytherin wasn't all bad, but it wasn't all good either. There was a darker side of Slytherin that was all hatred and disdain and I wanted nothing to do with it.

"Fine Malfoy," I said, gritting my teeth. "You think I'm lucky all you want. But as for me, I'd join Gryffindor in a heartbeat."

I stood up sharply and headed for my dorm, fists clenched at my sides.

"You're making a mistake, Potter!" Malfoy called after me, but I just kept walking. I collapsed wearily into my bed. Tracey and Lily, who were sitting up on the edge of their beds and chatting as they worked on our Herbology essay, looked at me in surprise.

"Rough day?" Tracey asked sympathetically. I looked up and saw the two girls who were in the same situation I was. Lily was a halfblood scandal and Tracey, while she was pureblooded as far as I knew, her family was far poorer than a lot of the older families. They were right at the bottom of the ladder with me.

"Malfoy's a dick," I grunted in reply. Tracey gaped at me and Lily smothered a snort.

"Don't say things like that!" Tracey hissed fearfully. "You want to bring Pansy down on our heads?"

"Pansy's already down on our heads, Trace," Lily reminded her. She twisted around on her bed, looking at me curiously. "Come on Potter, what'd he do? I thought you guys got along well enough?"

"We were civil," I hedged. "Let's just say I've come to the realization that I need Malfoy in my life like I need a hole in the head."

Lily frowned, looking disappointed and Tracey sighed. "Try and be more vague," she pouted. I shrugged.

"Sorry, can't say."

But I realized that I felt far more comfortable lying there in my dorm room chatting casually with these two than I ever had playing chess with Malfoy or sitting my Bulstrode. My hatred of her and Pansy was school-wide news at this point, and Daphne varied between decent and utter twat on an hourly basis. It was exhausting to be around.

So I made up my mind. I would be the most Slytheriny Slytherin I could, while still surrounding myself with good people, the kind of people I could be proud to call my friends.

Pleased with my decision and feeling more at peace and optimistic than I could recall feeling in a while, I settled back against my pillows, smiling contently.

* * *

I was shivering wildly as Harry and I knocked on Hagrid's door on Saturday night. I hadn't been able to risk sleeping in my normal clothes so I'd only managed to yank on a cloak over my pajamas before I ran up to meet Harry. Added to that it was a chilly, breezy night, and I was so ready to get Norbert out of the school grounds and head to my bed.

Aside from the fact that I'd miss the little dragon, that was.

Hagrid let us inside, sniffling into a pink lacy handkerchief as he pointed to a crate by the door.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to me as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and I covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it ourselves. "Mommy will never forget you!"

As we slowly moved Norbert and his crate up to the Astronomy Tower I began to make plans to become more in shape. Norbert was still a baby, but he was solid, and it was quite a lot of weight to haul up staircase after staircase. My calves and shoulders were burning before Harry and I had even made it halfway to the tower. It became unbearably hot under the cloak thanks to Harry and I panting and sweating and Norbert blowing smoke. I began to wonder if it was worth it or if I would rather just fling off the cloak and risk being caught.

It was a little after midnight by the time Harry and I finally made it to the last staircase, the spiraling one that led up to the top of the tower. The sounds of a struggle brought us up short. Even though we were invisible, we both quickly pressed back against the wall and held our breath, watching as two shapes grappled with each other.

A lamp flared, revealing McGonagall in a tartan bathrobe and a hairnet. Far more entertaining though was the wincing Malfoy she had firmly by the ear. I shoved my knuckles into my mouth to keep from laughing. Harry and I exchanged amused looks as we watched.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you-"

"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on - I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

After seeing that Harry and I got our second wind. Getting the crate up that last set of stairs was no more stressful than a jaunt to the kitchen. We set the crate down and thankfully threw the cloak off. I threw my arms out wide and tilted my head back, grinning widely and basking in the cold air.

"Malfoy's got detention!" I announced smugly. "Take that, you git!"

Harry and I settled down to wait with Norbert. The baby dragon thrashed, not pleased at being in such cramped quarters for so long. Cooing, I put a hand over one of the air holes in the top so that Norbert could smell me.

"It's alright, lovely, you'll be out of there soon enough. We've got to get you somewhere safe though. I'll miss you," I promised.

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded very much like 'nutter.' I smacked him, pouting, and went back to cooing at Norbert and trying to keep him calm.

Ten minutes later, four broomsticks swooped down from the north. Charlie's friends dismounted with grins and greetings. They all seemed giddy about helping to move the illegal dragon, and were quite pleased to help us buckle Norbert's crate into the harness fixed between their brooms. It took barely five minutes with their help. Five minutes later they were in the air again, getting smaller and smaller.

I felt myself getting slightly teary-eyed and swiftly shoved that down. Harry and I turned, exchanging high-fives, one-armed hugs, and grins as we made our way down from the tower. I was completely ready to collapse into bed and have a lie in the next morning. With Norbert gone and me freed from Malfoy, I suddenly had all kinds of free time on my hands.

I was considering spending the day curled up in the library with a book and a cup of cocoa from the kitchens when Filch's face loomed out of the darkness. That would ruin any good plans in a heartbeat.

"Well well," he said, eyes blazing with triumph. "We are in trouble!"

Faster than a blink Filch had marched us off to McGonagall's study. I was still blinking owlishly, wondering how we had been so stupid as to forget the cloak at the top of the tower when he knocked on the door to the Deputy Headmistress's study.

"Argus, what is it?"

McGonagall was marching towards us, and in her hand this time was Neville's ear. She looked positively apoplectic with rage when the saw us, and Neville looked horrified.

"Harry!" Neville burst out when he saw us. "Lorena! I was trying to warn you, Malfoy said he was going to get you caught, said you had a dra-"

"Clearly you failed," I said shortly. I didn't feel the slightest bit bad about cutting him off, either. What kind of idiot thought that the best plan to keep his friend from getting caught wandering around out of bed after hours was to _wander around out of bed after hours?_

Neville's face fell and McGonagall looked about ten feet tall in her rage as she forced us inside and stood behind her desk. She drew in a large breath, readied for a monumental rant.

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves." We stayed silent. "I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on. It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

Harry caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that this wasn't true, because Neville was looking stunned and hurt. I took the low road and sulked, looking firmly over McGonagall's shoulder. But then I realized – McGonagall wasn't looking at harry accusingly. No, she was looking at me like she thought I had masterminded the whole thing.

That made me mad. What, because I was the Slytherin I was automatically at fault? Okay, I was also the only one standing here known for being out late and playing pranks, but still. The number of Gryffindors and Slytherins caught out of bed was tied for the night. Surely that said something? There was an equal chance any of us had tried to screw the other.

I gave McGonagall my best, most Snapeish sneer in response.

"I'm disgusted," Professor McGonagall continued. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! Mr. Longbottom, I know your grandmother would be severely disappointed in you. And you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions - yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, its very dangerous - and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"Fifty ?" Harry gasped.

"Fifty points each," Professor McGonagall said sharply.

"Professor - please—"

"You can't—"

I stayed quiet, glaring at McGonagall. Did she know how badly she'd just screwed me? Not only would Malfoy be on the warpath for Harry and I getting Norbert out past his plan to catch us, but I'd lost Slytherin fifty points when we were already behind. The whole house would want my head.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

I snorted. But she'd been more ashamed of Slytherin students, had she? Not surprising.

The three of us left McGonagall's study. Neville took off running to Gryffindor Tower, wanting to get back to safety. Harry hesitated, looking at me.

"Look, Rena, I'm sorry, I know the Slytherins-"

"They don't love me no matter what," I said shortly. "It's not your fault. I could have been smart enouh to remember the cloak too, but I didn't. We both dropped the ball, and we're both going to have to pay for it."

"Still, " Harry said, face crumpled in disappointment. "Fifty points and detention… McGonagall was really harsh."

I stared at him incredulously. Detention was par for the course if you were caught out of bed. As for being caught out of bed and in an off-limits area of the castle, I thought adding fifty points to the usual punishment was pretty easy. I couldn't believe how Harry was…

Well, pouting. There was no other word for it. I realized this was the first time he'd actually been punished for breaking the rules. Had to be hard for him, not being above it all, I thought snidely, and gave myself a hearty mental smack.

Angry at myself now, I turned and headed for the dungeons, ready to face my fate.

* * *

Slytherins were champion grudge holders.

Not that it was entirely surprising, considering how seriously they took their pride. But needless to say, the rest of my house wasn't thrilled with me when it finally got around that I was the one who'd lost us 50 points.

This was hardly the first time I'd made trouble, but in the past if I'd been caught it was always by Snape. That meant I got punished, but the house at large didn't suffer, so they were free to just be amused by whatever I'd done. This time though, the house itself had suffered. We weren't in dead last – that honor went to Gryffindor, but we were only just above them.

The Common room had suddenly gotten very unfriendly. I couldn't step inside without getting glared at hatefully from all corners of the room. Malfoy had made it known that the reason I'd lost points was because I was helping a Gryffindor and Hagrid. As if the loss of points wasn't bad enough, I'd lost it helping halfbreeds. That was the icing on the insult cake for my housemates.

I wasn't dumb enough to linger in the Common Room these days. Most of my free time I spent down at Hagrid's, particularly right after Norbert left, comforting him on the loss of his dragon. I did my homework down there and I took to grabbing food from the kitchens instead of going to meals.

Night time was definitely the worst. I couldn't just pass out in a hallway, so I was stuck in my dorms listening to Parkinson and Bulstrode rant and rave about what an idiot I was and what was I thinking and didn't I have any pride and I should be ashamed of myself. It wasn't exactly the most soothing sound in the world to go to sleep to, which lead to me spending more time hidden in the Library researching noise-canceling charms.

I was spending a lot of time in the Library lately anyway with exams coming up. Potions I anticipated getting full marks on, but I still made sure to review one potion each night to make sure to keep it fresh. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a matter of remembering dark wizard and dates they were defeated. For that, Astronomy, and History of Magic I resorted to flash cards that I would sit up at night and quiz myself on when I couldn't sleep. I took to filling out diagrams on plants we'd studied in Herbology and listing their properties under my breath when I had free time. I reviewed Charms spells hidden in an empty classroom, making things float and dance through the air.

Transfiguration had been the bane of my existence, so I was pretty proud of myself that I'd finally figured out how to learn theory. I had to associate the theory with the feelings I had when I cast the spell. Before, theory had only complicated things for me, but now I was able to work it into the casting of a spell with far less trouble. I was glad to finally be doing better in Transfiguration, and it certainly lessened McGonagall's dark looks in my direction since the Astronomy Tower incident.

All in all, I was turning into a slightly more reclusive version of Granger with the exams coming closer, which horrified me when I realized it. I wanted to get good grades, certainly. At Hogwarts, I didn't have Dudley's cheerful destruction of my homework and stealing of my textbooks holding me back. But being a Granger is where I drew the line.

That's why I was almost glad when the letter about our detention came.


	17. In the Forest

At eleven o'clock the night of our detentions I left the Library, making a brief stop to drop my bag in my dorm room. I'd taken to keeping a hand firmly on my wand whenever I had to cross the Common Room. Thankfully, the furor over the lost points was starting to die down and the Slytherins seemed slightly mollified that I was serving detention.

Granted, Malfoy wasn't thrilled that we'd gotten him detention.

I staggered as something tripped me when I left the Common Room. Looking up, I glared when I saw Malfoy calmly pulling his foot back and glaring.

"I hope you're happy," he snapped. "I've got detention tonight because of you."

"Boo hoo," I said shortly, taking off down the corridor. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, Malfoy hustled after me, still glaring.

"How'd you do it?" he demanded. "How'd you get that dragon up to the Astronomy Tower without being caught?"

"Haven't you noticed?" I asked sweetly. "I did get caught. That's why we're both going to detention, genius."

"You know what I mean," Malfoy said hotly. "How'd you do it?"

"Fine!" I burst out, stopping in the middle of the hall and glaring. Malfoy paused, looking at me angrily. "You really wanna know?"

"Yes."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes!"

"So can I."

I turned, sweeping my robes behind me in a move Snape had mastered and heading off.

"Potter!" Malfoy shouted, catching up to me. "Seriously, you're being ridiculous! You don't have to bother with them, you know."

I paused, confused. "Don't have to bother with who?"

"Your brother and that oaf he's friends with," Malfoy said like it was obviously. He rolled his eyes. "Like I said, your brother's made his bed, but you have options. You don't have to stick to his side like glue, not when there are better people around."

I raised an eyebrow slowly, floored with disbelief. "By better people you mean… you?" I asked uncertainly. Malfoy preened.

"Well, yes. The Malfoy name is very highly respected, my father has the ear of the Minister himself-"

I doubled over laughing. Malfoy looked down at me indignantly. "Why are you laughing?" he demanded. "What's funny?"

"You!" I giggled, unable to stop myself. "You… you actually think you're better… than my brother!" Struggling to breathe through my laughter, I sagged against the wall, clutching a sconce for support. "Malfoy," I giggled. "You are not good enough do my brother's laundry. Harry's an idiot, but he's practically a saint! He's nice to almost everyone, he puts himself in harm's way to help people, and he sticks up for those who need it. You're a cowardly, spoiled little brat who thinks that because he can trace his name back a few centuries farther than everyone else the world should bow at his feet. You think that anyone who's not like you is somehow lesser when really, most people are better than you. You think you're better than Harry?" I shook my head, slowly getting myself together and shaking my head. I stood up, staring the gaping blonde dead in the eye. "I'm not even good enough to be his sister, what hope do you have?"

With that parting comment burning the truth into my brain, I turned and stalked off, fingers flexing and uncurling at my sides like they did when I was really angry. Memories of the night with the mirror washed over me, the realization that Harry was the good twin and I was not.

Fine, sure, I wasn't the best person. But Malfoy thinking that he was better than Harry? Not a chance.

Harry and Neville were already waiting by Filch in the entrance hall when I arrived, Malfoy appearing right behind me. I immediately stood by Harry, glaring at Malfoy and making it very clear exactly who I wanted to be around.

"Follow me," ordered Filch, lighting a lamp and leading us outside. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at us. "Oh yes... hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me... It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

We marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing in the dark air. I pressed closer to Harry, who raised the hem of his cloak and wrapped it and his arm around my shoulder. I looked up and gave him a small smile.

"Filch looks thrilled," Harry observed. I snorted softly.

"Must be bad."

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. The lights from Hagrid's windows were the only thing illuminating the grounds, and we were heading right for it.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started!" Hagrid called as we approached.

I looked at Harry and grinned. Detention with Hagrid? In my mind, that was only a step below detention with Snape in terms of best punishment ever. Hagrid liked us and he wouldn't make us do anything too hard.

Filch must have seen us looking hopeful – or he had some way of sensing when students were happy – because he said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, brats- it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

"The forest?" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there… werewolves, I heard."

"Scared, Malfoy?" I asked sweetly. He glared.

"You're stupid if you're not, Potter."

Neville clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and made a choking noise.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. He was wheezing form the walk down to the hut, and if he wasn't such a jerk, I might have even felt a little bad for him. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

I was probably one of the very few people at Hogwarts that didn't have a problem going into the forest. It was creepy-looking, certainly, and I respected the fact that there were some dangerous things in there, but I knew what kind of beasts roamed the trees thanks to my talks with Hagrid, which took a lot of the mystery out of it.

Hagrid came striding toward us out of the dark, Fang following obediently. Hagrid was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said as I knelt down to ruffle Fang's ears fondly. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, L'rena?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" guessed Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, looking highly annoyed, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy turned to Hagrid immediately. "I'm not going in that forest," he said, and I looked up at Harry to see him smothering a grin at the note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd-"

Hagrid cut him off. "-tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts. Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on."

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

"Don't worry Malfoy," I snickered, hugging Fang close so that our heads were right next to each other as I looked up at the git. "I promise you'll be okay even if you get dirt on your cloak."

"Now L'rena," Hagrid rebuked, but he was smiling slightly under his bushy beard. Harry snorted.

"Shove off, Potter," Malfoy muttered, hugging his cloak tighter around himself.

"Right then," Hagrid announced, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He led us to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted our hair as we looked into the forest. Angrily, I spit out strands and quickly yanked my hair back into a ponytail using an elastic I'd stolen off of Daphne a couple of weeks before.

"Look there," instructed Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. I rolled my eyes. We were with Hagrid. We were safe, I trusted in that.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth. I scoffed.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. Fang whined like he was agreeing. "So me, Harry, an' L'rena'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now – that's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh - so, be careful – let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hagrid and I took the left path while Malfoy, Neville, and Fang took the right.

We walked in silence, our eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves. I observed it sadly. Hagrid had told me about the unicorns not long after I arrived at Hogwarts and I'd been awed to discover that they were real. One day I really wanted to meet one in person. It absolutely broke my heart to think that something was killing them. Even Potion Masters and Mistresses who used ingredients like unicorn tail or horn waited until the ingredients were shed or given freely.

"Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Harry asked after a while of walking.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid, shaking his head. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

"Are they really that strong?" I asked curiously. "Like... you said there were centaurs here too. If there was ever a conflict over land…"

Hagrid explained, "The centaurs are highly r'spectful o' the unicorns. They'd never even think o' crossin' one."

We walked past a mossy tree stump. I could hear running water and guessed there was a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You all right, L'rena?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter - GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Harry and I and hoisted us bodily off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of us froze, listening. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby. It sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Harry suggested.

"That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

"That sounded like a cloak," I said, concerned. "Hagrid, could it… could it be a person, doing this? Like I've read, centuries ago, people used to hunt unicorns for their horns and tail hair to use in potions and wands, but that's been illegal for years…"

"I don' think so," Hagrid said slowly, like he was working it out. "If it was a person, the centaur's would've done somethin' abou' it by now."

We walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved, a large black blob that seemed to come closer.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself - I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came… my jaw dropped. I was awed by the centaur. He had reddish hair and a long beard, and his horse half was a gleaming chestnut color with a long reddish tail not too far off from my own hair color. His exposed chest was well muscled and I blushed a little.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," sighed Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?" He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand like they were two old friends who'd run into each other while out shopping, not like Hagrid had just pointed a crossbow at him.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," Hagrid chuckled, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry an' L'rena Potter, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur."

"We'd noticed," said Harry faintly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," I said respectfully.

"Good evening," said Ronan blandly. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm-" Harry said uncertainly.

"Some things," I contributed. I remembered Hagrid's talks about how centaurs disdained humans. They'd denied being status when offered because they found it offensive to be put in a category with us.

"Some things. Well, that's something." Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight," he observed.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt - you seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, almost like he was waiting for his answer to appear there, then sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin' Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home," Hagrid said pointedly. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest hides many secrets."

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan. He looked down his nose at Harry and I.

"Hullo, Bane," greeted Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured - would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight," he said bluntly.

"We've heard," Hagrid groused. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harry and I followed him out of the clearing. Both of us stared over our shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked our view. The just stood there, idly flicking their tails and staring up.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of them in here?" asked Harry.

"Oh, a fair few... Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs... they know things... jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" Harry wondered.

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns - never heard anythin' like it before."

We walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. I took his hand and glanced back as well.

"What are you looking for?" I asked him quietly.

"Nothing," Harry said slowly, narrowing his eyes at the blackness. "Just… can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" But just as I asked, I realized. A feeling like I was being watched. "We're being followed," I murmured, and Harry nodded, squeezing my hand tighter. I looked around, staring into the treetops and trying to see if there was something crouching on a branch.

I grabbed Hagrid's arm. "Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!"

Hagrid charged off. We heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, until we couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around us.

"This place is creepy," Harry said, hugging himself.

"It's not so bad," I said honestly. In the dark when it was hard to see, anything was creepy. And I wasn't too fond of the dark, but I actually felt a little better surrounded by trees, oddly enough. Like, there were several places to hide if anything did happen to pop out of the shadows.

"You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" I muttered.

"I don't care if Malfoy has, but if something's got Neville... it's my fault he's here in the first place."

The minutes dragged by. My ears seemed sharper than usual. Mine picked up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. I began to fret about what those red sparks had meant. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Neville, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks. I glared at Malfoy as Hagrid explained what had happened.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups - Neville, you stay with me an' Fang, Harry, you go with L'rena an' this idiot. I'm sorry," he added in a whisper to us, "but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done."

"It's fine," I assured Hagrid. If Malfoy tried to pull the same stunt on me or Harry as he pulled on Neville, I didn't care, I'd punch him right in his pointed face.

We set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy. We walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. I thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by.

I paused, squatting down by the gnarled roots. Reaching out, I touched the blood curiously. I whipped my hand back in surprise.

"What?" Harry asked nervously.

"It's still warm," I explained. "It has to be close!"

"Over there," Harry suggested, pointing to a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak. "Look," he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. We inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. I had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves. Its horn should have gleamed, but instead it just glinted dully against the dirt.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. I grabbed him and dragged him back. Just in time, too. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered. Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and I stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted. The hooded figure jerked its head up sharply and looked right at Harry and I, unicorn blood dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward us, seeming almost to float across the ground.

I gasped, but not in fear, in lack of air. Something had risen up and blocked off my air. It was like a lump in my throat, preventing me from breathing. The taste of it filled my mouth, old and rotten. I gasped for air, grabbing Harry's sleeve and staggering slightly.

"Lorena?" he whispered, voice high-pitched with fear.

I couldn't only get a few wisps of air into my lungs at once. "Can't breathe," I barely managed to gasp out. My voice sounded horrible, like a death wheeze. I dropped to the ground as my knees gave out. The darkness suddenly seemed thicker and I realized in horror that my vision was going. I could dimly see Harry drop to his knees, eyes screaming with pain as one hand clutched his forehead and the other reached for me.

I heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure. My vision flickered and I think I passed out for a moment, because the next thing I knew my vision was back, the figure was gone, and, most importantly, I could breathe again. I gasped in lungfuls of air and flopped over onto my stomach, coughing and wheezing in panic.

"Lorena." Harry's voice was thin and stressed as he crawled over to me and laid his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane. This one looked younger, and his coloring was different. He had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" the centaur asked, pulling Harry to his feet.

"Yes - thank you - what was that?"

The centaur didn't answer, just leaned down and offered me his hand. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. I took it and he helped me to my feet, setting me upright next to Harry. He observed us, eyes flicking between us, or, more accurately, the scar on Harry's forehead and my cheek.

"You are the Potter children," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time - especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber onto his back. I walked forwards on shaking legs, still breathing heavily. With a little effort, I swung a leg over Firenze's back and wrapped my arms around Harry's waist, leaning my head on his shoulder wearily. I snuggled closer. He was so warm…

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" Bane thundered. "What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who they are?" countered Firenze. "These are the Potter children. The quicker they leave this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling them?" growled Bane. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger. "For the best!" he repeated like it was some horrible sin. I guess for centaurs it was. They considered humans below them, so to cart one around… it would be like a human carrying a pig to safety. "What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on. I grabbed Harry tighter, clinging to Firenze's sides with my thighs.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane, swinging an arm around and pointing at the animal. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

And Firenze whisked around. With Harry and I riding as best we could, we plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind us.

"Why's Bane so angry?" Harry asked, his voice jiggling with Firenze's trot. "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?"

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned us to keep our heads bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question.

I tried again. "Firenze, that thing that attacked the unicorn… When it came at us I couldn't breathe. Did it do something to me?"

It felt like Firenze's flank shuddered in surprise underneath me, but he still didn't reply. We made our way through the trees in silence for so long that I thought Firenze didn't want to deal with us anymore. We were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

"Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?" he asked quietly.

"No," said Harry, visibly startled. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"I do," I said softly. Harry turned to look at me in surprise, and Firenze nodded for me to go on.

"It'll keep you alive, far past the time you should have died," I said softly. "I read about it once, in one of the books in the Slytherin Common Room. But you… it's not something you want to do." I shuddered, remembering the book's description of the things that had happened to people who used unicorn blood to keep themselves alive. I had shut it and put it aside after reading that.

Firenze nodded. "You are right. It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn. Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head while I nuzzled my chilled nose into his neck to warm it.

"But who'd be that desperate?" Harry wondered aloud. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else. Something that will bring you back to full strength and power. Something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

Harry stiffened up as he understood. "The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course, it makes the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who-"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

I froze, my arms locking around Harry. One name lingered in the back of my head. My wand in my pocket suddenly seemed to weigh a ton and I felt an icy hand wrap around my throat again. This time, though, it was abject fear. I remembered what Hagrid had told us on the night we met.

" _Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."_

"Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-"

"Don't say it," I begged. If he said it that made it real. If no one said it we could ignore it for a little while longer and pretend that I hadn't just had my breath stopped by the very presence of the man who killed my parents. If he could do that, then why in Merlin's name was I still alive?

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

Neville was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind him.

"I'm fine, said Harry, but I could hear the mechanical quality of his voice. He barely knew what he was saying. His mind was reeling as much as mine was. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. "You are safe now."

Harry slid off his back. I followed him down, staggering slightly when I landed. I pressed close to Harry. Looking down, I realized that my hands were shaking. To hide them I shoved them in my pocket. My right hand brushed the handle of my wand and I yanked it out like it was burned. I may have accepted that my wand did only what I wanted it to, that its connection to Voldemort's meant nothing, but still…

"Good luck, Harry and Lorena Potter," bid Firenze. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him. I pressed closer to Harry. Hagrid took one look at us when he returned from dealing with the unicorn and sent us straight up to bed.

Neville, Harry and I walked through the doors. I made to turn towards the dungeon. Harry caught my arm and pulled me to his side, shaking his head.

"I don't want…" He struggled with his words. "I just want…"

"I get it," I said, nodding gently.

To be honest, I'd been hoping secretly that he would want me to stay with him a little longer. I had no desire to go down to the Common Rom and face Malfoy, to curl up in my bed alone. I needed the safety I always felt next to Harry to get through tonight, but I knew better than to invite him down to the Slytherin Common Room. That'd get me hexed to within an inch of my life.

The Fat Lady almost protested when Harry walked me towards her, but we must all have looked like hell, because she closed her mouth and swung open without a word when Harry gave the password. When we stepped inside, Neville immediately hurried up to the boy's dorm. Harry paused. Hermione and Ron were asleep beside the fire, Ron snoring with his head thrown back on the couch and Hermione slumped over with a textbook in her lap.

"Hermione," Harry called loudly. "Ron."

Ron came awake with a shout, saying something about Quidditch fouls. Hermione was a little more graceful, jerking and blinking her eyes open, instinctively moving to catch the textbook when it started to slide off her lap.

"Harry!" she greeted in concern, which shifted to confusion when she saw me. "Lorena?"

"Hey," I greeted, shifting awkwardly. I looked around, struggling for something to say. "Er… nice Common Room."

"Thanks…" Ron said uncertainly as he looked us over. He gave us sideways looks. "Mate, no offense, but you look terrible."

"I feel terrible," Harry admitted, dropping onto the couch and stretching out wearily with his head on a scarlet throw pillow. He opened his arms and I moved immediately, settling next to him and pressing close. Hermione and Ron looked at us in surprise and I realized this was the first time Harry and I had ever been as tactile as we were at home in front of them. Normally I would have been a little embarrassed, acting like this in front of them, but now I just wanted to be by my brother.

Harry took over explaining what had happened as we lay there. I just wrapped one arm around his waist and laid my head on his chest, listening to his voice vibrate when he spoke and trying to forget the horrible feeling of being unable to breathe.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich..."

I didn't even have the energy to tell them to lay off Snape, which was a testament to how terribly I felt.

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry just kept talking. "Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so... Bane was furious... he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen... They must show that Voldemort's coming back... Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"Will you stop saying the name!" Ron hissed.

"We've got more right to say it that anyone," I said, speaking for the first time since I'd come in and laid down. "It's us he keeps coming after."

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

"It's not Snape," I muttered without much energy.

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort. "Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of with Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

We kept talking until the sun came up, covering a variety of topics. Harry kept insisting Snape was after the stone, I'd disagree. Harry filled me in on some things he'd found out, conversations he'd witnessed between Quirrell and Snape that even I had to admit sounded suspicious. I refused to doubt my head of house, though. He'd helped me far too much for me to turn on him because of a few snippets of conversation taken out of context.

It was sunrise by the time we were too exhausted to say anything more. Ron and Hermione tiredly trooped up to bed to snag an hour or two of sleep. Harry kissed my forehead and wished me a goodnight. I wished him the same and gave him a hug before I headed down to the dungeons, keeping to the lesser-used passages and secret corridors. While technically I wasn't up after hours, I still didn't want to explain myself if one of the teachers found me five floors away from my bed in dirty, day-old clothes.

I gave the wall the password and stepped into the Common Room. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. I started towards the stairs, cursing slightly when I tripped over an abandoned pillow on the floor.

"P-Potter?"

I turned around and found Malfoy lying on a couch. I hadn't seen him when I first came in, but now he was blinking at me tiredly. His hair had come out of its normal gelled-into-submission style and he looked amusingly rumpled.

"Malfoy," I greeted wearily. I really wanted nothing to do with him right now.

"Where have you been all night?"

"Gryffindor Tower," I said honestly. I didn't have it in me to lie right now.

"Why? What… What was that thing?" he asked, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. "Did you find out?"

I froze. The dim light of the Common room reminded me of the filtered moonlight that illuminated the clearing, the dead unicorn splayed on the ground, the figure swooping closer and closer, my breath stolen, gasping for air, vision going dark.

"Potter?"

I blinked away the image. Whatever I looked like when I was reliving it, Malfoy actually looked concerned. "Seriously, Potter, what was that thing? Did it attack you or something…?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, swallowed, and thickly said, "It was evil, Malfoy, that's what it was. And it… I couldn't…" I gasped in a breath, turned and yelled, "I have to go!" I bolted to my dorm room, careful to open the door quietly. As quickly and quietly as possible, I made my way to my bed and wrapped the curtains around it, flinging myself onto the sheets. I kicked my shoes off, buried my face into my pillow, and sobbed.


	18. Fluffy and Fallout

I would forever wonder how I managed to get through exams. I think it came from having a study routine established from the time the Slytherins were hating me. I was able to dive back into it without much disruption or difficulty, this time ignoring any Granger-ish tendencies.

In the end, I was fairly confident. The written exams were a breeze. Afterwards I firmly believed in the powers of flash cards. None of the questions were too hard. The worst one as definitely in Herbology – I had to write an essay on the attributes and anatomy of Honking Daffodils. It wasn't that we hadn't covered them, just that it was difficult to take notes over all the noise.

My practical exams I was extremely proud of. I was able to make my pineapple tap dance across my desk, and I got bonus points because the pineapple finished with a slide and a tip of an imaginary hat with one of its leaves. Snape praised my Forgetfulness potion, and I was able to repot the Bouncing Bulb I was assigned with it only slipping out of my hands once. I very proudly presented McGonagall with my ex-mouse now-snuffbox at the end of my test with her. It had a lovely filigree pattern on it, which spared me some of the points I lost when the box squeaked every time the lid opened or closed.

History of Magic was my last exam, and I was grateful to get it done. I was free to relax in the Slytherin Common Room too. Exams had seemingly made the rest of Slytherin house forget why they hated me, and I was now welcome to be seen there again.

I dumped my bag by an empty couch and flopped down on it, closing my eyes and letting out a sigh of relief as I twirled my wand absently around my fingers. Grinning slightly, pleased with myself, I opened my eyes and began flicking my wand absently, letting off tiny celebratory bursts of silver and gold light.

"Quit blinding everyone, Potter," Parkinson snapped as she walked past angrily. I smirked. I knew why she was so angry. Her snuffbox still had whiskers on it and McGonagall docked her a letter grade for it.

"Your face handles that quite nicely for us," I shot back. "Quick, everyone, avert your eyes before the ugliness blinds you."

Parkinson glared at me, kicking my bag over as she stalked towards our dorm, probably to do pout in a bubble bath or something. I rolled over and picked up my bag, not overly concerned.

"Hey, Potter?"

I looked up. It was Daphne, who was looking down her nose at where I was sprawled half on the couch and half on the ground, reaching for a rogue quill. She nudged it closer with her foot.

"What is it, Greengrass?" I grunted, tucking the quill back into my bag and sitting up. "Something wrong?"

"Your brother is out in the hallway making a scene and trying to get someone to let him in to talk to you," Daphne said shortly. "Normally I wouldn't have bothered playing messenger, but he's being highly inconvenient."

"Harry?" I said in surprise. "Thanks Greengrass, I'll handle him."

"See that you do," Daphne said, sniffing and striding off to join Nott at a table in the corner. I stood up and headed for the door, stepping out. Almost immediately a hand grabbed my arm.

"Lorena! Lorena we have to talk!"

"I gathered," I said, pulling my arm free from Harry's tight grip with a wince. "Harry, what's going on? Daphne said you were out here trying to get into the Common Room."

"Yeah, I had to talk to you," Harry insisted. He looked around suspiciously. "But not here, let's go somewhere else."

"Look, Harry, exams just finished and I'm tired," I begged. "Can this wait?"

"No!" Harry said sharply, surprising me. I looked at him. His cheeks were pink from excitement and his hair was even messier than usual. He looked like a worried wreck, green eyes shining with nerves.

"Okay, I know a place," I said, and guided him up two floors and into a secret passageway. "Fred, George and I are the only people who know about this place, they reckon," I explained. "We should be safe here."

"Perfect," Harry said, looking relieved. "Look, after exams, something occurred to me-"

He explained that Hagrid had admitted to giving the secret of getting past Fluffy to the man who had given him Norbert. I agreed with Harry – that person was likely whoever had let the troll in and was trying to get to the stone.

"Tell Dumbledore," I advised. "He can add extra protection."

"Can't," Harry said, shaking his head sharply. "I tried, but he's been called to the Ministry."

I raised my eyebrows. "He's not even in the building? So then…"

"Exactly," Harry nodded, following my train of though. "Whoever is after the stone," I noticed he was nice enough not to accuse Snape in front of me, "they have a clear shot to it tonight and tonight only. So they have to be going after it."

"And what's your plan?" I asked. "Get an owl to Dumbledore…?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Ron and I were going to watch the door to Fluffy, but McGonagall caught us and yelled us off. Hermione was following Snape, but he gave her the slip. And now we're back to where we were, only the Stone's going to be stolen."

"Harry, Harry calm down," I cautioned, surprised by how intense he was getting. "We'll figure something out, we just have to-"

"Lorena, don't you get it?" Harry demanded, eyes gleaming. "We don't have time to figure it out. If that stone gets stolen then Voldemort's coming back and we are both dead. So I'm going through that trapdoor tonight to stop that from happening if I can, and if not, well, then I guess I'll get expelled and go back to live with the Dursley's and wait for him to find me there."

I froze. That thing coming back, stealing my breath again, nearly killing me? It made me tremble. Fear overrode caution and I nodded.

"Harry!" I said shortly. "I'm coming. I'm coming with you, we'll do this together, and the stone will be safe. Voldemort won't get it," I promised, hugging him tightly. Harry went slack in my arms.

"Hermione and Ron want to help too," he mumbled. I blinked.

"You're going to let them?"

"They want to help," he shrugged. "I can't stop them. We all four won't fit under the Invisibility Cloak…"

"You won't have to," I said. "The third floor isn't far from the dungeons. I can get that far without being seen. You know that niche that used to have a vase in it that those Hufflepuffs accidentally blew up last month?" Harry nodded. "I'll be waiting there. Now how do we get past Fluffy?"

"That's why I came to you," Harry admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Hagrid said if you pay him music he'll fall asleep." I stared blankly. "And well, you sing in the bath all the time-"

I threw up my hands. "So now you want me to serenade a Cerberus?" I demanded incredulously.

"And be our lookout," Harry added hastily. "We figured you'd stand by the trapdoor and keep Fluffy asleep while we went down. You're the best dueler of us all so you could be our guard and help us get back through the trapdoor once we've got the stone. See?"

I sighed irritably. "You're lucky I love you, Harry James Potter," I mumbled. "Fine, fine, I'll sing a lullaby to the three-headed pooch."

"Thank you!"

"And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"For the record, I think this is a terrible idea."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when I slid out of my bed. I was dressed in jeans and a sweater, more practically for lulling beasts to sleep than the uniform in my opinion. My wand was tucked into my hair, holding it into a bun. Keeping quiet, I left the dorm, closing the door softly behind me.

Thankfully, there was no one in the Common Room. Everyone was reveling in not having exams to cram for, and people had taken to turning in earlier and catching up on the sleep they'd missed. It was a lucky break for me. I crossed the Common Room swiftly and left the dungeons.

I used the same route I had when I was going to prank the Gryffindors to get up to the third floor. The niche I'd mentioned was not far down the hall from the door Fluffy was behind. I could see from where I was concealed that the door was already open.

"Rena?" Harry's voice whispered down the hallway. I stepped out and felt presences move closer. The cloak swished out and I was enveloped under it with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Are you clear on the plan?" Hermione asked me as we shuffled closer to the door. It was hard going with all of us under the cloak.

"Yeah, I told her," Harry said. "And look at the door. Sn- _Whoever_ has already got past Fluffy."

"Thank you," I said primly as we stepped closer.

"You can go back now," Harry offered Ron and Hermione. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it from here on."

"Don't be stupid," Ron scoffed.

"We're coming," Hermione insisted.

Harry pushed the door open and we all stepped inside.

This was my first time seeing Fluffy. Harry had described him as a huge dog with three heads and gigantic teeth and claws, but I hadn't quite had a grasp on what Harry meant when he said huge. I was imagining a dog larger than Hagrid, certainly. I wasn't quite ready for a dog that took up most of a room, with only a small strip of floor near the door not covered in dog.

Low, rumbling growls came from Fluffy as we stepped inside. Three noses sniffed madly in our direction. Fluffy knew we were here even though he couldn't see us and his middle head whined in confusion.

"What's that by its feet," Hermione said, pointing.

"A harp," Ron said. "Snape must have left it." I resisted the urge to give Ron a nice hearty shove out to go say hi to Fluffy.

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," Harry realized. He glanced at me. "Lorena, you're up."

I licked my lips, cleared my throat, and started singing some mindless top 40s tune that I'd heard Aunt Petunia play on the radio one day. From the first note, the dog's eyes began to droop. I hardly stopped even to breathe as the dog's heads drooped. Finally they rested entirely on the ground. The dog's eyes gave one last flutter as it tried to stay awake, then they shut and the animal's breathing evened and lengthened.

I waved the others forwards. We emerged from the Invisibility Cloak as they surrounded the trapdoor.

"Help me?" Ron asked, grabbing the loop on top of the trapdoor. Harry grabbed a hold of it and they heaved. The trapdoor swung up and open.

"Well," Ron said as they stared down into the darkness. "You want to go first Hermione?"

"No I don't!" she said shrilly. Fluffy twitched and I gave her a dark look, singing louder to try and cover their conversation.

"Is there a way down?" I sang, working the words into the melody of the song before returning to the lyrics, which was a little harder than I'd anticipated. Harry looked up at me in surprise. He shook his head.

"I don't see one, it's all dark. We'll just have to drop."

"Well, here it goes," Ron said, and made to swing his legs into the hole. Harry shook his head.

"I'll go."

"You sure?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I don't know how long I can sing!" I sang pointedly. They nodded and Harry swung his legs into the hole in place of Ron.

"If anything happens to me, go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore," he ordered, before easing himself into the hole. He dangled by his fingers for a moment and then let go. I leaned forwards, watching and waiting in horror. I was very not okay with Harry using himself as the guinea pig, but if I stopped singing to protest, Fluffy would wake up and we'd all be in trouble.

There was a muffled thump. I waited on tender hooks, and Harry finally called up, "It's okay, it's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Ron immediately followed. Hermione went last, giving me one last worried look. I waved her on and she pulled herself over the side, plummeting into the darkness.

It was just me and Fluffy now, and my voice was the only thing keeping me safe right now. I didn't know a whole lot of songs, just snatches I'd picked up here and there and some of the ones that always played on the radio. I didn't know how Fluffy felt about repeats, so I tried to mix up the material as much as I could, from lullabies to pop to a rock ballad that nearly gave me a heart attack to try, but Fluffy didn't seem to mind.

I quickly realized that the problem wasn't how many songs I knew, it was how long I could sing. The only place I had sung in the past was in the shower. I only got ten minute showers before Uncle Vernon would go out and flip off the hot water to get me out. I had only sung in increments under ten minutes, and I seriously doubted they would get the stone and be back in under ten minutes.

At twenty minutes, I was starting to get a little thirsty.

At thirty minutes, my throat was starting to hurt. I was getting worried.

At forty minutes, my voice was cracking on high and low notes and Fluffy was twitching slightly. I was stressed, scared, and started looking for other alternatives.

At forty-five minutes, I was cursing Fluffy for laying his head down on his feet and half-covering the harp I could have been playing.

At fifty minutes, my voice was starting to give and I knew that I had to get that harp or Fluffy would wake up and, more importantly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would pop out of the trapdoor expecting Fluffy to be asleep and get a snarling angry dog instead.

At fifty-five minutes I had worked up the courage to do it. My voice was on its last legs, scratchy and hoarse and I didn't have any time to spare, so I didn't waste any being cautious. I marched up to Fluffy. The harp rested under the chin on his left head.

Then, the worst thing possible happened. My voice gave. I mouthed about two measures, trying to make sound come out, but nothing happened. I dove at the harp, my elbow accidentally hitting Fluffy. The dog's left head jerked up and yawned widely, foot shifting and knocking the harp away. Frantically I lunged for it, but the middle and left heads were waking up. I heard them give a large sniff and the left head snarled.

The heads began to bark and the middle one came at me, trying to bite my arm. Screaming, I lunged back. I turned, trying to run back to the safety of the cloak. One head snapped, grazing my back, and I jumped away. A paw swiped out. The weight of it caught me in the side and threw me to the left. Claws dug into my side and around my back as I went flying. My other side slammed into a column.

Bleeding, in pain, scared, I dragged myself behind it and looked down at my side. The sight of all of the blood staining my sweater made me groan.

"Oh Merlin," I moaned. I had to get to the Hospital Wing fast, or I was going to bleed out here on the floor. Wouldn't that be a great welcome back for Harry, his sister's bloody corpse on the floor?

I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming as I dashed to the door. I was surprised to realize how much walking pulled at your sides and back and every single step seemed to send pain burning up and down the cuts. Something shifted and throbbed inside of my chest and I sobbed. I had a broken rib.

I clutched my side frantically, trying to use my sweater sleeve to stop the bleeding as I walked, but the wool fabric was scratchy and it made the cuts hurt even worse when I barely touched it to them. Sobbing, bleeding, and barely able to see in the darkness, my vision fading in and out, I headed down the third floor corridor, trying to cover the cuts with just my hands, but they hurt too. Everything hurt, every step, every breath, every shift of my clothes was agony.

I reached the stairs to the fourth floor and cried harder. The idea of going up stairs was enough to make me want to just lie down and wait for someone to help, but I knew if I did that I'd probably bleed out. With a groan I reached out with my left hand, the one not on the cut side, and grabbed the banister, heaving myself forwards. I lifted one foot and placed it on the first step, then the second, then the third. I tried not to think about the pain each step would bring and just focus on making my feet move.

I was seven steps up and panting with agony when it happened. My knee gave way when I tried to take a step and I toppled forwards. I grabbed wildly for the banister. I managed to catch it in both hands, swinging me around. My injured side connected with the wall and I screamed and let go to clutch it. My back connected with the stairs and I screamed again.

I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry over the pain, but I couldn't do that without it hurting more. I had to get to the Hospital Wing I kept telling myself. I had to. Reaching out, I started crawling. I hated it, every motion, how much it hurt, how degrading it was, how much energy it cost. I tried not to think about the alarming amount of warm wetness on my hands, arms, and clothes. It was all coming from me, and the idea made me sick.

I reached the top of the stair case and almost stopped to rest, but I had to keep going. I reached up, the banister the only thing I could see clearly I reached for it, but my hands flopped weakly onto my chest. I groaned and tried to go for it again when I heard it.

Footsteps.

"I'm here!" I groaned in my whispery voice. "Please, please find me, please help."

"What's going o- Dear Merlin."

Blackness swam in my vision, but this time it wasn't from blood loss.

"Snape," I said, a small smile trying to tug at the corners of my mouth. "Harry, others… Trapdoor, s-stone… gotta stop… dog's gonna – gonna-"

"Stop talking, Potter, I understand you!" Snape barked, dropping to his knees beside me. He waved his wand and something white and soft appeared under me. His wand waved again and a glowing silver shape burst from the tip of it. I stretched out my hand to touch it, to bask in the soft warmth it let off. I couldn't tell what it was though, my vision had gone all blurry. I realized Snape had taken off my glasses and was examining my eyes.

"Pretty," I sighed, my hand falling away as the silver shape ran off. My eyes fluttered shut. I was so tired, and I was _really_ cold. I wished that silver thing hadn't left, it was at least a little warm.

"Potter? Potter! Damn it Potter, stay awake!" Snape was yelling at me, but I ignored him. Exams were over, I'd just gotten slashed by a gigantic dog. I deserved a little nap. So I sank into the blackness.

* * *

I could hear voices.

"-wake up?"

"-any time, I- potions wearing off."

"Can sh- ar us?"

"No, she's not con-"

"If I had – sooner, she-"

"-do that, Sev- just make – feel guilty."

They didn't seem to be saying anything important, or at least not anything that I could understand, so I let myself sink back into the blackness. There, my body didn't hurt. There I didn't have to worry about anything. It was nice there, I thought fuzzily.

* * *

When I came back to myself again, I opened my eyes. I looked up and saw a high ceiling with sunlight streaming through arched windows. I was surrounded by white screens, and I was on a bed, but it wasn't my bed, and it wasn't my dorm.

"Hospital Wing," I sighed, and groaned when the deep inhale pulled something in my side and back.

"You're awake!" Madam Pomfrey came hustling around the screens, smiling in pleasure when she saw me. "Miss Potter, you gave us all a scare I have to say!"

"What happened?" I slurred. My tongue felt thick and my throat was cottony. I coughed. "Water?" I requested hopefully. Madam Pomfrey went to the table beside my bed.

"Professor Snape found you on the stairs on the fifth floor-"

"Fifth?" I cut her off. "I thought… I only made it to the forth."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head and passed me the glass. "No, you made it to the fifth, Miss Potter. I don't know what you were thinking, dragging yourself all the way up two floors when you were bleeding like that. The professors… Well, let's just say it took a few teachers to get it cleaned up before the students woke up."

I reached for the glass of water, wincing when my side pulled. I ignored it though, reaching for the glass anyway.

"The soreness will go away with time," Madam Pomfrey assured me as I took long sips of the water. It refreshed my throat and made me feel capable of talking.

"Harry?" I asked in concern. "He's okay?"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Your brother managed to do a number on himself as well. He will be fine though, but he hasn't woken up yet. I've been keeping him asleep to help his body repair itself and replenish energy."

I nodded. "Hermione and Ron?"

"Mister Weasley took a nasty spill, but I fixed him up with some Skele-Gro rather easily. Your rib was healed the same way. The cuts…" Madam Pomfrey hesitated.

"How bad?" I asked through clenched teeth. I knew I shouldn't be angry at Madam Pomfrey for the new scars I'd have, but I couldn't help but wish she'd been able to do more. I already had one scar on my face, I didn't need them all over my torso as well.

"Not as bad as it could have been," Madam Pomfrey hedged. I looked up at her.

"I want to see," I ordered. "Help me up."

"Miss Potter, that's not really advisable, you've been asleep for two days and – for Circe's sake!"

I ignored her and threw the sheets off me with a flourish, biting back the pain it caused. I grunted as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up in a rush, trying to get it over with. That was a mistake. My head swam and I started to topple off the bed. Madam Pomfrey grabbed me gently, helping me stay upright.

"If I fetch you a mirror, will you stay sitting and not try to get up?" Madam Pomfrey bargained. I nodded. She pulled out her wand and flicked it, muttering a spell. A full-length mirror appeared, floating in the air in front of me. I reached down to the hem of my hospital gown and tried to lift it. I got it up to my thighs before I realized I couldn't get it up any farther.

Blushing in humiliation, I grit out, "I can't get it…"

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand and the robe vanished, leaving me in a pair of clean white underwear. I inhaled sharply as I saw the scars.

There were three, each about as thick as my wrist. They started on my right side, just above my hip, and wrapped up and around onto my back. I asked Madam Pomfrey to move the mirror around so that I could see. She did, and I stared at the scars. They faded in thickness as they reached my spine, where Fluffy's paw had hooked trying to catch me. I closed my eyes. They were hideous, a dull pinkish-purple color and slightly sunken.

"They will heal," Madam Pomfrey encouraged. "Over time they will get better, and some day they might even fade entirely."

"Some day," I said bitterly. "That means years from now."

Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue. "Now, that's not the proper attitude. With daily applications of Vitamin E-"

"It may not be proper, but it's realistic," I said shortly. "Don't tell Harry," I said as I lay back on the bed, pulling the sheets tightly around me. I didn't want to see any more. I wanted to ignore it as much as I could.

Voldemort had marked me again. Maybe not directly, but it was his fault, it was trying to stop him that got me these scars.

"Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, placing a hand on my shoulder and trying to comfort me. "It's really doesn't look that bad…"

I snorted. "You think I'm concerned about how it looks?" Madam Pomfrey blinked in surprise as my voice turned venomous. "Please. I'm too skinny, I'm too small. My hair never lays flat and my glasses make my eyes look small. I can accept all of that, appearances have never bothered me. But the one thing I never thought I'd have to deal with was having another reminder," I whispered, my hand trailing to my cheek.

Madam Pomfrey didn't have anything to say to that. She was silent, one hand raised halfway to her mouth as she looked down at me sadly. She opened her mouth and closed it without saying anything. Finally, she said, "I have a pain-relief potion for you."

I stretched out my mouth wordlessly and she passed it over. I popped the cork out and down the pain potion, grimacing at the taste. I handed her back the empty vial.

"I'd like to rest, please," I requested with cool politeness. Madam Pomfrey nodded wordlessly and left my little cubicle. Staring up at the ceiling, I blinked, and felt tears roll down my temples into my hair.

 _One more connection…_

"How disappointing. I came when I heard news of your recovery, but you're just lying in your bed feeling sorry for yourself."

I looked up. Professor Snape stood in the gap in the curtains Madam Pomfrey had just vanished through. He looked even more intimidating in all his black clothing against the white backdrop of the hospital.

"Sorry sir," I said, sniffing and wiping my eyes. "I'm just... upset," I finished lamely.

"Yes, I heard your conversation with Poppy," Snape said, breezing into my little cubicle. He sat down in the chair beside my bed. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that except for a pair of panties I was naked. I couldn't bring myself to care though, with the sheets draped over me modestly. Besides, I didn't see Snape being one to go after his female students, particularly the scarred, bed-ridden ones.

"You caused quite a commotion when you dragged your bleeding self through the school. What, pray, were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I needed to get to the Hospital Wing," I said dully. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Well done, Miss Potter. You managed to keep a cool head in a painful situation. However, that's not what I meant. Why were you near that dog in the first place?"

"Harry came to me," I said, noticing how his mouth tightened in displeasure when I mentioned Harry. I longed to ask why he was mad at Harry, but I figured he probably wouldn't answer, so I didn't bother. "He explained the situation to me. Dumbledore was gone and that whoever was after the stone knew how to get past Fluffy. Who…" I paused, realizing I didn't know. "Who was it, in the end, sir?"

"Quirrell."

I choked. I'd have sooner believed Snape did it. "Quirrell, but he can't even talk without stammering!"

"A clever charade," Snape said, shaking his head. "Apparently he found a beaten, broken portion of the Dark Lord on his travels and made a deal. The stone for power. The Dark Lord's soul latched onto Quirrell's like a parasite. The Dark Lord was living on the back of Quirrell's head."

My eyes widened. "His turban…"

"A disguise, yes," Snape confirmed. "Who did you think it was?" he asked, eyes narrowing. I could tell by the way he was tensed that he was actually concerned about my answer.

"You mean did I agree with Harry and think it was you?" I smirked slightly. Snape gave me a warning look.

"Don't cheek me, girl."

"No, sir, never," I said with a small smile. "To be honest, I didn't go along with them because I wanted to know who was after the stone. I wasn't even curious," I admitted, a little bit surprised to realize it. "I went to make sure Harry was safe… and," I admitted a little sheepishly, "because I wanted to be there when he found out he was wrong about you."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You didn't believe it was me, even for a moment?"

"No, sir."

"I… I see…" Snape shifted, looking mildly uncomfortable as his eyes darted away from me for the first time since he sat down. I had the oddest feeling that I had somehow touched him, that I wouldn't believe this of him.

"What happened, sir?" I asked. "I… don't remember much. I didn't even realize I'd made to the fifth floor," I said grudgingly.

Snape snorted. "Well, you did, and left quite the trail of blood for Filch to clean up. A picture recognized you staggering down the hall, bleeding all over the floors and, knowing you were a Slytherin, came to fetch me. I found you collapsed on the stairs reaching into the air. What were you trying to grab?"

"Banister," I explained. "I was trying to stand up."

"I see." Snape shook his head in disbelief. "By the time I got to you, you were nearly unconscious from blood loss. I conjured a stretcher under you and conjured a Patronus to send a message to Dumbledore."

"Patronus," I repeated blankly. "The big silver thing?"

Snape looked mildly offended. "The Patronus charm," he explained somewhat testily, "is an immensely complicated and very difficult spell that evokes a partially-tangible positive energy force known as a Patronus. It acts as a shield against dark creatures that feed on despair, such as dementors and lethifolds."

I nodded like I understood what he'd said. Mentally, I was making notes to hit the Library and find out what dementors and lethifolds were.

"Right," I said breezily. "The big _powerful_ silver thing."

Snape glared. "I'll forgive you that comment because you're injured. After sending the Patronus, I brought you here and assisted Poppy with administering medicinal potions. You had two broken ribs and had lost an alarming amount of blood, not to mention the cuts themselves had to be healed. As you may have noticed, the cuts have scarred." I winced. "That's because _Fluffy_ ," Snape looked physically pained saying the name and I took a mental snapshot of his face as he said it, "is a magical creature. A rare one, in fact, which means very little research has been done on treating wounds inflicted by his kind."

"Someone should look into that," I muttered irritably. "And what about Harry? Did he and the others make it through all of the defenses you teachers set up?"

Snape scowled, looking annoyed. "One day I really need to find out where you get your information," he muttered under his breath, before explaining. "Yes, for the most part. Mister Weasley was taken down by Minerva's animated chess set and Miss Granger elected to come back and get him to safety instead of continuing with your brother. Only one person could pass beyond my test at a time," he added somewhat smugly.

"What did you do, sir?" I asked curiously.

"A riddle. Many wizards can come up with a random spell to do what's needed, but finding the _best_ spell, _common_ sense, that's what many lack. Among seven potions one allowed them to pass one, one allowed them to go back, three were poison, and two were nettle wine."

"I'd like to try and work that one out some time," I muttered thoughtfully.

"I will request you be discharged the Hospital Wing before you attempt to possibly poison yourself, Miss Potter."

"If you insist, sir."

"Your brother," Snape said, continuing to explain, "found the last chamber with Quirrell waiting. The stone was concealed inside of the Mirror of Erised, and he-"

"What?" I asked blankly. "The what?"

Snape paused. "Dumbledore told me that you and your brother had encountered it before. A tall mirror that displays your heart's desire? Possibly the most unimaginatively-named magical item?"

"Desire backwards," I realized as I remembered the mirror. "Yeah, I saw that thing," I said with a scowl, remembering what it had showed me. Snape seemed intrigued by my reaction.

"Surprised to know what you desire?"

"Not really, just disappointed," I admitted. Wincing, I explained, "That... uh, that night when you… I was crying," I struggled. "That was… Yeah, that was when Harry and I found the mirror."

Snape looked surprised. "I was unaware it had such a big impact on you."

"Yeah, well, it did," I muttered. Snape took pity on me and continued explaining.

"Professor Dumbledore, a close friend of Nicholas Flamel, advised him to hide the stone within the mirror. An enchantment was placed on it so that only someone who wanted to find the stone but not use it could retrieve it from the mirror."

"So Quirrell couldn't get it," I realized. "But Harry could."

"Indeed," Snape nodded. "Quirrell attempted to force your brother to get it. Even Voldemort faced him himself." I shuddered at what Harry must have gone through. I'd have to ask him about that later, see how he was doing. Madam Pomfrey said he hadn't woke up yet.

"So did… Did they torture him of something?" I asked worriedly. "Pomfrey said he wasn't up yet."

Snape shook his head. "No, he was not tortured. Quirrell realized that your brother had inadvertently retrieved the stone and attempted to take it by force. However, he was unable to touch your brother without burning physical pain. Potter realized this, and used it to his advantage, grabbing Quirrell and, quite literally, burned him to death with his touch."

That… was a lot to process. Questions spilled out as I tried to get my head around the last bit of Snape's story. "Wait, so Harry killed Quirrell? By touching him? How is that possible?"

Snape sighed. "Dumbledore is of the school of thought that love is the most powerful magic of all. Here we see evidence to support that. What caused the burning was what is referred to as sacrificial protection. Your mother Lily placed the protection on you as her final act."

"I thought…" I paused. "If the Killing Curse kills instantly, then did she know…?"

Snape shook his head. "You misunderstand. It is not a spell in the sense that you have been taught. Your mother…" Snape seemed to get choked up. He swallowed thickly and continued. "By giving her life to protect you and your brother, that placed the protection on you. Her death was the trigger. When a victim chooses to die in the place of another out of love and devotion, it enacts an ancient magic that protects the intended victim from the murderer's touch. Because Quirrell had a piece of the Dark Lord's soul inside of him he couldn't touch your brother."

"I see," I whispered, although I wasn't quite sure I did. "So… If Quirrell's dead, and Voldemort-"

"Don't say his name!" Snape hissed. I blinked. Ron had never surprised me by being uncomfortable with Voldemort's name being said aloud. I'd assumed Snape would be made of stronger stuff.

"Fine," I huffed. "So Quirrell kicked it, does that mean Moldyshorts is done for good?"

Snape stared at me blankly. I got the feeling he was trying to decide whether to rebuke me for that or laugh. All in all, it was an absolutely hilarious expression on the stoic potions master. I started laughing and immediately stopped as my side throbbed.

"It hurts to laugh," I moaned. Snape rolled his eyes at me and answered my question.

"No, Miss Potter, there are still ways _the Dark Lord_ could return." He looked at me reproachfully. "But this avenue is closed to him for now, yes. Flamel has agreed for the stone to be destroyed."

"I see," I murmured. "So he's still out there." My fingers trailed up to my cheek in what was fast becoming a habit. "So this sacrificial protection... is that why Harry's still out?"

Snape nodded. "It drew upon your brother's own energy to protect him with. He held on long enough that he nearly drained himself dry. He will need several more days to rest and recuperate."

"I see," I nodded. "Seems like I got off easy, then."

"You had your side torn open."

"I didn't have my energy drained though," I countered.

"No, you just had your blood drained," Snape replied sarcastically. "Foolish girl," he said as he stood in a flurry of robes. "I have exams to grade. If you don't have any more questions?"

"No sir," I said, shaking my head. I wasn't surprised by his abrupt departure. To be honest, I was surprised he'd turned up at all.

"Then feel better, Potter."

"Thanks sir," I said. Snape left through the screen, then paused and turned.

"Perhaps you can entertain yourself with your gifts from your fellow students," he suggested. "You will be here for a while, after all."

I stared at him blankly. "Gifts? What are you talking about, sir?"

Snape rolled his eyes and pulled back one of the screens. Just beyond it was a rolling table piled high with sweets and wrapped presents and flowers. My eyes went huge.

"I… _why?"_ I asked blankly. "Why are people giving me presents?"

"You _survived_ , Potter," Snape said vehemently. "It deserves to be celebrated."

"But… But I didn't even go down there!" I protested. "I literally did nothing but stand there and sing to a sleeping dog! It's… It's bloody embarrassing is what it is," I burst out.

"Be that as it may, some people find your continued existence to be worth celebrating," Snape said. He pushed the table towards me. "Oh, and you passed your potions exam with flying colors."

With that, he left.

Staring at my pile of presents in amusement, I began to dig in. There were a few random Slytherins I'd interacted with who'd sent me small candies. Quite frankly, I didn't trust them, so I set those aside. A surprising amount of Gryffindors had sent me gifts too, mostly those from my brother's year. A few random people seemed to have left single wild flowers, but I had no idea who they were. Probably classmates of mine.

Finally I got to names I recognized. Neville sent me a bouquet of daisies. Ron and Hermione had each left cards with chocolate frogs on top of them. Fred and George had teamed up to buy me a gift basket filled with, not anything normal, but books on pranking and items from Zonko's Joke Shop, a place they'd mentioned in Hogsmeade. Accompanying it was a note saying _Get better soon, pupil, you've got more mischief and mayhem to spread! Love, F & G_

I laughed as I set the basket aside, feeling better already. I could only imagine what would happen if I set off a Dungbomb at the Dursleys. They would definitely have some punishment, but it would almost be worth it to watch them lose it.

Even some of the Slytherins who I would loosely consider myself friends with, or at least on amicable terms, had sent me gifts. Zabini was responsible for a bouquet of white lilies, probably a play on my middle name. Daphne had sent me a wooden box of assorted candies. Lily had left me a note saying she was glad I'd pulled through and to get out of the hospital soon along with a small bottle of lily perfume. Tracey left a note saying basically the same thing along with a couple of chocolate frogs. Nott had even given me something – a book entitled _Medical Potions Through the Ages._ Inside was a ripped-off half-sheet of parchment reading _To break the boredom: Turns out you Potters are responsible for a lot of modern medicine. Benefit from your ancestor's hard work and get better soon._

I set that aside, intrigued, and made a note to start on that as soon as I was finished looking through my gifts. There were only three left. First was another book. It wasn't wrapped aside from a single black ribbon tied around it. Smiling slightly, I guessed who it was from. I picked it up. The cover was leather bound and it looked second-hand. I swept the ribbon off, used it to tie together the random flowers into a bunch, and examined the book.

 _Ancient Magic_ was the title. I flipped it open and found headings for things like magical sheets mothers handmade for their children, blood spells, magical lullabies, and, unsurprisingly, sacrificial protection. The book was an odd mix of Light and Dark magic that I was curious to learn about. I set that on my nightstand with Nott's book, ready and waiting.

The next to last thing was a vase with long white tulips. I pulled them close and sniffed them curiously. Smiling, I rotated the vase, looking for a card, but there wasn't one. I had no idea who else might have sent me flowers. Shrugging to myself – maybe they were from a teacher? – I plucked one tulip out and grabbed one of Blaise's lilies. I tucked them both into Daphne's card and slid them into _Ancient Magic_ to press.

Finally was a small, leather-bound book that looked oddly small. I picked it up, staring at it curiously and turning it over in my hands. A note slid out from the front cover. I picked it up and read it through.

 _Lorena, I'm awfully sorry about Fluffy. I know he feels bad about what he's done. Dumbledore's decided to send him off anyway, seeing as he's not really needed around Hogwarts with the stone gone. I'm so sorry about what he did to you. To make it up to you, I asked some of your parents old friends for pictures and put this album together for you. Hagrid._

I tossed the note aside and grabbed the book, opening to the first page eagerly. There, smiling and waving up at me, were my parents. They couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. They were hugging each other tightly in front of a fountain I recognized from Hogwarts, bundled up in winter clothes and surrounded by snow.

I felt my eyes begin to prickle but forced it down as I turned the page. It was warmer out. There was no snow, and my parents were having a picnic on the grounds with some other students. There was a dark-haired woman, a handsome black-haired man, a skinny, sickly-looking brunette, and a pudgy boy shoving a sandwich into his mouth. My parents were leaning against each other, my dad offering mom a bottle of butterbeer with a smile.

Next was a picture of just my mom, blinking wildly from behind my dad's glasses and looking horribly confused. Then a picture of my dad passed out ungracefully over a textbook in the Library, glasses pushed up onto his forehead and drooling slightly. I covered my mouth and giggled at that.

The next picture really did make me tear up. It was my parents at their wedding. Lily looked gorgeous in pure white and my dad was dapper in his suit, even though his Gryffindor red tie was crooked. As I watched, dad shoved a piece of cake into Lily's mouth, smearing it on her chin. Lily smashed a piece into his cheek in revenge while the same dark-haired man as before laughed wildly behind them.

I flicked through all the pictures. In every single one my parents stared at each other with love and happiness, like they couldn't imagine anything being better than what they had. Sometimes other people were in the pictures, sometimes it was just them. The handsome man and the sickly one popped up more than anyone else, although the pudgy boy and the dark-haired woman appeared fairly often. I guessed they were close friends with our parents. I wondered who they were, if they'd been the ones who gave Hagrid copies of the photographs.

I finally set the album aside, having examined each picture twice. Smiling slightly, I adjusted myself on the bed, pleased when Pomfrey's potion kept things from hurting. I settled back against my pillows and opened the book from Nott, diving in.

* * *

 **PLEASE READ!**

 **Okay guys something needs to be addressed I'm seeing in the comments that people are looking forward to Chamber of Secrets. That's not how this is going to work. I'm going to skip ahead to fourth year, when I plan for things to really start happening in terms of plot, character, and romance. The years will carry on in order from there. I will be putting up a separate story with snippets of the second and third years. Please, if there are any specific scenes you'd like to see Lorena's take on, let me know and I'll try to do them. As far as writing out the whole stories, I don't want to do that when second and third years Lorena wouldn't really be up to much in terms of plot-altering drama. Things would carry on pretty much as normal**


	19. End of the Year Feast

Very short chapter but this is the end of year one, guys! Like I said, I'm skipping on to year four, but if there are any scenes from years two and three you'd like to see, PM me or tell me in a review. I'm going to put up another story probably next month with bits and pieces from those two. But anyway, ZabuzasGirl came at me on my other story The Eyes (if you're a Naruto fan, give it a look? Please?) and requested I get my butt moving on this one, so thank her for this chapter!

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was waking up, the book open on my stomach. I opened my eyes, blinking blearily. Someone had taken off my glasses. I reached for the nightstand, patting absently for them and wincing when my side pulled painfully. I was going to need another dose from Madam Pomfrey when she came back.

"Here." Someone pressed the glasses into my palm. I slid them on, blinking in surprise when I saw the headmaster himself sitting in the chair Snape had vacated.

"Headmaster," I greeted blankly. "What're you doing here?"

Dumbledore stared at me for a moment, eyes shining from behind his half-moon glasses. He was absently twirling a white tulip from my bouquet in his fingers. I wasn't sure whether to tell him to put it back or not, but for whatever reason, I didn't like the headmaster messing with my mysterious flowers.

"I have spoken with Severus," he began. "Despite my request," the way he said it made it seem like that _request_ was actually an _order_ , "he took it upon himself to explain about young Harry's adventures. And how they ended."

"Don't be too hard on him sir," I begged. "I just started asking questions and I guess he felt bad for me."

"Yes, that wouldn't surprise me," Dumbledore said, and he looked slightly displeased by that fact. "Much as it would others. Your brother has not yet woken, and before he does, I would like to speak to you about your part in all of this."

"I was the lookout, sir," I explained. "I was supposed to watch for anyone coming and keep Fluffy asleep."

"What happened?"

I stared blankly. "Uh…sir?"

Dumbledore nodded to my side. The gesture struck me as unexpectedly callous. "Clearly, Fluffy did not stay asleep."

I bit my lip, biting back a snappy comment. Mouthing off to Parkinson when she got nasty was one thing, mouthing off to the headmaster could get me expelled.

"I lost my voice. I tried to get the harp but Fluffy was laying on it," I explained. "I got closer trying to get it, and that's why Fluffy got… got a swipe in," I finished lamely, pulling the sheets tighter around me. I was not okay with having Dumbledore around when I was naked. Something about his piercing blue eyes made me feel like he could see through the sheets, and even though that was a crazy idea, I couldn't quite shake it.

"I see," Dumbledore nodded softly. "Well, I have to say, I am surprised on one thing."

"What's that sir?" I knew why I was surprised. I'd made it a hell of a lot farther than I thought I had.

"I am surprised you didn't go down the trapdoor with your brother." I stared at him, hard. "Considering your professed closeness, I would have expected you to be by his side."

I gaped. Did he honestly think…?

But then I saw the slight wrinkling of his nose. He didn't think I abandoned my brother. Or rather he did, but it was worse than that. He thought I had stayed behind, had bowed out of the unknown challenges, because I was afraid. Because I was a coward. Because I wasn't one of those bold as brass Gryffindors he championed and I followed my head instead of my heart. With Ron and Hermione with him Harry had a good chance and someone should stay behind to make sure Fluffy was asleep when they came back.

"Harry asked me to stay behind," I said coldly. "I did what he asked. That's all there is to it."

"So you would follow your brother?" Dumbledore asked. He leaned forwards like he was trying to impress the seriousness of the question. I got the distinct impression that whatever this conversation was, it was saying a lot more than I understood. But Dumbledore had asked me a question, and the honest answer was

"Yes. Always."

Dumbledore blinked slightly, but smiled and nodded. "Good. He will need your support. Thank you, Miss Potter, I feel much better about some things now. Oh, and enjoy your chocolate," Dumbledore said, pulling a chocolate frog from his pocket and adding it to the pile. He walked off, still twirling that white tulip in his spindly fingers. Something about the gesture made me mad.

"Right sir, so long as you feel better, sure, why not?" I grumbled, and settled back into my sheets. I winced as something pulled and made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey for another vial of pain-relief potion when she came by next. And, I added, looking down at the sheets, a new hospital gown would be great. I was getting really tired of conversing with my teachers in my skivvies.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey discharged me the next day, giving me a flagon of pain-relief potion and telling me to take a sip if my scars started hurting again. House elves were dispatched to bring all my gifts down to my dorm and to fetch my uniform. The only thing I didn't let them take was the album of my parents. I wanted to keep that on me.

It hurt to dress, but I had to do it, so I didn't summon Madam Pomfrey to zap me into the clothes like she'd zapped me out of the hospital gown. I stuck my hands into my pockets, smiling when I felt the familiar wand of my wood. I wrapped my hand around it and felt it warm under my touch, welcoming me back. Feeling braced, I began the tedious task of making my way from the Hospital Wing to the dungeons.

I'd waited until later in the afternoon, when there would be fewer people in the hallways to make a scene or ask me questions and, as usual when I wanted to be alone, I clung to the shadows and passageways Fred and George had taught me to get down to the dungeons. A few ghosts drifted past, nodding at me in greeting or looking at me curiously, but for the most part they ignored me.

I made it down to the dungeons without seeing anyone living and stopped in front of the wall to the Common Room. For a moment, I debated about whether or not to just turn around and go cower in the library until everyone was done. Or maybe I could shelter in Snape's office. No, he wouldn't let me, he'd laugh at me for not wanting to deal with my fellow housemates.

Alright, he wouldn't laugh, but he'd make his disdain for the idea clear.

Sighing, I gave the password. The wall ground open and I stepped inside the Common Room, hair falling over my cheek and hands in my pockets. I made a bee-line for the dorm, hoping to get past the Common Room before anyone registered I was there. After all, it was getting late, surely someone coming into the Common Room wasn't that-

"Potter?"

Bloody hell.

I stopped and turned to the corner table where Nott, Greengrass, Lily, Tracey, Parkinson, Zambini, and Malfoy were all sitting casually playing a large game of Exploding Snap. They were all staring at me wide-eyed. I snorted. It made Parkinson look even more pug-like than usual.

But there was no getting away now. So I plastered on a grin and swaggered over to the table.

"Got room for another player?" I asked casually.

"Got ro-" Lily choked. "Potter, you've been in the Hospital Wing three days, people were saying you got your face ripped off, and you turn up looking fine and ask if you can play cards?"

"Potter never looks fine," Pansy sneered. "Look at those bags under her eyes."

I rolled my eyes. "But whereas my problems can be fixed with a nap and a decent meal, unfortunately, Parkinson, you're stuck looking like that."

Blaise snorted. "She's fine."

I grinned at him. "Yeah, I'm mostly recovered. Thanks for the flowers, by the way, Zambini. And for everything else, guys," I added to the rest of the table. I saw Malfoy nudge Zambini out of the corner of my eye and whisper.

"You sent her flowers?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Zambini murmured back. Malfoy sneered.

"Just didn't think you would."

I rolled my eyes at them and made to sit down. All of a sudden, Lily leapt up and hugged me tightly around the middle. I yelled in pain and shoved her off violently, doubling over and clutching my side tightly.

" _Mostly_ recovered," I hissed out. "I said _mostly._ "

Lily pressed her hands to her mouth, looking guilty. "Oh Merlin Potter, I'm so sorry, I didn't think."

"'s fine, Moon," I grunted, groping my way into an empty chair. "Just don't do that again. Dog didn't get my face," I explained to the confused looking Slytherins around me.

"So what was it like?" Daphne asked interestedly. I raised an eyebrow.

"What? Bleeding out on a staircase? I don't recommend it."

"No, no," Daphne said, waving it away like it was nothing. I raised an eyebrow at her. It was good to see my potential death get waved off like that, really did wonders for my self-esteem. "I mean… did your brother really kill Quirrell?"

I grit my teeth. Of course. Of course they wanted to know all about what Harry did. Did I matter that I almost died too? Nah, that was a side story. Harry was the big news.

"Yeah he did," I growled. "So let this be a lesson kids, don't let Voldemort latch onto your soul or my dear brother will roast you."

Most of them jerked or flinched at the sound of his name and looked at me either angrily or askance.

"Watch your mouth," Daphne hissed. "Don't say his name!"

"Considering he's cost me more scars now, I think I'll call ol' Voldy whatever the hell I like," I said, and stood up sharply.

"Potter, hold on!" Zambini protested. "It's just… there's so many rumors flying around, we just want to know what actually happened."

I sighed and sat back down, explaining everything I knew about what happened to Harry, Ron, and Hermione down in the teacher's trials. Unsurprisingly they had been offended by the very notion that Hermione had been able to figure out Snape's trial and amused by the idea of Ron being hurt. When I came to the part about Harry confronting Voldemort, everyone leaned forwards in interest, eager to finally get the truth.

I couldn't help but notice that no one asked what happened to me. They just understood that I was there, that I got hurt by the dog that was the first challenge while Harry, Ron, and Hermione went on ahead. They didn't ask why I'd stayed behind, didn't ask what I was doing, just accepted it and moved on to what Harry and co were off accomplishing.

And I kind of hated them for it, but I wasn't surprised. Harry's story made of a much better one. What did I do? I serenaded a dog until it woke up and took a chunk out of me. What did Harry do? He took out an evil professor and drove off Voldemort while recovering the only known Sorcerer's Stone in existence. Still, I had hoped that maybe my dorm mates would at least care what happened to me.

When I finished, it was time for the end-of-year feast. Rising as a group, we all made out way up to the Great Hall, the Slytherins filling me in. Apparently they'd made up my points loss and managed to come out on top of the pack. We'd won the house cup, which I couldn't help but be very proud of. No other house could stand against our powers of butt-kissing. It was the perfect thing to make a rather crappy end of the year better.

The Great Hall was decked out in green and silver banners. I stood and basked in it for a moment before following the rest of my house to the table, ignoring the whispers and questions that popped up when people saw me out and about. I took a seat between Tracey and Lily and pressed my hand to the photo album in my pocket, smiling. It was almost like having a piece of my parents along with me.

The mumbling of the Great Hall picked up again. I looked up curiously to see what had caused it. Harry was standing in the Great Hall doorway, looking mildly put out by the Slytherin green and silver that was hung everywhere.

"Harry," I muttered. Tracey looked over at me curiously.

"What?"

"Harry!" I shouted, and shot up from my seat. I ran down the aisle between the tables, ignoring my throbbing side, and flung myself at Harry. He saw me coming and braced himself, opening his arms. I launched at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly. He hugged me back, squeezing directly on one of the scars but I didn't mind.

"You're okay," I whispered. "When I got out you still hadn't woken up…"

"Yeah, I haven't been up long," Harry admitted. "Dumbledore explained a lot to me about Quirrell and the stone. He said he filled you in too?"

"Snape filled me in," I corrected. "But yes, I know what happened."

"He said you'd been hurt," Harry asked worriedly. "Are you okay?" He pulled back, looking me up and down like he expected me to be bleeding through my clothes. I chuckled slightly.

"Rumors of my injuries have been greatly exaggerated," I chuckled. "I'm fine, just a few small scars. Nothing major, Pomfrey gave me a potion to take if they start to hurt."

Harry was looking at me suspiciously. For the first time, I wished he didn't know me quite so well so I could lie to him easier. "You're sure?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes," I laughed. "I'm sure. I'm feeling great. It helps that my house whipped yours," I added with a wink, gesturing to the decorations. He sighed.

"Yeah, well, we beat you at Quidditch," he grumbled.

"Not for long," I grinned. I'd made my decision months ago – next year I was getting a broom of my own and trying out for the team. I wasn't going to tell Harry yet though, I wanted him to be surprised.

"Keep dreaming," Harry teased.

"Oh, I will," I grinned. "The feast's about to start, we better take our seats."

"Right," Harry nodded. "See you on the train?"

"Yeah, we'll ride back together."

I started back to Slytherin table but paused. "Hey Harry?" I called over my shoulder.

"Yeah Rena?"

I smiled at him. "I'm glad you're okay."

Harry grinned. I wanted to remember this moment, Harry grinning at me, green eyes smiling from behind his glasses, dressed in Hogwarts robes and happy as he'd ever been. As _we'd_ ever been. We had both come out alive against Voldemort once again, and even if I hadn't encountered him directly, I was still alive, I still had Harry, and we were still twins.

"You too," Harry smiled.

I headed back to Slytherin table, taking my seat as Dumbledore stood up.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. I grinned, whooping and clapping along with the rest of my house. Malfoy banged his goblet on the table and one of the older students let off a small burst of celebratory green sparks from the tip of his wand.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Our smiles faded a little.

"What's going on?" Nott wondered aloud, eyes narrowed in Dumbledore's direction.

I inhaled sharply. Recent events? He had to mean the whole debacle with Quirreldemort, nothing else had happened that I knew of. And that meant Harry, Hermione, Ron… they were all about to get points. Gryffindor was about to get points, and I had a horrible suspicion…

"He wouldn't," I hissed.

"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley," Ron went purple in the face over at the Gryffindor table. Fred and George thumped him on the back proudly. "…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

"Sixty points," Parkinson hissed furiously. "For a game of _chess?_ "

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy was shouting loudly, and although we couldn't hear him from the Slytherin table I guessed he was bragging about what Ron had done in getting past McGonagall's chess set.

At last there was silence again, and Dumbledore continued.

"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms. Even from this distance I could see her shoulders shaking with tears.

"What's he doing?" Zambini demanded furiously. "Gryffindor's one hundred and twenty points up!"

"He's making them win," I said with a snarl. Several people turned to look at me in horror. I nodded, convinced I was right. "Just wait."

"Third, to Miss Lorena Potter." I blinked in shock. The other Slytherins turned to look at me hopefully. I scowled, trying to fight down a blush under their eyes. "… for determination and diligence in a situation when many would have crumbled, I award Slytherin house thirty points."

"Thirty!" Malfoy said indignantly. "What, and the Weasel gets sixty for playing a damn game of chess?"

"This isn't right," Daphne said furiously. "Dumbledore's fixing the house cup!"

"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter," Dumbledore continued. The room went deadly quiet. "…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house seventy points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had five hundred and two points. Exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup.

"Son of a Muggle," Lily cursed. I looked at her in surprise. Lily wasn't one for strong language. "He's actually doing it!"

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage. "Dumbledore smiled. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him.

Slytherin table sat in horror as Gryffindor celebrated. We thought we'd won. We'd come ready to celebrate. We'd been ready to accept the house cup and be proud of ourselves for the year. But Dumbledore had just yanked that away from us and callously pitched it over to Gryffindor. It was like turning up to what you thought was your birthday party only to find out that it was someone else's.

At the Gryffindor table, I saw Harry point to Malfoy and laugh. Malfoy was looking pretty ridiculous, horrified and stunned as he sat frozen in pace. The pair of them shared a hearty chuckle at his expense, but Malfoy was far from the only person who looked like that. The rest of us were just as stunned, just as angry.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating our loss, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand with a horrible, forced smile.

"Your bloody brother cost us the cup!" Daphne hissed at me angrily.

"Technically Longbottom did," I muttered, but I knew there would be no appeasing her. She was just as angry as many people up and down the table that Harry, who had broken about a dozen school rules, had gotten away with not only not getting punished for it but with enough points to put Gryffindor into position for the house cup.

I saw Harry waving at me joyously from the Gryffindor table. I lowered my eyes to my plate, and ignored him.

* * *

Exam results were posted. I was delighted to find that my marathon studying during the time I was a pariah had paid off in spades. I was in the top five in our year, behind Hermione, a pair of Ravenclaws, and, annoyingly, Malfoy himself. I wasn't modest about it either, lording it over Harry, who was somewhere in the middle. He consistently reminded me about the house cup in reply, so we spent most of the last few days at Hogwarts irritated with each other.

But when we boarded the train, that ended immediately. I joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their cabin, Artemisia and Hedwig snoozing lightly in their cages and Scabbers passed out beside Ron.

"Back to hell," I sighed, lying down across the seat. I placed my head in Harry's lap. He immediately began petting my hair, which is what I wanted from him. I smiled to myself. My brother was so well-trained.

"It's not that bad," Harry encouraged. "This summer will be better than normal."

"Maybe," I said dubiously, looking down at myself. I was so close to a healthy weight and I could guarantee that would change the moment I got back to the Dursley's. I'd be skeletal again by the time our second year started, that was for sure, and then I'd have to gain it back once school started. I was sensing the beginning of a cycle.

"Play a game of chess?" Ron asked me curiously, looking for something to pass the time. I snorted.

"No, I don't want to play chess, Mr. 'best played game Hogwarts has ever seen.'" Ron flushed. "Besides, I haven't played in a while," I admitted.

"Why's that?" Hermione asked curiously. "It's a great mental exercise."

"You don't need to bother then," I scoffed. "No, I was the house pariah after the Norbert incident and then after that I was avoiding my normal chess partner."

"Who do you normally play with?" Ron asked. "I can't imagine Crabbe's good for a game."

I snorted, remembering that was part of the reason I started playing to begin with. "No, I used to play with Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry burst out in disgust. "Why him?"

"Because much as you might want to ignore it, he's not an idiot, and he plays a good game," I said, rolling my eyes.

"He was fourth in our year," Hermione admitted. I nodded.

"See? Hermione agrees with me, so I'm right." I stuck out my tongue at Harry. "Besides, like I said, he reached a new level of dickishness so I think that arrangement is over. I'll have to start playing Nott," I mused.

"You could come up to Gryffindor Tower and play sometimes," Ron offered. I shook my head.

"Yeah, that's how I'll make friends."

We changed into our clothes as we got closer to London. After so long wearing uniform skirts and robes it was almost painful to climb back into Aunt Petunia's oversized cast-offs. I picked at a piece of fluff on the sleeve of my stretched-out cardigan glumly as the train rolled into the station.

"We'll write you both this summer," Hermione promised, and Ron agreed.

"Maybe you guys could stay with us for part of the summer," he suggested.

I looked at Harry hopefully. "I hope their desire to get rid of us will override their desire to torture us," I mused.

"They also don't know magic isn't allowed outside of Hogwarts," Harry pointed out to me. My eyes lit up mischievously. Harry winced. "I… maybe shouldn't have pointed that out. Rena, don't get too many ideas…"

"Don't know what you're talking about, brother dear," I cooed. "I would never at all taunt them with threats of cursing and magical violence."

Hermione and Ron watched us in amusement.

"Just don't actually do anything," Hermione cautioned. "After all, we aren't allowed to do magic outside of school."

"Buzzkill," I mumbled, but I knew I wouldn't do anything that would risk expulsion. Already I couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts and start classes again. Harry felt the same, I could tell by the way he looked longingly back at the scarlet steam engine after we got off.

It was a fight to get out of the platform and back into King's Cross proper.

"You think they'll actually come pick us up?" I wondered as I helped Harry push our cart containing both of our trunks and owls. "I wouldn't put it past them to abandon us."

"There they are," Harry said, pointing. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were standing aside from the barrier, watching in disgust and terror as several obviously-wizarding kids filtered around the platform with their trunks and owls or other pets.

"I'll definitely invite you this summer," Ron said, taking one look at the Dursleys. "I'll write you about it."

"Thanks, I'll need something to look forward to," Harry said, wincing as the Dursleys caught sight of us.

"There they are, mum, look!" Ginny Weasley was standing with her mother, waiting to pick up Ron and the twins. She wasn't pointing at Ron though. She was pointing to Harry and I. "There they are, I can see them."

"It's rude to point," her mother rebuked, and Ginny lowered her hand quickly, looking abashed. They walked over to us, Molly Weasley smiling as she took us all in. "Busy year?"

"Very," Harry answered with a smile. "Thanks for the fudge and sweater Mrs. Weasley."

"It was absolutely delicious," I agreed. "I'd like to get the recipe some time if you don't mind."

"Oh, it was nothing dears," Mrs. Weasley insisted, but she looked pleased that we'd liked them.

"Ready, are you?"

Uncle Vernon had apparently gotten tired of waiting on us to say our goodbyes. He was standing at what he seemed to think was a safe distance from the Weasleys, eyeing us angrily because we had the nerve to carry owls into a train station full of normal people. Aunt Petunia and Dudley stood much farther back, looking terrified.

"You must be Harry and Lorena's family!" Mrs. Weasley greeted cheerfully.

"In a manner of speaking," Uncle Vernon grunted, not looking keen on talking with Ron's mom. "Hurry up, we haven't got all day." With that, he stalked off. I rolled my eyes, turning back to Hermione and Ron. Fed and George burst through the barrier just then with Lee Jordan. They quickly split off to their family.

"Have – er – a good holiday," Hermione said uncertainly, staring after Uncle Vernon.

"Oh, we will," I said, smiling malevolently at Dudley and inching my hand pointedly towards my pocket. He whimpered and tried to hide behind Aunt Petunia.

"That's the smile we like to see on our best pupil!" Fred congratulated me, patting me on the back. He and George roped me into a two-way hug. Over their shoulders, I saw Mrs. Weasley mouth 'pupil' in horror. I smothered a grin and kissed both the twins on the cheek, pulling away.

"We'll see you lot next year," I said. Harry and I waved, and pushed our trolley off to the Dursleys.


	20. Summer

**Here we go! The summer before fourth year! This chapter is officially dedicated to ZabuzasGirl, who refused to let me rest until I had posted a new chapter and who has become a loyal reviewer for more than one of my stories. You are the best, my dear!**

 **To some who have been asking or who were upset about my skipping second and third year: I plan to write little snippets of those years and post them randomly on a separate story. However, that collection probably won't be up until the end of the month. I've already had several requests for scenes people would like to see or things they'd like addressed, and I want to try and do as many of them as possible, so feel free to PM me or leave a review saying what you'd like to see. I'll be doing the Shrieking Shack, repeat, I'LL BE DOING THE SHRIEKING SHACK, and there's a little snippet of that here at the beginning. That's the one everyone seems concerned about.  
**

* * *

I sighed as I roamed the streets around Privet Drive, kicking a loose pebble into the gutter and continuing on. Summers for most kids were a wonderful time of year. Summers for me were the low point of my year. It meant staying with the Dursleys instead of being at Hogwarts. The summer before Harry and I's fourth year at school had just barely started, and already I was fantasizing about going back.

I had left Privet Drive far behind when I set out this morning. I was officially in town now. Harry and I shared the habit of wandering the streets during the summer to keep away from our aunt and uncle, but we'd taken to wandering separately lately. I couldn't help but blame the way our last year ended for that.

 _The Shrieking Shack creaked around us… Professor Lupin with his wand out, looking pale and wan from the approach of the full moon... Sirius and Snape at each other's throats… Harry backing Sirius, me backing Snape… Harry cursing Snape and Sirius laughing… Me backhanding Sirius and giving him a thorough tongue-lashing… Sirius being absolutely horrified by the idea of me being a Slytherin… Lupin, bless him, being supportive and assuring Sirius 'she's nothing like your parents, don't worry,' whatever that meant…_

All in all it had left Harry and I in a mess. I was glad to have Sirius in my life, I really was. But I was less pleased with the way he treated my head of house. Snape had been a blessing to me at Hogwarts. Whenever I got detention he let me grade papers and whenever I needed help with something I was completely welcome to ask him. I had gone to him about the Dementors and he had been more than willing to teach me how to protect myself from them. He even visited me in the Hospital Wing sometimes when I was there, which was more often than was really healthy.

Then Sirius came along looking to fulfill the male authority figure role for Harry and I. Needless to say, neither of us were thrilled about it at first. We'd both thought he sold out our parents to Voldemort. Once things had been explained, however, and Peter Pettigrew had been unmasked, Harry was perfectly willing to let Sirius step into that role. Unfortunately, when he tried it with me, he found Snape already there.

It was pretty obvious the two had a history. I knew some of it – Lupin and Sirius were my dad's best friend and they bullied Snape mercilessly. My dad saved Snape's life and he tried to make that up, to free himself from the debt. But I was still surprised by the sheer amount of hatred the two men had for each other. I had never hated anyone quite like that before, not even Parkinson at her most annoying, or Malfoy at his most obnoxious.

I raised my head and looked around. It was nearing the afternoon, and if I was going to be back at Privet Drive at a decent time I should probably head back soon. But for now I was content to look around at the various displays in the windows of the shops around me. Not that I could pay for anything. Not now, rather. I had no Muggle money, all of my funds were in Gringotts in a vault I shared with Harry. And I doubted that the stores here would take Galleons and Knuts anyway.

I sat on a bench and looked around anyway. The pharmacy across the way was advertising a sale on eyeliner. I chuckled and vaguely considered what would happen if I bought some for the girls in my dorms.

Last year a new trend had started among the Slytherin girls. Apparently third year was the time we ladies started wearing makeup in my house, because when I showed up, I was the only one not supplied with red lipstick and heavy eye makeup. I'd acquired some over the year, stealing from a couple girls in my dorm, and put my own spin on the standard Slytherin look. Red lips I stuck with, but I traded the black eye shadow for grey and ignored eyeliner in its entirety.

Last year was the point when I realized I enjoyed being girly. I liked fiddling with makeup and dressing up just as much as my dorm mates. It was kind of a surprise to me, considering I was never allowed to so much as touch a compact before then and my clothes were ill-fitting for most of my life. Still, it was nice to feel a little more grown-up and feminine, I found.

Next to the pharmacy was a lawyer. I skipped over that and my eyes landed on a new storefront. The place had been vacant last summer when I walked out this way. Going by the bright paint on the sign over the door it was brand new. Raincrow Crafts. And in the window, under a sign announcing the grand opening two weeks ago, was a sign that said HELP WANTED.

I stared at the sign, an idea slowly turning over in my head. If I could get a job during the summer, I would no longer be tethered to the Dursleys entirely. When they deprived me of food, I could go out and pay for my own meals. When they gave me thread-bare clothes barely fit for human use, I could go out and get my own. And I could start earning my own money, being independent.

There was one problem. I was only thirteen, not quite fourteen. But, I considered, a new business, likely a mom-and-pop place by the area it was in, they might not care so much. They were just opened, probably swamped and in desperate need of help. If I proved myself, I might be able to get in at least for a few weeks, and if nothing else, that would give me some cash for emergencies.

Deciding that even if I went in and enquired, the worst that could happen would be that I was told I was too young, I stood up from my bench and hustled over to the shop, pushing open the door. A bell overhead tinkled. I looked around, observing a small store space absolutely jam-packed with knitting, sewing, drawing, painting, sculpting, even candle-, jewelry- and soap-making supplies. There were books on techniques and even a small corner where coloring books and crayons were laid out on a table for kids to distract themselves with while their parents shopped.

"Just a moment!" called a voice. I was mildly surprised by the American accent, but I strolled up to the counter with as much confidence as I could fake, which was quite a lot, even though now that I was inside I was starting to rethink my genius plan.

The voice had come from a door behind the counter and from through that door came a woman in her late-twenties, early-thirties. My eyes widened in surprise for several reasons. One, she was wearing a rather odd, blousy shirt with puffed sleeves and tight jeans. For another, her features were distinctly Native American, which surprised me. Finally, she was carrying a thin wooden switch in her hands, and for a moment I worried she was about to cane me, but then she proceeded to tap it along the floors and walls. I looked up and saw pale blue eyes.

Suddenly I understood. This woman didn't need help because she was a new business. She needed help because she was blind. I was impressed, really, that she was as young as she was and already owned her own business.

"Hello," she greeted, stopping beside the counter and smiling. "My name is Amity Raincrow, welcome to Raincrow Crafts. What can I help you with?"

"My name is Lorena Potter," I said, holding out my hand instinctively, only to feel remarkably stupid when I did so. "Oh, er-"

"Give me a moment," Amity requested, reaching out and grasping for my hand. I quickly offered it to her. She took it and shook firmly. "There we go," she said in satisfaction. "Now, what can I do for you, Miss Potter."

"I noticed the held wanted sign in your window," I explained. "I'd like to apply."

Amity Raincrow wasn't looking at me, but I got the feeling that if she was she'd been looking me up and down skeptically. "You sound very young, Miss Lorena Potter," she said pointedly. "How old are you, exactly?"

I considered lying and saying sixteen. After all, I looked a little older than I was and it wasn't like she could see me to judge anyway. But surprisingly, much like with Professor Snape, I got the feeling that lying to her wouldn't serve me. I think it might have something to do with the eerie sightless stare she had.

"I am thirteen, almost fourteen," I replied honestly. She nodded knowingly.

"Then if I were to hire you I'd need approval from your parents."

"My parents are dead," I countered.

"Then who are your guardians?" she responded without missing a beat. I narrowed my eyes. I'd been hoping to throw her off, mix her up with the orphan thing. She hadn't even flinched, and now she was smiling knowingly at me, like she knew exactly what I was trying to do.

"My aunt and uncle," I said, not bothering to hide my disgust. She raised her eyebrows at my tone.

"Come into the back," she said, gesturing to the door with her stick. I nodded and rounded the counter, following her through the door. The room was primarily a stock room, but there was a small walled-off corner near the front. She walked inside and I followed. Her office was small, with just a desk with a computer, a couple filing cabinets, and a chair. Amity seated herself behind the desk and I sat down in the chair across from her, feeling oddly like I'd just gotten hauled before a teacher.

"So, you're a thirteen-year-old orphan living with her aunt and uncle who wants to work," Amity summed up, leaning her stick against the desk. "I get the feeling your guardians wouldn't approve of this, but you're asking anyway. So tell me… why should I hire you?"

I was a little surprised by the astuteness of her observation. I opened my mouth and closed it once in surprise before answering. "I don't have a problem interacting with new people and I'm not afraid of manual labor. I'm a hard-worker and I pick things up quickly. I'm in the top five students in my school every year."

"And where do you go to school?" Amity asked.

"This little boarding school in Scotland," I muttered, not wanting to give away too much information to a Muggle.

"I see," Amity observed. "So you spend most of the year at school and the rest of it you spend avoiding your aunt and uncle. There's definitely a story there," she said leadingly.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're a total stranger," I said shortly. "I'm not going to sit here and spill my life's story to you."

"Nor should you, I was just asking to see if my assumptions were correct. Judging by how sharply you answered, I'm guessing they are."

I stared at Amity, who just blinked placidly back. I was having the oddest sensation that I was dealing with a Seer or something, the way she seemed to guess things so accurately. I narrowed my eyes. Most witches and wizards visibly reacted to the name Potter, and arrogant as it was, I'd grown to expect it. Amity Raincrow hadn't reacted, but it was possible she just didn't know, being American. But I went to one of the foremost wizarding schools in the world.

"If I asked if the word Hogwarts meant anything to you, what would you say?" I asked.

"I'd wonder why you were asking me about swine dermatology," Amity replied after a moment of looking startled. "Why, should it mean something to me?"

"No, not really," I said, shaking my head. "So, like I said, I'm in the top of my class, and-"

"And you need money, that's the core of the issue," Amity said bluntly. I closed my mouth.

"Yes," I admitted grudgingly. "I do."

"Are you planning to run away, Miss Potter?" Amity asked.

"No," I replied immediately. "I have school, and in the summer I just need something to get me out of the house and stop me from contemplating homicide," I said bluntly.

There was no point in dancing around the topic. Amity had quite easily figured out why I needed money and why I wanted to work. She guessed that my aunt and uncle weren't kind to me, and probably was mostly convinced they were abusive too, which wasn't wrong. I assumed I'd already blown this job interview, if that's even what this was.

"When can you work?" Amity asked suddenly. I stared.

"Pardon?"

"Your hours," Amity clarified. "When are you free?"

"I, uh, early afternoon," I stammered, surprised. Did I actually have a shot? It would take me most of the morning to walk to Amity's store, so I would only be able to work in the afternoons, and I'd have to be home by night time. "Until the evening."

"I see," Amity nodded. "Well, as it happens, I have some sympathy for your situation. And as you may have noticed, I'm blind," she said, waving her hand in front of her eyes to emphasize. "Now I can work the cash register because it's in braille and I can handle the computer and finances for the same reason. However, stock gives me fits. I can direct a customer to where something is, but it's highly inconvenient for me to touch everything in a box, figure out what it is, and figure out how many I need to put on the shelves. Do you have a problem doing that kind of work?"

"No ma'am," I said immediately. She nodded approvingly.

"Manners, good. Now I _will_ hire you for the summer, but the minute your aunt and uncle find out what you're doing, I'm out. If they come to me and demand to know why I hired an under-aged kid I will lie through my teeth and say you told me you were sixteen. And people will believe the poor blind woman, because people are like that."

I looked at Amity, impressed. If she was a witch, she would most certainly be in Slytherin.

"Why?" I asked. "Why are you bothering? Why not just find someone older who would be easier?"

"Because you came in here and were honest. If you're going to be honest about _that_ ," Amity shrugged. "I'm fairly confident I don't have to worry about you trying to smuggle yarn and beeswax out under your shirt. That's been a problem for me. People don't realize; I'm blind, I'm not stupid."

"I see," I said, smiling slightly. "Thank you for the opportunity, ma'am."

Amity rolled her eyes. "Amity is fine. Ma'am is my grandmother."

We worked out a date for me to start and a rate of pay and I left the craft store feeling a lot more confident than I could ever remember feeling during the summer. I had a spring in my step as I walked back to Number 4 and let myself into the house through the back door so as not to disturb the Dursleys.

I headed upstairs to the room I still shared with Harry and pushed open the door, wrinkling my nose when the door hit a book and scooted it across the floor. I bent down and picked it up. It was a History of Magic textbook.

"Essay not going well?" I asked, looking at where Harry was sprawled on the bed in a mess of parchment and quills. Surprisingly he was already doing his homework, though I guessed that had something to do with the amount of boredom he was experiencing.

"I finished and moved on to Transfiguration," Harry explained. "Then I got bored."

I shut the door and moved over to the bed, scooting aside a ratty quill and sitting down, resting my chin on Harry's shoulder. "Quidditch again," I said, observing the book he was paging through. Harry nodded. I looked up to the corner of the room where our brooms were, a pair of Firebolts leaning against the wall next to each other, gifts from Sirius. Both teams had been beyond pleased to have one flying for them, and maybe if we played the same position, Harry and I would have cancelled the advantage out, but he was a Seeker and I was a Chaser.

"What'd you do while you were out?" Harry asked absently, stretching out on his stomach to read more comfortably. I flipped through the History of Magic book absently.

"Oh, nothing much. Just wandered around town, got a job, looked in some windows, saw a cute little coffee house and-"

"Whoa, wait, back up." Harry flipped over onto his back, staring at me incredulously. "Did you say you got a job?"

I nodded smugly. "Yes, I did. I was out walking and I saw a sign in this new little craft store, so I went in and asked. The owner, Amity Raincrow, is blind, so she needs some help figuring out her inventory and stocking the shelves. She hired me to work afternoon shifts during the summer."

"Just like that?" Harry asked incredulously. "You're too young!"

"I know," I said with a shrug. "And I told her that. But she asked me some questions and managed to work out that my home life wasn't stellar. She told me she'd hire me, but if Uncle Vernon ever showed up demanding to know why she hired me she would, and I quote 'lie through her teeth and say you told me you were sixteen. And people will believe the poor blind woman, because people are like that.'"

"She sounds like a Slytherin," Harry scoffed.

"I know. That's why I like her. Either way, it'll be nice to have some cash. She said she'd pay in me in cash so I didn't have to bother with banks," I explained. "Now the only way they'll be able to keep us starved is if they lock us in the house."

"Only thing is how are you going to keep them from finding the money?" Harry pointed out. I scoffed.

"Easy. I'll keep it in my trunk. They won't go in the thing because they think it'll curse them."

I stood up and moved over to the built-in bookshelves on the wall. When we'd first moved into the room, they were full of Dudley's broken and abandoned toys. After coming home our first year I'd managed to convince Uncle Vernon to toss the broken things despite Dudley's protests. It probably helped that I'd been twirling my wand in my fingers at the time.

Either way, it now meant that Harry and I had two bookshelves open to us. Harry's was the left, mine was the right. Mine was neatly organized by topic and then alphabetically by author, taking up five shelves. Harry's was a random mess taking up barely two shelves because most of his books were on our floor. He had this habit of finishing his homework and leaving the book on the bed, where it inevitably made its way to the floor. Occasionally he just tossed it to the floor and cut out the middle man, but I gave him dirty looks when he did that, so he'd mostly stopped.

Settling myself down in front of the bookshelf, I began sorting and organizing Harry's books, scooting them up into a big pile.

"I should get my own vault," I mused aloud. Harry looked up from his book in surprise.

"What?"

"Well, I'm going to be earning money now," I pointed out. "And we're fourteen, I think we can handle our own money now."

"You don't want to share a vault with me anymore?" Harry asked, looking oddly hurt by this. I shook my head.

"No, that's not it, but it's not so practical, see? Because even though I have zero problem paying for you to eat or getting clothes and things while we're out here, it is my money," I reasoned. "And besides, it has to happen sooner or later, right? Might as well go ahead and get it done."

"I suppose," Harry said, making a face. I looked at him shrewdly.

"Do you have a problem with it really or do you just not want to deal with paperwork?" I asked pointedly.

"Paperwork. And goblins," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I'll have to write a Weasley and ask how to go about that," I mused as I continued to organize Harry's bookshelf. I glanced at the floor and decided to run a vacuum in a minute too. There were stray owl treats and bits of parchment everywhere. We really did turn into slobs without house elves there, but after a while I couldn't take the mess anymore and I'd clean, marshaling Harry to dust and wash the windows while I laundered the sheets and did the floors.

I said 'write a Weasley' because I was close with several of them. Molly Weasley was the only reason I'd been curious about the craft shop – she'd taught me how to knit when I'd stayed with them part of a summer and given me needles and some yarn to work with. Fred and George had taught me how to make mischief and then cheerfully unleashed me on Hogwarts, cheering me on from the sidelines and acting in an official mentoring capacity ever since then. Arthur also liked me because I sent him Muggle artifacts every now and then, like cheap toys or magazines from the corner store.

"I'm only wondering if now is the right time to do something like get a job," Harry admitted, looking up from his book. "What with… you know…" He jerked his head in the direction of Dudley's room.

I rolled my eyes. Yes I did know. Dudley's end of school report had come back. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had waved away the bad grades and accusations of bullying. However, since it was coming from a certified health care professional, they could no longer ignore what I'd been saying for years – Dudley was roughly the same size and weight as a baby orca.

That bought on what I fondly referred to as The Diet War. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were insistent that Dudley eat better. Aunt Petunia tried to make it better by insisting the whole family eat the same way. This didn't really affect Harry or I, considering we were getting about as much to eat as usual. Dudley's allowance had even been limited because he started using it to buy candy bars. Aunt Petunia caught him at it when he forgot to take the wrappers out of his pants pocket one day and they ended up in the laundry.

The house was now in an uneasy truce, with Dudley glaring at everyone and stealing food when he could. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were very touchy. It really wasn't the best time to pull something like getting a job, but I couldn't find it in me to care.

"If they find out, well, then this summer is no different from any other," I said casually.

"Except you'll be locked under the stairs," Harry warned. I rolled my eyes.

"Ooh, never had that happen before. Whatever would I do?" I said in faux concern, sliding the last book into place. I heard Harry heave a resigned sigh as I stood up and grabbed parchment, quill, and ink. I scribbled off a quick letter to Fred and George, giving them the good news and asking for information, along with summer greetings. I attached the letter to Artemisia, who seemed incredibly pleased to stretch her wings, and sent her through the window.

"Sorry Hedwig, maybe next time," I told Harry's owl, pushing an owl treat through her cage to her. Hedwig took it, seeming appeased.

* * *

Three weeks later I was nicely settled into my new job. Every afternoon I turned up at Raincrow Crafts and Amity either told me to stock shelves or do inventory. It involved some heavy lifting, but I didn't mind. It kept me in shape for Quidditch. The one bit of advice I'd ever taken from Malfoy was trying out for the Quidditch team, and ever since second year I'd been Slytherin's star Chaser. Throwing Quaffles took some muscles, and I was glad I wouldn't be starting the new season completely weak.

I liked working for Amity. Her business wasn't terribly busy, by virtue of what and where it was, but she made steady business. There were times when she and I just sat in the office talking and drinking iced sweet tea, which Amity insisted on keeping around at all times. She liked to hear stories about the people at school and I liked to hear about America. I told her about Snape, my chemistry teacher, and my exploits on the football team, and she talked about her family and her home.

"You've been here for two weeks now," Amity mused as we lounged in her office. It was a particularly slow day, owing to the rain outside.

"I have," I agreed slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

"So I think it's time for you to get paid," Amity said, reaching out. It took her a moment to grasp the handle of the drawer, but she tugged it open and pulled out an envelope after a moment of careful sorting. She passed it over the desk to me. Drawn on the front was a rather shaky L P.

Curious, I flipped it open and peered in side. My eyes widened at the thick stack of cash.

"I figured small bills would be better," Amity explained. I flipped through the money, counting it up. My eyes widened as I realized I'd made more working than Dudley even received in allowance, which made me smile smugly. I was surprised by the amount though. Aside from clocking in and out, I hadn't paid much attention to when I showed up and left. The hours had added up faster than I thought.

"Thank you, Amity," I said earnestly. She waved a hand dismissively, leaning her desk chair back with a creak.

"Don't thank me, doll, you did the work."

I was feeling incredibly proud of the envelope of cash I had concealed in my bra on my walk home. I ducked in the back of the house, careful to avoid the blow out going on the front room. Apparently Dudley had gone out for ice cream with his friends two days ago and Aunt Petunia had found the receipt for three bowls crumpled in his jacket.

I rolled my eyes. You'd think he'd be more careful after getting busted that way once, but Dudley wasn't exactly known for his intelligence.

I opened the door to our room and found Harry sprawled on the bed reading a letter.

"Hey Rena," he greeted as I walked in, glancing up. His eyes widened when I stuck my hand down my shirt. I plucked out the folded envelope, held it up triumphantly, and tossed it to him with a spin and a flourish. Harry opened up the envelope curiously, peering inside. His eyes went wide when he saw the amount.

"Merlin, Rena!" he said, grinning like an idiot. "That Raincrow lady pays you well!"

"I do good work," I said confidently, swaggering over to the bed and flopping down next to Harry. I tapped the envelope. "I was thinking with my first paycheck, we go out tomorrow afternoon and stuff our faces with ice cream, how about you?"

Harry's eyes flicked to the door, where Uncle Vernon's roaring could be heard filtering up the stairs.

"Sounds good to me," he grinned. I smiled and snatched the envelope back, folding it up and hopping up. I tucked the envelope into my trunk underneath a couple of sheets of parchment and sprinkled a couple quills on top.

"That should do it," I said with a grin, putting my hands on my hips and turning over my shoulder to face Harry.

"You've got mail, by the way." Harry nodded to a pair of letters on top of his closed trunk. I scooped them up and saw that they were both addressed to me, one in Fred's untidy scrawl that was undoubtedly an answer to my questions earlier, and one in Ginny's neater, spiky handwriting.

I opened the letter from Fred first and found it written in two different hands. Smiling slightly at the image of the twins tugging the parchment to themselves to add their own notes, I read quickly through the response. Enclosed was the paperwork for opening my own bank account. Fred said Gringotts will have been keeping track of how much money I have withdrawn over the years so they would know how to split the money. George added that the key to my vault would probably come in the mail not long after I filled out the paperwork and sent it to Gringotts. They both gave their love and hinted at a surprise later in the summer.

I set the letter and paperwork aside to fill out after I read Ginny's letter.

 _Lorena,_

 _Hope your summers going well. Fred and George told me about the job, congratulations! I'm glad your summers are looking up. Tell me about your boss? Is she nice? Does she pay well? Does she get mad easily? I'm curious!_

 _Things are good on my end, about what you'd expect. Ron's been putting off doing his homework until later in the summer, and mum's nagging him to do it. Dad just had something come into the office he's been gushing over for days, something called a forklift? Anyway, whatever that is, someone had apparently tried to enchant it to drive itself and the thing ended up tearing around attacking people. Dad's beside himself._

 _I don't want to say too much, because it's not a done deal, but dad's been hinting that something's going on later this summer. Something about a guy he knows who he's been trying to make a deal with. He's talking about inviting you, Hermione, and Harry along for whatever it is. How is Harry, anyway? Is he doing well?_

 _Hope to see you soon!_

 _Much love, Ginny_

Smiling, I set the letter aside and snatched up the paperwork Fred had sent me, settling in for a long night of filling out information while the fight downstairs reached a fever pitch.

The summer continued to go well. I got Sunday's off at Raincrow's, so on Sunday afternoons Harry and I would go out to lunch with some of my salary for the week. Never anywhere fancy, although we were debating about going someplace nice for our birthdays and having steak. We decided two skinny kids turning up in too-big clothing at a nice restaurant was probably a little suspicious though, and scrapped the idea.

We did make the most of our outings though, refusing to eat a leafy green. Instead we got a pizza or split a sundae for lunch. There was something incredibly satisfying about knowing that, for once, we were eating better than Dudley. We shared many a laugh about Dudley at home nibbling carrot stick while we chowed down on hamburgers and fries.

Thus far, the Dursleys hadn't caught on to my work, and I intended to keep it that way. They were used to Harry and I wandering the neighborhood, they never suspected I was doing anything more than wandering around or sitting at the park when I vanished for hours at a time. My envelope continued to get thicker and thicker in my truck, completely unbeknownst to the Dursleys.

* * *

I groaned quietly, opening my eyes. I was oddly cold and I burrowed further under the sheets, trying to figure out why that was so. It was easy to tell. Harry wasn't next to me. I reached out, pawing at the bed, but it was cold. He'd clearly been up for a while.

Yawning I sat up and threw off the covers. Harry was sitting at the desk, surrounded by crumpled bits of parchment and looking frustrated. It wasn't quite time to be up yet, so it was surprising to see him already awake and looking that stressed.

I got out of bed and padded over to him, picking up a handful of crumpled parchment.

"Did I wake you?" Harry mumbled. I shook my head.

"No, just woke up," I said as I uncrumpled one ball, then another. They were all half-finished drafts of a letter to Sirius, each covered with liberal scratching out. From what I could make out, Harry had a dream that freaked him out and ended in his scar hurting. He was writing Sirius for advice.

"Tell me about the dream," I urged, swiping some of the parchment off the desk into the trash basket and sitting on the edge. I set my feet in Harry's lap, forcing him to lean away from the piece of parchment he was staring holes into.

"I don't remember much," Harry admitted, running his hands through his hair and messing it up more than usual. I could only imagine what mine looked like this early in the morning.

He laid out what he remembered of the dream to me. An old, run-down room, with a snake lying in front of a fire. Wormtail and Voldemort were there. An old man came in, Wormtail swung around the chair Voldemort was in, the old man crumpled in a flash of green light, and that was it.

"I woke up with my scar hurting," Harry finished, looking uncomfortable. I got the sense he thought he was being a little bit of an alarmist. "Rena, you like reading about medicine, do you know anything about curse scars?"

Still, the dream he described made me feel even colder. I wrapped my arms around myself and burrowed my toes under Harry's thighs for warmth. I hadn't faced Voldemort nearly as much as Harry had. Our second year, I had gone down in to the Chamber of Secrets, but I'd been trapped on the other side of the cave in with Ron and that idiot Lockhart. In fact, I had only come face-to-face with him once, our very first year, in the forest.

I shuddered at the memory. The moment he came towards me it was like I couldn't breathe, like all of the air had been sucked from my lungs. I'd done some reading afterwards and I was ashamed to admit that the closest thing to a match for how I had felt was a panic attack. Thankfully, that was the only time it had ever happened, but it was enough.

I remembered the sensation of being unable to draw breath, of feeling my thoughts go fuzzy and watching darkness and blurriness cloud my vision. Suffocation had become a great fear of mine ever since that night. It was up there right along with pitch blackness as one of two things that I was paralyzed with fear of. Just thinking about that sensation made me break out in a cold sweat.

Curse scars were something I did know about though. I'd researched them extensively, and no prizes for guessing why. My fingers lifted towards the scar on my cheek. It throbbed sometimes, but it was always a dull ache, like you might get years after a broken bone, the memory of pain once felt. It was nothing like the burning Harry had described.

"Some people do have phantom pains," I said slowly. "Like amputees after they lose their limbs. It's not usually described as a burning, though, more like… like pins and needles. But it could be different between spells," I added encouragingly. "That would make sense, since different spells inflict pain different ways."

Harry nodded, but he didn't look entirely convinced. "You think this is something I should bother Sirius with?" he asked me, looking down at his letter, conflicted.

"I'm sure Sirius wants to know what's going on in our lives," I said with certainty. "Give him my love, will you?"

I got off of the desk and crossed to the wardrobe, opening it up and pointedly ignoring my reflection in the mirror. I tended to avoid my reflection as often as possible. Even when I was putting on makeup or brushing my hair I only paid attention to parts of my face at the same time, never the whole.

Harry set his letter aside and started dressing as well. By the time we arrived in the kitchen, the Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as we entered or sat down, which wasn't surprising. Fear of Sirius kept them at bay, so without being able to torture us, they fell back into their old habit of simply pretending like we didn't exist.

Uncle Vernon's large red face was hidden behind the morning's Daily Mail, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horse-like teeth. Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley's plate with a tremulous "There you are, Diddy darling," Dudley glowered at her.

Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter.

"Is this it?" he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing Harry's with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes. I quickly popped the rest of mine into my mouth before Dudley could get any ideas.

Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon's grapefruit. I rolled my eyes. I wasn't too concerned about the diet. Aside from the money I had stored away upstairs there was also our spoils from our birthday, which included several pieces of cake.

Brithdays had definitely become much better for us since school started. This year, instead of a tissue or a clothes hanger, I had received letters and cakes from my friends, as well as a few gifts. Lily had sent me some perfume and Tracey a book called _Mundane Mediwizardry: Healing Around the House_ with a note saying she hoped it would keep me out of the Hospital Wing as much. Zambini had even chipped in with a bouquet of daisies, one of which had been pressed and added to that wooden box from Daphne my first year that had been filled with candy.

Now it was filled with pressed flowers from various occasions. Zambini had a habit of sending me bouquets when I ended up in the Hospital Wing and on holidays, which was sweet of him. I usually returned the favor with Chocolate Frogs. But aside from Zambini's many flowers, there were about a dozen pressed white tulips, just like the ones I'd gotten after the incident with Fluffy.

I still had no idea who sent them, but they always turned up when I was in the hospital, at Christmas, and on my birthday. There was never a note, and they were always delivered by the floral company, so I could never recognize the owl. Whoever it was, I appreciated the flowers, and though I was curious, I'd never made an effort to find out who sent them. I preferred to let whoever it was be mysterious and just smile about the gesture.

I heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly. Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall. Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had got to. She didn't have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid.

"You two," he barked at Harry and I. "Living room. Now."

I had no idea what we were supposed to have done, but it didn't really matter, not when Uncle Vernon had that look on his face. Harry and I got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply.

"So," he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry us. "So."

I would have dearly loved to have said, "So what?" but I didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested this early in the conversation, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. Harry and I just stared back, Harry quizzically, me dispassionately.

"This just arrived," said Uncle Vernon. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at us. "A letter. About you."

I couldn't think of anyone who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about us. At least, no one who sent letters by postman. I knew Hogwarts sent them letters quite often, usually about whatever dangerous deed Harry had done recently or when I got a detention, which was often enough that it had been the subject of many a rant from Uncle Vernon. Not because I was forever in trouble, but because the owls were suspicious.

Uncle Vernon glared at us, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud:

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, we have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron. As Harry or Lorena might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"I do hope you will allow us to take Harry and Lorena to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have them stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see them safely onto the train back to school.

"It would be best for Harry or Lorena to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is. Hoping to see them soon. Yours sincerely, Molly Weasley. P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on."

Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else.

"Look at this," he growled.

He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come, and I had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys' address in minute writing.

"She did put enough stamps on, then," said Harry cheerfully. Our uncle's eyes flashed.

"The postman noticed," he growled. "Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny."

I didn't say anything. I didn't see a reason to. Anything slightly out of the ordinary made Uncle Vernon angry and uncomfortable. I didn't think pointing out that the postman was the only one who had any idea about Mrs. Weasley's slip – and, more importantly, that none of the neighbors knew – was wise though.

Uncle Vernon was still glaring at us. I tried to keep my expression submissive, but I didn't have high hopes. I've been told I had a suspicious, smart-aleck face. I wanted badly to go to the Quidditch World Cup and mouthing off like I normally would have wasn't the way to make it happen. I waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence.

"So - can I go then?" he asked.

A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon's large purple face. The mustache bristled. I restrained a smirk. Now Uncle Vernon had to decide which was worth more – getting Harry and I out of the house earlier than anticipated or depriving us of happiness.

To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley's letter again.

"Who is this woman?" he said, staring at the signature with distaste.

"You've seen her," said Harry. "She's my friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog-" I stepped on Harry's foot. "-off the school train at the end of last term."

He had almost said Hogwarts Express, and that was a sure way to get us put on lockdown. Nobody said Hogwarts at Number 4.

Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant.

"Dumpy sort of woman?" he growled finally. "Load of children with red hair?"

Harry and I frowned. Considering Harry, Petunia and I were the only ones in the house that weighed under two hundred pounds I thought that was highly judgmental.

Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again.

"Quidditch," he muttered under his breath. "Quidditch - what is this rubbish?"

I grinned. "It's a sport," I explained, savoring the words. "Played on _broom_ -"

"All right, all right!" said Uncle Vernon loudly. I saw, with some satisfaction, that he looked vaguely panicky. As I expected, he couldn't stand the sound of the word broomsticks in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. He scowled.

"What does she mean, 'the normal way'?" he spat.

"Normal for us," I said mockingly. "You know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards."

Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if I had just uttered a disgusting swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the glass.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?" he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. "You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back-"

"Only after you finished with them," said Harry coldly, coming to my aid.

"I will not be spoken to like that!" said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage.

I wasn't going to have it though, and a quick glance to the side showed me that neither would Harry. I was making my own money, Dudley was on more of a diet than I was, and in a few months, I'd be on my own broomstick playing Quidditch no matter what Uncle Vernon thought of it. He couldn't just shove us under the stairs anymore, because now, Harry and I had a trump card.

"Okay, we can't see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I've got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know - our godfather."

And Harry had shamelessly played it. I looked at him proudly. If his Gryffindor sense of honor had kept him from blackmail I would have done it. Now I sat back and watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon's face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream.

"You're - you're writing to him, are you?" said Uncle Vernon, trying to sound calm. I'd seen his eyes contract with fear though, he wasn't fooling anyone. Least of all Hogwarts' third most noted prankster currently in attendance.

"Well - yeah," I said casually, enjoying watching Uncle Vernon squirm. "It's been a while since he heard from us, and it would be a shame if he thought something was wrong," I simpered.

I could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon's thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop us writing to Sirius, Sirius would think we were being mistreated. If he told us we couldn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, we would write and tell Sirius, who would know we were being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. I could see the conclusion forming in my uncle's mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. I tried not to smile, to keep my own face as blank as possible. And then -

"Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy...this stupid...this World Cup thing. You write and tell these - these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather...tell him..."

With a growl, Uncle Vernon gave in.

"Tell him you're going."


	21. Visiting the Wealseys

**Heeey! So here's the newest chapter! I'm going to try and get a chapter out every other week, so if I don't have one out two weeks from now, feel free to start hassling me. We'll see how that goes - I've got some serious classes next semester. Two Honors business classes and I'm taking Japanese classes. Why? Why not, I need a foreign language. Anyway, that's my life as it stands right now. Enjoy Lorena!**

 **Oh, wait, before you do that, I'd like to plug a story of mine. I updated it earlier today. It's called Only Forever, it's a Captain America fic. If you're into that, go over and give it a look-see? Maybe a review?**

* * *

I packed the moment Uncle Vernon said it was okay. Well, after a brief celebration with Harry that involved lots of giggling and squealing and I refused to ever again speak of. The floor of our room was suddenly clean for the first time since summer.

But while Harry was free to sit around and grin to himself about Quidditch and an enjoyable summer, I had business to handle. I pushed open the door to Raincrow Crafts, the bell jangling overhead alerting Amity to my presence.

She emerged from the back, smiling. "Come to tell me the news, doll?"

I stared at her. "Er… what? How'd you know it was me?"

"Magic," Amity said with a wink. I resisted the urge to double over laughing. I was sure that Amity wasn't a witch. She did seem to know things before she should though. I fully intended to look into that once I got to Hogwarts and see if Muggles could have the Sight too.

"You have news?" Amity asked, holding up two glasses of iced tea. She beckoned me over and placed one on the counter for me, taking a sip from the other.

"You really did know I was coming," I said, impressed, taking a drink. I made a face at the unexpected taste. "What is that?"

"Arnold Palmer," she responded immediately. "Iced tea and lemonade. And yes, I knew you were coming and I knew you had news. So, spill."

Deciding it wasn't that bad, I took another drink and nodded. "Yes, I have news. A friend of my brother invited us to stay with his family for the rest of the summer. We're leaving Sunday."

"So you're giving your notice," Amity nodded, looking mildly disappointed. "That's a shame, you were a lot of help."

"Perhaps this could become an annual summer thing?" I suggested hopefully. Amity stared sightlessly over my shoulder, lost in thought.

"Well, I suppose no one's come breaking down my door about child slavery yet, so we're good there. Yes, when you get back, come here and I'll see if I can use you. If I don't have anything for you to do, though, you're out of luck," Amity said sternly. I got the distinct impression that Amity would find something for me to do even if it was vacuuming the floors and washing the windows. "That fair?"

I nodded. It was more than fair. Amity was really going out on a limb for me, had been since I started, and I was grateful.

"Let me get your last paycheck," Amity said, disappearing into the back again. "So tell me about this friend of your brother," she called. "Ron, right? The one with all the siblings?"

"Yeah." I nodded. I'd told her a few bits and pieces of our time at Hogwarts. Nothing magical, of course, but about the people. She knew about Ron and Hermione and knew that I tended not to get along with the rest of my house.

"Bet you'll be pleased to see the other twins sooner than expected," Amity observed as she emerged from the back and passed me an envelope. I took it and tucked it into my bra.

"It'll be great to see them," I agreed. "And with all this extra time to plan we'll definitely be able to kick the year off with a bang."

"You'll have to write and tell me all about it," Amity said. I froze. That would be tricky…

"I can't…" I said slowly. Amity raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"What, they don't allow mail at your school?"

"Well you can't read it anyway," I shot back. Amity scoffed.

"Just because I can't read doesn't mean other people can't. I could have someone read it to me. You're right though, it's a little impractical. Ah well," she sighed, looking genuinely disappointed. I winced.

"Sorry Amity, my school's just touchy about who we contact. You know, for safety reasons." I pulled that out my ass. Amity nodded.

"I understand that. I remember my old high school, we weren't allowed to leave campus during lunch to go eat like all the other schools were. Very disappointing, when the other kids were talking about going to eat on the square and you got three-day-old sloppy joes." Amity thrust out her tongue.

"They feed us better than that," I said gratefully.

"Good," Amity said gladly. "Well, have fun kid. Get packed and get going, you're going to have more fun than helping an old blind lady haul boxes around."

"You're not old," I assured her.

"I'm not a lady either." Amity shrugged and winked. "Get moving girl, have a good time."

Amity leaned over the counter, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back, surprised to realize I would miss her. Originally I'd taken the job just hoping to make some cash but Amity had been a bright spot in my summer. She served me iced tea – the woman was addicted – and told me funny stories about growing up in the South, she even taught me a few words of Cherokee, which I was rather proud of.

I would definitely be trying to get my job back next summer.

* * *

The atmosphere in Number 4 the day the Weasleys were to arrive was tense. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and trying to puff himself up and look intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked smaller than normal, shrunken in fear. I couldn't blame him, considering the last time he interacted with a wizard he came away with a pig tail.

The Dursleys had camped out in the living room. Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. To avoid the tension they radiated, Harry and I had taken seats halfway up the stairs, waiting for the Weasleys to arrive.

I leaned my head on Harry's shoulder. "How much longer?" I whined obnoxiously.

"It's five o'clock," Harry assured me, glancing up at the clock that hung on the living room wall. Uncle Vernon seemed to have noticed that it was the time the Weasleys were supposed to arrive as well.

Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.

"They're late!" he snarled at us.

"I know," said Harry. "Maybe - er - the traffic's bad, or something."

Uncle Vernon sat down again with a huff and flourished the paper loudly.

"There's no way they're coming by car," I muttered to Harry. "The Ford Anglia's in the Forbidden Forest."

"Well then how would they get here?" Harry wondered.

"Brooms, maybe?" I suggested.

"Nah, they'd be seen."

In the living room, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were getting steadily more and more annoyed as it crept towards a quarter past.

"No consideration at all."

"We might've had an engagement."

"Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late."

"Well, they most certainly won't be," said Uncle Vernon. He stood up and started pacing the living room. "They'll take the brats and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d -AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!"

Harry and I jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. The next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified.

"What happened?" I demanded. "What's the matter?"

But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen.

"Useless lump," I cursed him and Harry and I clattered down the stairs into the living room.

Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys' boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it.

"Oh Merlin's bollocks!" I cursed when I realized what was going on. "They've Flooed!"

"What is it?" gasped Aunt Petunia, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. "What is it, Vernon?"

Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace.

"Ouch! Fred, no - go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake - tell George not to - OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron-"

"Maybe Harry or Lorena can hear us, Dad - maybe they'll be able to let us out-"

There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire.

"Harry? Lorena, can you hear us?"

The Dursleys rounded on us like a pair of angry wolverines.

"What is this?" growled Uncle Vernon. "What's going on?"

"They – they've tried to get here by Floo powder," said Harry breathlessly, fighting a mad desire to laugh. I bit down on my fist to keep from giggling. It was funny.

"They can travel by fire," I tried to explain. "Only you've blocked the fireplace - hang on-"

I approached the fireplace and banged on the boards once to quiet the Weasleys down enough for them to hear me.

The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney piece said, "Shh!"

"Oi! Fred, George, can you hear me?" I called.

"We can hear you," Mr. Weasley replied. "Lorena, what's going on?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "The fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there."

"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley's voice. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," I said, hoping to distract them before they insulted the Dursleys inadvertently. I didn't particularly care if they _were_ offended, but I knew that Uncle Vernon would start tossing out his own insults if he got his dander up and I didn't really want to witness that. Not that I didn't think it would be hilarious, but I didn't want the Weasleys to have to go through it.

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that...Let's think...Ouch, Ron!"

"What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?" Ron had arrived.

"Oh no, Ron," came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall.

"Boys, boys…" said Mr. Weasley vaguely. He probably knew that trying to wrangle the twins was setting himself up for failure. "I'm trying to think what to do...Yes...only way...Stand back, Lorena."

I retreated to the sofa. Harry joined me. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward.

"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fire. "What exactly are you going to-"

"Back up!" Harry tried to warn half-heartedly, but it was too late.

The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys.

"That's better," panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. "Ah - you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!"

He moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years.

"Er - yes - sorry about that," said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace sheepishly. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see - just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry and Lorena. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

"Bombarda?" I guessed, looking at the debris. Fred nodded as he and George knocked chippings off of themselves. "I'd have gone with a simple Relashio, that should have covered it."

The Dursleys were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon.

"Hello, Potters!" said Mr. Weasley brightly. "Got your trunks ready?"

"They're upstairs," said Harry, grinning back.

"We'll get it," said Fred at once. Winking at me, he and George left the room. They knew where our bedroom was, having once rescued us from it in the dead of night. I suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from Harry and I.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very - erm - very nice place you've got here."

"Oh Merlin," I said faintly.

As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.

Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. I could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.

"They run off eckeltricity, do they?" he said knowledgeably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack.

Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. I could hear the clunk of trunks on the stairs, and guessed that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.

"Ah, this is your cousin, is it?" said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation.

"Yep," said Harry, "that's Dudley."

He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. I was biting my tongue to stop myself from laughing at the Dursleys. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. From the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry was quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought he was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sympathy rather than fear.

"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" he said kindly.

Dudley whimpered and his hands tightened over his massive backside.

Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk and mine. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins. I knew those grins. Those grins had been the warning signs of some of their better pranks. They met my gaze, clearly asking permission to prank on my home turf. I responded with the tiniest nod of my head and their grins widened, eyes glinting with mischief. I settled in to watch the show.

"Ah, right," said Mr. Weasley. "Better get cracking then."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. The Dursleys drew back against the wall as one.

"Incendio!" said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.

Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever.

"Off you go then, Fred," said Mr. Weasley.

"Coming," said Fred. "Oh no - hang on-"

A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. My eyes lit up. Fred and George had been talking about a line of magical joke sweets, perfect for playing jokes on friends or snoops. It seemed they'd reached the testing stage for some of their ideas. I couldn't wait to see what the toffees did. If they worked, I might request a bag to leave on top of my trunk in the Slytherin dorms. That pig Parkinson could use a surprise to start the year off right.

Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire with my trunk, saying "the Burrow!" Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished.

"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley, "you and the other trunk."

Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too.

"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley.

"See you," said Ron brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.

Now Harry and I remained with Mr. Weasley.

"Well...bye then," Harry said to the Dursleys.

They didn't say anything at all. Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement.

"Harry said good-bye to you," he said. "Didn't you hear him?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. "Honestly, I don't care."

"They're glad to be shot of us, I expect," I said, moving to the fireplace and favoring the Dursleys with a dismissive glance. I was pleased to see Dudley fiddling with the paper of a brightly-wrapped sweet from the corner of my eye. No way was I missing this.

"You aren't going to see your nephew or niece till next summer," Mr. Weasley said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. "Surely you're going to say good-bye?"

Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully, "Good-bye, then."

"See you," said Harry, stepping into the fireplace. I joined him, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like a warm bath. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and Aunt Petunia started to scream.

Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, I realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue.

I couldn't help it. I doubled over laughing. Merlin bless those twins!

Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth. Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard.

"Not to worry, I can sort him out!" he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley.

"No, really!" said Mr. Weasley desperately. "It's a simple process. It was the toffee - my son Fred - real practical joker - but it's only an Engorgement Charm - at least, I think it is - please, I can correct it-"

But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic- stricken. Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out. Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue. Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace.

"Now really!" said Mr. Weasley angrily, brandishing his wand. "I'm trying to help!"

Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament.

"Harry, Lorena, go! Just go!" Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. "I'll sort this out!"

"The Burrow!" Harry said, wrapping one arm around my waist to keep my upright for the trip as he used the other to toss the Floo Powder into the flames. I was still wheezing with laughter and I accidentally inhaled some ash as we spun off through the fireplaces.

When I felt us slowing down I got myself together, bracing myself. Harry threw up his hands to keep from toppling out of the fireplace but I went with the motion, letting myself stagger out and towards the twins, who were waiting for news of how their plan had gone with eager grins on their faces.

I wrapped one arm around each of them and pulled them into hugs.

"Marry me," I moaned. They hugged me back, chuckling.

"Which one of us?" they chorused.

"Both of you, I don't even care, that was bloody brilliant!" I praised, dropping a kiss onto each of their cheeks.

"So he ate it?" Fred asked eagerly, pulling away and looking at me for information.

"Oh, he ate it," Harry confirmed as he stepped from the fireplace. "What was that?"

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," said Fred brightly. "George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."

I clutched George's arm eagerly. "A bag of them, I beg of you, I want to mine Puginson's trunk and school bag with them."

"For you, anything," George promised with a wink.

The kitchen was full of laughter. Looking around, I saw Ron seated at the scrubbed wooden table with two redheads I didn't know, but I could guess that they were Bill and Charlie, the only two Weasleys I'd never met.

"How're you doing, Harry?" said the nearer of the two, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook. That had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned. His arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.

Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. He surprised me. He worked at Gringotts and he was Head Boy when he was at school. I had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. That couldn't have been farther from the truth though. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except his boots were made of dragon hide.

Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. I hadn't realized he was capable of getting that angry, but his face was as red as Ron's ears went when he was mad.

"That wasn't funny Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't _give_ him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it...It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

As a Slytherin, I appreciated the distinction. Mr. Weasley, however, most decidedly did not.

"You dropped it on purpose!" he roared. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet-"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

The Potters and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.

"It isn't funny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons-"

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" said Fred indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. He turned to me. "Isn't he, Rena?"

The twins had earned the right to call me Rena my second year, when they went on a pranking spree against anyone who spoke out against Harry and I for being Parseltongues. Me, in particular, seeing as no one had had any idea that I was one too until I stood up on the Slytherin table one day at breakfast and hissed curses at them, telling them to lay off my brother.

"Git is too nice of a word," I backed them up.

"That's not the point!" raged Mr. Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother-"

"Tell me what?" said a voice behind them.

Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. "Oh hello Harry, Lorena dear," she said, spotting us and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley hesitated. However angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then Ginny and Hermione appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. Both of them smiled at Harry and I. We grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet - she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow. Quite frankly, it was adorable, and I was completely on board with Harry dating her.

"Tell me what, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr. Weasley, "Fred and George just - but I've had words with them-"

"What have they done this time?" said Mrs. Weasley in exasperation. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes-"

"Why don't we show Harry and Lorena where they're sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione from the doorway.

"They know where they're sleeping," said Ron, "in my room and Ginny's, just like last-"

"We can all go," said Hermione pointedly.

"Oh," said Ron, cottoning on. I rolled my eyes. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come too," said George.

"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs. Weasley. She might as well have put the twins in a Full Body-Bind, they froze so quickly. Harry and I edged out of the kitchen with Ron, and the lot of us set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry asked as we climbed.

Ron and Ginny both laughed, although Hermione didn't.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," said Ron quietly. "Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that..."

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things," said Ginny, sounding impressed. "We thought they just liked the noise."

"Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous," admitted Ron, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms...She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected."

"Brilliant," I whispered. "I'll take two of everything, I've got to tell them…"

Hermione gave me a stern look, which I ignored, too busy caught up imagining the torture I could inflict on people like Parkinson, Malfoy, Bulstrode, Montague, that Ravenclaw git who'd hexed Lily in the hall last year… The list went on and on really. My shit list was extensive, which probably said something not-very-nice about me.

"And then there was this big row," Ginny continued, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop."

A door on the second landing opened, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.

"Hi, Percy," said Harry.

"Oh hello, Harry, Lorena," greeted Percy. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"And if we see anyone thundering we will definitely tell them off for you," I said saccharinely. "Wouldn't want you disturbed."

"What are you working on?" asked Harry. I could have smacked him. Now we'd have to listen to Percy more, and he was undoubtedly my least favorite Weasley.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year-"

"That'll change the world, that report will," said Ron sarcastically. "Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks."

"Or people can just learn how to brew potions correctly so that they don't eat into the bottom of a cauldron." I scoffed. "So long as people clean their cauldrons out right after brewing, nothing should happen."

Percy went slightly pink. "You might sneer, Ron," he said heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger-"

I noticed Percy didn't say anything against me. I didn't blame him. His last year at Hogwarts he'd caught me out and about after hours and gave me a detention with Filch and docked Slytherin points. The next day he'd spent staggering around drunkenly, not realizing his glasses had been dipped in a potion consisting mostly of Firewhiskey that he was slowly absorbing through his skin.

The world really should fear my evil genius.

"Yeah, yeah, all right," said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.

The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry and I had come to stay, except now Scabbers had been replaced by the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.

"Shut up, Pig," said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

"Thankfully, we've only got three in our room," Ginny said to me. "Mum about went spare trying to fit everyone in."

"Why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked Ron.

"Because he's being stupid," Ginny chimed in. "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."

"It is sweet, right?" Ginny demanded of me. I saw Hermione frantically nodding at me from behind Ginny, but I didn't need her help. I may be a year older than Ginny and one of the best duelers in our year, but I had quite a bit of respect for Ginny and her jinxes. That was why she'd never woken up and found that her shampoo dyed her hair purple.

"Really unique," I approved. Hermione sighed in relief and Ginny seemed appeased.

"Where's Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling. I dropped down next to him on my stomach and stretched out with a yawn. I'd been too excited to sleep much last night.

"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. 'According to Mr. Crouch...' 'As I was saying to Mr. Crouch…' 'Mr. Crouch is of the opinion...' 'Mr. Crouch was telling me...' They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

"Sounds about like Percy," I agreed.

"Have you had a good summer, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Did you get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot. They saved my life, those cakes," Harry gushed. I scowled and flicked him in the arm.

"Last time I take you out for ice cream, ungrateful prat," I grumbled.

"That's right, you got a job!" Hermione said, looking pleased. "How's that going?"

"Great," I said honestly. "My boss, Amity Raincrow, is great. Didn't even mind about me running off. Granted, she's a sharp lady, she figured out pretty quickly I didn't want to be around the Dursleys and why. 'Course, they've been better since we told them that the 'escaped mass-murderer Sirius Black' they'd been seeing on the television was our godfather," I said with a smirk.

"Have you heard from-?" Ron began, but a look from Hermione shut him up, and for good reason. Ginny had no idea that we were part of the reason Sirius was a free man, or that he was in contact with us. She didn't even know he was innocent.

"I think they've stopped arguing," said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," said Ron. We left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she said when we came in. "There's just not room for twelve people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.

"Oh for heaven's sake," she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. "Those two!" she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard. "I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can..."

Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.

"It's not as though they haven't got brains," she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, "but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.

"I don't know where we went wrong with them," said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. "It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to - OH NOT AGAIN!"

She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.

"One of their fake wands again!" she shouted. "How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?"

She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.

"Run for it," Ginny advised, grabbing the plates and distributing them to Hermione and I to carry. We abandoned Harry and Ron to Mrs. Weasley's rant as we escaped out the back.

A very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as we entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny and I dissolved into laughter, and Hermione was hovered near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.

Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and we all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?!" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I were settling ourselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky.

I listened more than talked for the first part of dinner. I'd seated myself between the twins, with Harry on Fred's other side. They were listing off some of the products they'd come up with and what they did. I was listening intently and nodding as I stuffed my face with chicken and mashed potatoes, already planning on being the first in line to order.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman -"

"I like Ludo," said Mr. Weasley mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh Bagman's likable enough, of course," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department...when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried..."

"Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right," Percy agreed dismissively. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth...but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However-" Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine "-we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were sitting with Ginny and the twins. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one.'

Fred rolled his eyes. "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons." I snorted into my gravy.

"Best thing to do is not ask."

"Agreed," George and Fred chorused. We clinked forks in agreement and tucked into our food.

In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.

"...with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," Bill explained patiently.

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..."

"I like it," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's..."

Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

"It's got to be Ireland," said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."

"Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though," Fred countered.

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," Charlie said shortly. "I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" said Harry eagerly. I leaned in to listen too. To be honest, I hadn't even known who was playing in the World Cup. All I knew was that I wanted to go. I was nowhere near as obsessed with Quidditch as the guys were, but I was still interested and I loved the sport.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," recalled Charlie gloomily. "Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg."

I was incredulous. "How do you lose to Luxembourg? Do they even have enough people for a team?"

Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before we had our homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time we had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as I lay on a bench with my head on Harry's lap and my feet on Ron's, who hadn't so much as blinked when I laid down on him. Came from having siblings of his own, I guessed, although I hadn't ever seen any of the Weasley siblings be quite as tactile as Harry and I tended to be.

Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly, "So - have you heard from Sirius lately?"

Hermione looked around, listening closely.

"Yeah," said Harry softly, "twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here."

I snickered slightly. "He's the reason we got to come. The Dursleys have been terrified this summer, convinced that the moment they tick us off we'll summon our own personal hitman to murder them."

"Look at the time," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Twins, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time."

"Wow - hope it does this time!" said Harry enthusiastically.

"Well, I certainly don't," said Percy sanctimoniously. "I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days."

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" retorted Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"

"It was," Fred whispered to Harry and I as we got up and headed in to bed. "We sent it."


	22. World Cup

**This is a little earlier than I'll normally update but I've been obsessed with Lorena lately and I've been writing her like mad, so I can be a little generous with the updates. Also, I want to use this chapter to announce that the story containing random scenes from Lorena's second and third years has officially begun! It's called To Be a Student, which narrowly won the poll, with the first chapter being the Shrieking Shack scene. We're starting to really get into the fourth year now and I'm getting really excited!**

* * *

Ginny, Hermione, and I had made the grave mistake of staying up talking about nothing, exchanging gossip from across our years and houses. As a result, we hadn't decided to settle down and actually sleep until something like three in the morning. It was only Hermione reminding us that we had to be up in two hours – which sounded horrifying – that actually got us to go to sleep.

The three of us staggered around the room like zombies. I saw Hermione at one point walk over to a wall, blink wearily, then turn around and head to her trunk.

I wasn't doing much better, but at least I was slightly more used to functioning on little sleep, thanks to my nighttime wandering. I managed to pack a rucksack with clothes and toiletries for the match, sliding my photo album of my parents into it along with the book I was currently reading, the one Tracey had sent.

With a yawn, I dragged a pair of jeans out of my trunk and tugged them on before remembering that I had yet to take off the shorts I was sleeping in. It was about ten minutes later that I actually managed to properly dress myself in a tank top and hooded sweatshirt.

"Come on girls, hurry up!" Mrs. Weasley chided, poking her head into the door. Ginny stooped under her arm and hustled back in from brushing her teeth. Hermione was struggling with her sweater and I was mid-way through attacking my hair.

At Mrs. Weasley's appearance I gave up and whacked it up into a messy ponytail, which was easier anyway. I slicked some concealer over the bags under my eyes, which made me look marginally less dead, and added some mascara and lipstick to give me some color.

Satisfied that I didn't look like an extra from a zombie flick, I picked up my knapsack, thrust my wand up my sleeve, and headed downstairs with Hermione and Ginny on my heels. The three of us entered the kitchen to find Harry, Ron, and the twins already up and sitting at the table with Mr. Weasley.

"Coffee," I begged Mrs. Weasley pitifully. She took pity on me and fixed me a cup, which I took eagerly and downed in three gulps, much to my twin's horror. Harry absolutely hated coffee. So did I, come to it, but the terrible taste and the caffeine were both powerful forces to perk me up, and after I'd drained my mug, I was able to process the conversation going on around me.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" Harry repeated. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley laughed. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup..."

"George!" snapped Mrs. Weasley, and we all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket. He made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" Mrs. Weasley fumed, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

I was right next to Fred. Subtly, I snapped my fingers to get his attention and offered my palm. Fred smothered a grin and began trying to subtly pass me as many of the toffees as he could while also ashamedly passing a handful to his mom.

Mrs. Wealsey wasn't stupid though. "Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans. I was glad she hadn't noticed Fred passing them to me.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as we left. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs. Weasley, "and _behave yourselves_ ," she called after the twins. They did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as we all set off.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer.

"Who do you love?" I sung, catching up with the twins.

"You," Fred said earnestly. George looked at him blankly.

"Eh? Why do we love Rena?"

I looked at him, offended. "Why wouldn't you?" I sniffed, and slid my hands into my pockets. I pulled them out, fists clenched around handfuls of toffees, and thrust my hands into the twins pockets. I glanced back to see if Mr. Weasley had noticed, but he was busy explaining all about the transport to the World Cup to my brother. I mentally thanked him for being an unknowing distraction and pulled my hands out from the twins' pockets.

"I was enjoying that," George pouted. I swatted his shoulder and laughed.

"Pervert!"

"Only for you," Fred said, grabbing me around the waist and tugging me to his side. I did the same to George and we walked along in a line of three, huddled together. I was grateful for it, too, as the morning was chilly and my hands were freezing. When I lost feeling in my fingers I decided to take action.

I shamelessly held up my hands and sobbed dramatically. "My hands! So cold, I think they may fall off!"

Laughing, the twins both took one of my hands between theirs and rubbed, trying to warm me up.

"Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite Weasleys," I said gratefully as the feeling returned to my fingers.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater as we arrived at the top of the hill. "Well, we've made good time – we've got ten minutes."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. I felt a bit sorry for her. The walk hadn't been too bad for me, given that I'd gotten used to walking several miles to work and back every day this summer. Once again I was glad for the job.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big...Come on..."

We spread out, searching. Or rather, the others spread out. I sort of swayed after the twins, their hands still holding mine for warmth.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it."

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," introduced Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at us all.

Fred and George merely nodded while everyone else said hi. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the previous year. I stayed silent too, as much for my image as anything. It also gave me free reign to observe Cedric from head to toe. He was three years older than me and a Hufflepuff, but that didn't mean I couldn't stare. It was like going to an art museum. You were never going to own any of the paintings on the wall, but you could still say they were pretty.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still...not complaining...Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend-"

"Oi, Weasleys don't corner the market on redheads," I said pointedly, tossing my own red hair pointedly. Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Ah right. Sorry Lorena."

"Merlin's beard," exclaimed Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Er - yeah," confirmed Harry, shifting uncomfortably. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. I was here too, but of course no one was pleased to meet me. No, I was just the other Potter, the spare, and no one wanted the spare when they had the real deal in front of them.

It was something I'd gotten more used to over the years. Especially since at school people were equally aware of both of us. It had taken a lot of work though. Throughout the year I kept myself fresh on people's minds with my pranks and antics. Of course, then at the end of the year Harry would swoop in and rescue a herd of unicorns from acromantulas or something and he'd be first on everyone's mind again.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," continued Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year...I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will...You beat Harry Potter!"

Harry stayed in uncomfortable silence. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered modestly. "I told you...it was an accident..."

Normally modesty was something I found incredibly ridiculous – there was zero harm in being proud of what you'd accomplished – but in this case I appreciated it from Cedric. That game had cost Harry a lot. It had destroyed his beloved Nimbus 2000 and landed him in the Hospital Wing far earlier than normal. It was that game that got him started trying to learn how to cast a Patronus, and I joined him. I had no desire to hear what I heard when dementors came around, even if it wasn't my mother's screams.

" _You are no danger to me. So the question becomes… what is your fate? Your father had to die, he was in my way. Your mother… she chose her death. And your brother, he will go. But you pose no danger. Should I kill you as well?"_

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos proudly, slapping his son on his back. The noise jerked me out of my thoughts, which I was glad for. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman...but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"If we're going for the best," I said with a smirk, "I seem to recall Slytherin absolutely _creaming_ Hufflepuff last year, don't I?" I said innocently. Cedric looked up at me and I resisted the urge to fan myself. His father opened his mouth again and Mr. Weasley cut him off.

"Must be nearly time," announced Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again and diffusing the situation. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley agreed. "Yes, it's a minute off...We'd better get ready..." He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and I. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do-"

I split off from the twins, spinning to face them and walking backwards. Fred and George looked at me, offended.

"Sorry boys," I sang, and shamelessly took a spot beside Cedric, who looked at me in surprise. I took a moment to bask in his attention before saying, "That was decent of you, sticking up for my idiot twin."

I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for the commotion of everyone shuffling and trying to get at the boot covering my voice. I wasn't one for public thanks… or private thanks, for that matter, but Cedric had stood up to his own dad for Harry, so I figured he deserved it.

He looked a little surprised that I'd said anything, probably because I was a Slytherin and we weren't known for warm fuzzies like Hufflepuff was. But he smiled and nodded and I had to catch my breath. Merlin help me, this boy was not good for my health.

We stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now...ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...

"Three..." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two...one..."

I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground and I could feel Cedric and Ginny on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine. We were speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color. My fingers were stuck to the boot as though they'd been glued there.

My feet slammed into the ground. Ginny staggered into me before catching herself on Hermione and I fell over. The Portkey hit the ground near my head with a heavy thud, though I had landed much softer. What was that abou-?

"Ah, hello," I grunted, realizing I'd taken Cedric down with me when Ginny hit me. He had sort of crumpled, but managed to catch my head on his lap. I quickly sat up, fighting the urge to blush and knowing it would clash badly with my hair. I busied myself with adjusting the zipper on my sweatshirt and checking my wand was okay as Cedric picked himself up.

"You okay?" he asked me, looking genuinely concerned. If I'd needed any proof he was Hufflepuff through and through, that was it. Someone from my house would have said it mockingly, but he actually seemed worried.

"First time's always the worst," Cedric assured me. "It gets easier."

"Think I'll stick to brooms in the future," I complained, yanking down my wrecked ponytail and letting my hair do whatever the hell it wanted. I was past caring. "Oh, and uh… thanks," I muttered absently, trying to play it off.

"No problem," Cedric assured me. "That would have been a nasty spill otherwise."

"Yeah, well, I'll trip Ginny later or something for payback," I said with a shrug.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.

We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly. The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Oh hell, wizards can never quite manage it," I muttered, slapping a palm to my forehead. Harry looked at me sideways, biting back a laugh.

"Morning, Basil," greeted Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some...We've been here all night...You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. It reminded me vaguely of a slum.

"See you around, yeah?" Cedric said as he headed off after his father. I looked up at him in surprise, frowning slightly. I hadn't expected him to bother.

"Maybe," I replied slowly, not quite sure how to respond. Cedric waved to us as he left.

A man was standing in the doorway of the cottage, looking out at the tents. He was the first person I'd seen here that looked like a real Muggle, so I guessed he was one. He turned to look at us when he heard us coming.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," the man nodded. "And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," Mr. Roberts repeated, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts asked.

"Ah - right – certainly-" fumbled Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. I saw him holding out a roll of Muggle money and flipping through the notes in confusion.

"You foreign?" asked Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," explained Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" laughed Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. "Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said for a third time. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" asked Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door. "Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts. Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied us toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted. His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," recalled Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading us through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit...well...lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary. Their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that it was obvious why Mr. Roberts needed hourly memory modification.

Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," announced Mr. Weasley, smiling fondly. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field. There was an empty space with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult...Muggles do it all the time...Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry and I had never been camping in our lives. For one, the Dursleys would have left us with Mrs. Figg rather than take us somewhere we might have fun, and for two, the Dursleys would never take themselves camping. It would mean limited food and amenities. On top of that, I didn't think they made sleeping bags big enough to accommodate people like Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

However, after a long look at the instructions, we worked out with Hermione where most of the poles and pegs should go. Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet. But in the end we managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of us stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards. Of course, no one would ever guess that they were intended for a party of our size either, because there was no way all of us were going to fit inside.

Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent, undaunted.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

I bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt my jaw drop. I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.

I heard Harry come in behind me and whisper, "I love magic."

I turned back to him and smiled, taking his hand. He smiled back and we stared at the tent. It sometimes took me aback, thinking about magic and how it was a reality for me that most people would never experience.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

We girls decided it was time to check out our tent and left the boys alone. Ours turned out to be laid out basically the same, but with smaller proportions and without the smell of cats, which I was pleased with. I immediately swung my rucksack up onto a top bunk and called, "Dibs!"

"I'll take the bottom," Hermione said, placing her bag on the bed under mine without complaint. I climbed up and spread out. I liked being high and in the corner. We ladies settled in and then took a tour around the campground. We saw a few people from Hogwarts and their families. I meant the infamous Loony Lovegood, who was in Ginny's year.

As the night wore on and the salesman came out, we also made a few purchases. I bought a pair of green gloves to spare my hands the cold wind again and an Irish scarf, as well as a pair of Omnioculars. When I found out Fred and George had spent all of their money betting, I bought each of them pairs too and handed them over as we headed to the stadium.

"You didn't have to," Fred protested, although he looked pleased with the gift.

"We made the bets, we knew what we were doing," George agreed.

"Consider this payment for financial advice," I said with a snort. "Seriously, thanks for the help this summer."

Fred and George drew themselves up, fluffing imaginary suit collars.

"Yes, that's us," they chorused.

"Weasley-"

"-and Weasley."

"Financial managers!" the finished together, and I laughed, draping my arms over their shoulders with a grin.

"Well, maybe if the joke shop doesn't work out-"

Fred gasped. "Bite your tongue!" he said sharply.

"Don't even speak such evil words," George said, looking wounded.

"I have faith in you boys," I assured them. I glanced to the side and saw that we'd passed the height of the goal hoops on our way to our seats. "Sweet Salazar, how much further?" I whined.

"Here, I'll pay you back for the Omnioculars," George said, stepping in front of me as we reached a landing and crouching slightly. Grinning, I clambered up onto his back and clung on. It was one advantage to being skinny – people had less problem carting my lazy butt around.

"Tally ho!" I called, pointing forwards. Fred and George hustled to catch up to the others, all of whom laughed when they saw us.

"Seriously?" Harry asked around his laughter. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You're just jealous no one loves you enough to carry you up the stairs."

"Or maybe I'm just not lazy and I can walk up on my own," Harry countered.

"There's a difference between laziness and brains. I was smart enough to figure out a way up, and now I don't have to!" I pointed out.

"Oi, I did offer," George reminded me.

"That you did," I grinned, patting his head fondly and mussing his hair. "Thank you Georgie."

"Really though," Ron called out. "How far up are we, dad?"

"Well, put it this way." I froze. I knew that voice. I hated that voice. That was the voice of a pureblooded bastard. "If it rains, you'll be the first to know."

I slid off of George's back and went to the rail, glancing down. One level below us, I could see Lucius Malfoy and Draco staring up at us, dressed in their finest robes. I wondered vaguely if that gigantic silk palace with the peacocks was theirs, it would certainly suit them. Who dresses up for camping? Then again, I wouldn't put it past them to have just Apparated to the field for the game and fully intended to go back to their manor to sleep.

"Merlin's balls," I cursed. "Malfoy, sod off, your face is going to put me off the game."

Our rivalry had reached an all-time high in the past few years. What had been a tense civility our first year dissolved into all-out war during our second and third. Chess games were a thing of the past. In fact, the only time we even approached civility these days was during Quidditch, which was more out of necessity than anything else. Also, Malfoy was more tolerable when I could shoot off after a snappy comment before he could respond.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow taunting me. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Potter. Father and I are in the minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!"

"Don't boast, Draco!" Lucius Malfoy's cane snapped back, the tip driving into Draco's stomach. I narrowed my eyes. Malfoy or not, parents should not act like that towards their kids, and maybe it was my abusive childhood, but it almost made me feel sorry for Malfoy. It certainly made me hate his father more, and I hadn't thought that was possible.

"There's no need with these people," Lucius added with a dismissive sneer in the direction of the Weasleys.

Harry quickly pushed Hermione on up the stairs, placing a hand on the rail and trying to hustle everyone along before Lucy dear made another comment. I was proud of him for the attempt, but I doubted it would work.

The head of the cane smacked into the rail by Harry's hand with enough force to knock loose a chip of wood. I narrowed my eyes as Harry whipped his hand back, staring down in surprise.

"Do enjoy yourself, won't you?" Lucius drawled. "While you can."

I snapped my hand out, pinning the snake head decoration on the top of the cane to the wood pointedly and drawing Lucius Malfoy's attention to me. With my free hand, I waved behind my back to Harry to keep hustling the Weasleys on.

"I would be careful how much you wave that around," I said dangerously, narrowing my eyes. Lucius tugged experimentally at the end of the cane, but all that succeeded in doing was pulling the covering away from the wand slightly. I smiled. That confirmed that you didn't need to be a Malfoy to pull the wand free of the cane, which I hadn't been sure about. "Particularly when I can just go like this."

Lucius snarled as I pulled the wand free of the cane and held it up tauntingly.

"I mean really," I continued. "Just asking for trouble that way."

I tossed the wand back down. I wasn't actually dumb enough to try and keep the thing, nor would I want to. It was an ugly wand and holding it just for that short amount of time had made me feel ill at the thought of all of the bloodshed it had dealt.

Lucius shoved the wand back into his cane, looking up at me dangerously. "I would be very careful, Potter. You wouldn't want to end up like your parents, would you?"

I narrowed my eyes and leaned forwards, crossing my arms on the rail and cocking my hip. "I'd say the same, but you've already managed to screw your son up royally. He's really beyond hope."

"Piss off, Potter," Malfoy snapped as his father strode off with one last poisonous glare in my direction. I couldn't resist calling after him.

"Oi, Dragon-breath, twenty Galleons on Ireland!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're on, Potter," he sneered.

Nodding in satisfaction I darted up the stairs, diving and weaving around other people to catch up with the Weasleys. I found them in the commentator's box, already seated.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Weasley rebuked when he saw me sliding into the seat that had been left for me between Harry and Fred. "Lorena, taunting the Malfoys."

"I know, I know, habit," I mumbled. "It was stupid."

And it was stupid. The Malfoys were no joke. However, I had never been nearly as scared as many other people seemed to be of them. Maybe it was because I had always had bigger concerns – like petrification, a mass-murdering godfather, or the return of an evil serial killer who wanted my brother's head on a pike – but I just didn't have the time or energy to spend sniveling around kissing Malfoy's arse.

"What did you do?" Harry asked quietly as I sat down.

"Stole his wand," I said, unable to retrain a huge grin as Fred looked both impressed and horrified. Harry mostly just looked horrified. "Big drawback to that cane of his, really, I think I did him a good deed, pointing it out. Maybe he'll be more careful waving it around like that."

"You're mad," Harry breathed.

"You're wonderful," Fred beamed. "Seriously, I would have paid good Galleons to see that."

"I also made a bet with dragon dick that Ireland wins," I added to Harry. "Far less dangerous but just as satisfying when he has to hand over the money."

"I still think you're crazy."

"That was never in question, brother dear," I said, settling back into my seat.

That was the last time I was in my seat all night though. At that moment, the game began.

The Bulgarian National Mascots took the field. I squinted and tugged out my Omnioculars, trying to figure out what they were and what had Mr. Weasley reaching for his glasses all of a sudden.

"Veela," I heard Fred breathe. "Holy shite."

I rolled my eyes and lowered my Omnioculars. The blonde-haired bimbos were of no matter to me, but they were certainly causing a stir among the men. I looked to the side and saw Harry's jaw was slack and his face had gone bright red. Looking past him, I saw Ginny scowling slightly at the look on his face and Hermione rolling her eyes.

"Oi, idiot, close your mouth," I ordered, smacking the back of Harry's head to get his attention. He jerked, closing his mouth and swallowing thickly.

"Eh, what?" he asked dreamily. I shook my head.

"Hopeless, the whole male species," I moaned aloud.

Thankfully, the Irish mascots took the field then. Unsurprisingly they'd brought leprechauns, who formed displays of rainbows and a giant version of a leprechaun in the air before flying in a stream around the stands showering gold on the crowd. All around me I saw people diving for it and resisted the urge to laugh. Leprechaun gold didn't last, and it would be gone in a few hours. Probably before the game ended, in all honesty.

The mascots settled don't to watch the game on opposite ends of the field. Players in red and black shot out and the Bulgarians made their debut, Bagman calling out their names as they came. One player split off, and it was easy to tell as the stadium immediately began chanting his name.

" _Krum! Krum! Krum!"_

I was starting to get what all the fuss was about. He pulled risky maneuvers and did dips and twirls I'd never seen another Seeker pull of before. A glance to the side showed Harry with his mouth hanging open in awe again – at this rate he was going to end up eating bugs. Laughing I reached over and cupped his chin, lifting it. Harry looked at me and grinned. I grinned back, the energy in the air infectious, and then turned back to the field.

Figures in green shot onto the field, all of them riding on a Firebolt. Bagman called their names as well. I cheered wildly, now much more invested in them winning since I'd put money on them. The referee took the field, the balls were released, and the game began.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as I had never seen it played before. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. We Slytherins rode some of the faster brooms on the market and we were all decent players, but we would have looked like snails playing next to the Irish team.

They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. Within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves, twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks, dodge the Keeper, Ryan, and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. After a few seconds, the veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. I followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was -

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione.

At the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

It was a brilliant but dangerous maneuver, one I could definitely see Harry try to pull. The sad part was, I could completely see it working on Malfoy, too, which was possibly why we tended not to win against Gryffindor.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa, the referee, blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything I had seen so far.

Clearly they were angry that Krum had managed to get their Seeker to plow himself, because after fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. It was hard to follow, but elbows were definitely involved. A scream of rage went up from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast said that he'd seen it too.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

I doubled over laughing. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself and started shouting at the veela, who stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before...Oh this could turn nasty..."

It did.

The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE," which definitely didn't help. Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments. He was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms...yes...there they go...and Troy takes the Quaffle..."

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through the Omnioculars, I saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. Their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success. Meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. The Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately. Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov-

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd. Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and I couldn't blame him. One of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Ron was complaining about the lack of a call. "Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him-"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.

The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and this was the real thing...

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on. But Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, I had no idea. There were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry and I.

For the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly.

I agreed. "The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all…"

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."

It was hard to see what was happening below, even when I had my Omnioculars to my eyes, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field. I could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected. A short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides. The veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

I grinned. I was glad that the team I was supporting had won, of course, and I thought Krum had pulled off a spectacular catch there at the end. But mostly I was anticipating the look on Malfoy's face when he had to hand over my twenty Galleons.


	23. New Year

**IMPORTANT: I have news. Something had happened to me, guys. I have become obsessed. I sat down last Wednesday and started writing for Lorena. I had 24 chapters of this story written. Today, I am working on chapter 35. Each one is 6,000-7,000+ words in length. I've written past the Yule Ball already and am about halfway to the second task. I can't stop. Send help. Writers anonymous? Hello, my name is Morgana Deryn and I can't stop writing.**

* * *

By the time we got back to the tent, even Hermione was dancing along with the rest of us. We all poured into the guy's tent because it would fit all of us to relive our favorite moments of the match. Harry, as a Seeker, was on his heels from the Wronski Feint Krum had pulled, but I was more impressed with the Irish Chasers. One day I hoped I'd be able to play even half as well as they could.

"There's no one like Krum!" Ron cried dramatically, leaping into a chair with a blanket draped around his shoulder. "It's like a bird the way he rides the wind. He's more than an athlete, he's an artist!"

"I think you're in love, Ron," Ginny cooed, patting Ron's leg as she passed by to refill her glass of butterbeer.

"Victor I love you, Victor I do!" Freed began singing. Harry, George and I joined in shamelessly, lifting our glasses aloft. "When apart my heart beats only for you!"

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on!" Fred said as the noise outside reached a new peak and there were several loud bangs from spells. It wasn't surprising, since the match had ended people had been sending off bursts of green sparks several times a minute.

George threw himself at Ron, tussling for the blanket while at the same time trying to ruffle Ron's hair.

"Stop, stop it!" Mr. Weasley tore into the tent, prying George and Ron apart. At first I laughed, thinking he was just parenting, but then I saw his face – pale and sweaty, eyes wide with terror.

"What's wrong?" I said, standing up sharply.

"It's not the Irish," Mr. Weasley said grimly, and herded us out of the tent.

By the light of the few fires left burning, I could see people running and screaming as they headed for the woods, mothers hauling along small children and fathers with their wands out, looking behind them fearfully. Tents were on fire and spells lit the night sky all over, colors and noises coming together with smoke to make the world outside like some kind of dizzying nightmare.

Dimly I could see figures in long robes with pointed hoods, skeletal masks covering their faces. They marched in a line, wands raised, and fired of curses and jinxes into the crowd.

"Everyone, get back to the Portkey!" Mr. Weasley yelled. "Fred, George, Ginny is your responsibility."

"Keep up!" Fred yelled as he grabbed Ginny's hand and dragged her along. I whipped around, looking for Harry, trying to grab onto him. I dimly saw him get pushed aside by a woman desperately trying to get through the crowd with her sobbing toddler in her arms. He staggered and ended up caught in a flow of people peeling off when a purple spell cut through the crowd.

"Harry!" I screamed in horror. "Harry!"

"Rena, no!" I heard George shout behind me, but I was already tearing off, shoving people behind me carelessly as I tried to catch up with Harry. In the smoke and the crush it was hard to see him. I caught a glimpse of black hair and the glint of glasses and fought my way in that direction. Turning frantically, I tried to find a sign of him, but he was gone.

Someone staggered into my back. I went flying, barely managing to catch myself before I smashed my face into the tree. Desperate for a moment of clear air and a better way to find my brother I stepped deeper into the trees, trying to get away from the press and find a better line of sight.

"Potter?"

I whipped around, fist flying out. The person who'd snuck up behind me jerked back to avoid getting hit in the nose and grabbed my wrist, still half in the shadows.

"Get off me!" I shrieked, thrashing wildly and trying to punch the person again with my free hand. The person cursed and grabbed my other hand, pinning my wrists together in their own larger grip and tugging me closer.

"Merlin, Potter, it's me, stop fighting!"

I was panting and sweaty as I recognized the voice. Looking up I saw a pointed chin, grey eyes, and platinum hair. "M… Malfoy?" I gasped in surprise. "What-?"

"What do you mean, 'what' Potter, I'm doing the same thing you are, I'm hiding," Malfoy said shortly.

I drew myself up, giving him my best withering glare. "I'm not hiding! I'm not a coward like you, Malfoy, I'm looking for Harry!"

I whipped around, yanking my hands from his grip, and started to rejoin the crowd and look for my brother.

"Potter, are you mad?" Arms clamped around me, pulling me back against Malfoy's chest as he dragged me further back into the trees.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" I protested, jerking and trying to get free. "I have to find Harry! I have to-"

Malfoy shifted his grip and jerked me around so that I was facing him. I went still, glaring at him. Devil's Snare take him, he was stronger than me and struggling wasn't doing anything but wearing me out.

"Do you have any idea what's going on out there?" Malfoy demanded, staring down at me incredulously.

"Yeah, some freaks in skull masks decided to start a riot," I said shortly. Malfoy shook his head like he couldn't believe me.

"Potter don't you… don't you know who they are?"

"The only thing I know is how much I want to break your stupid nose!" I shouted in his face. "Let me go find Harry!" I thrashed once again.

"Potter, stop, just listen!" His grip shifted until his hands were resting on my shoulders, freezing me in place. His eyes met mine, burning with intensity. "Potter, those wizards out there, those are Death Eaters!"

I froze. I would have to be stupid not to know who they were. Death Eaters, while they weren't an open topic of conversation, were whispered about in the Slytherin Common Room some times. They were the followers of Voldemort, his loyal servants. And…

"Harry," I whispered. "Harry doesn't know, if they find him-"

Again I tried to rip away and again Malfoy kept me close.

"Forget him!" Malfoy hissed harshly. "Think about yourself, Potter! If they find you, they'll kill you. At the very least, they'll keep your brother alive."

"He's my _brother_ ," I growled back, offended by the very idea. "I have to go find him!"

"Potter… Potter!" He grappled for a moment, me trying to get away, him trying to hold me in the relative safety of the woods. I raised my knee, ruthlessly going for his crotch. Malfoy quickly twisted out of the way. "Merlin, Potter, for once in your life stop chasing your brother's coattails and think of yourself!"

I froze. Malfoy slowly took his hands off of me, looking at me suspiciously, as if he was waiting for me to make a run for it. "Is that really what you think I do?" I asked quietly. "Chase Harry's coattails?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and let out a groan. "Well it's obvious, isn't it? You never had to go down to the Chamber of Secrets our second year or go after Black our third, but you hustled along after Potter, trying to make a name for yourself, and all it ever gets you is landed in the Hospital Wing."

This time I grabbed Malfoy, seizing him by the collar of his suit and dragging him down a couple of inches so that I could snarl in his face, "Listen here, Malfoy, I know this may be a foreign concept to you, but that's not why I did those things. Every time, every single damn time I went after Harry I was trying to protect him, trying to keep him alive. It may seem strange to you, but I actually care about people, and they care about me, without a name or a manor or a vault full of Galleons driving them. I went after Harry because he is the single most important person in my life and because I love him. Do. You. Understand?" I finished venomously, tossing Malfoy back.

He staggered but caught himself against the tree, staring at me. For a moment, something about the widened, startled quality of them, I thought I saw something vulnerable in his eyes, something interesting. But then it was shuttered as Malfoy slowly straightened up, adjusting his collar so that I lay flat again.

"Potter, I know I'm bloody good looking, but don't get close to me like that," he drawled. "It's disgusting."

I gaped at him for a moment, unable to believe him. With an infuriated screech, I threw up my hands and spun on the spot, stalking towards the edge of the forest. I was done wasting time on Malfoy, I had to find Harry before something happened.

"Potter, come back!"

Malfoy scrambled after me, pausing at the edge of the trees and looking around in fear. I almost felt bad for him, he didn't have the protective urge thundering through his veins and fighting down fear like I did. The Death Eaters had passed, leaving the air buzzing with magic and smoke in their wake.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Malfoy hissed at me. "Get back here!"

"No way," I said shortly, and started walking. I was surprised when I heard heavy footsteps rush after me and Malfoy appeared at my side. I stared at him incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "My plan if we run into any Death Eaters is to toss you to them and hope they're too busy torturing you to bother with me."

"My hero," I said sarcastically, raising my wand aloft and keeping it ready in case any of the Death Eaters did decide to double back. I had no doubt Malfoy would do just that if we ran into any of them and vowed that, in case he cost me my life tonight, I'd come back and haunt his arse.

"What, just because we all don't have a disturbingly Gryffindor streak of recklessness…"

"Bravery," I corrected absently.

"Call it whatever you like, it's still idiocy."

I glared at him from under my lashes. "Why are you following me? By all means, go off and find a hole to crawl into, you spineless worm."

"Harpy."

"Albino."

"Fire hazard."

"Inbred bastard."

"Dirty-blooded-"

"Harry!" I shouted, eyes fixed on a shot of green light that had just pierced the sky in the distance. I had a funny feeling that's where the trouble was, and that meant that's also where Harry was. It was like a guarantee.

"Oi, now that's too far!" Malfoy said hotly.

"No, not you," I snapped irritably, and took off running.

"Not that way you idiot, that's the Dark Mark!" I heard Malfoy shout after me, but he didn't follow this time.

I kept running, leaping over burned-out fire pits and collapsed tents, eyes fixed on the green light in the sky. It had twisted, becoming a skull with a snake rising from its mouth like a tongue. I shuddered at the sight of it – had that very mark blazed over our house the night my parents died?

 _"Harry!"_

 _"STUPEFY!"_

Jets of red light shot from all directions, several of them slicing through the trees near me. I yelped and dropped, covering my head with my hands.

 _"Stop!"_ shouted a familiar voice. "That's my _son!"_

"Mr. Weasley?"

I leapt to my feet and shot into the clearing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were cowering directly under the Dark Mark, surrounded by wizards with their wand leveled at them while Mr. Weasley tried to fight his way through the circle.

"Oi, you lot, get the hell away from my brother!" I snarled, shoving one of the wizards aside and rushing to Harry's side, checking him over for injuries. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Harry said. He was panting and looked shaken, but other than that he seemed unharmed. I stared into his eyes and saw the twisting snake tongue reflected back at me. Wincing, I turned away from him.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Weasley asked as the circle finally parted and let him close to us.

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. I stood up as well, Hermione and Ron scrambled to their feet behind me. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Harry snapped, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" agreed Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to-"

"Listen up, you lot," I snarled angrily. "My name's Lorena Potter, and that's my brother Harry. Dunno if you've heard of us? My brother kind of defeated Voldemort after he killed our parents, marked up my face, and tried to kill him. So naturally we wanted to sign up for his little club as soon as we got the pamphlet," I said sarcastically.

At the very least, my little outburst broke the tension. A couple of the wizards in the circle laughed slightly and lowered their wands once they realized who they'd caught.

"There was a man before, there," Harry said, pointing to a spot in the trees not far from where I'd come through.

"This way!" Mr. Crouch said, seizing on the new information and leading his posse storming away to search the trees.

"Harry… who?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I didn't see his face. I- Rena, why weren't you with Ron and Hermione."

"I peeled off to look for your stupid self," I said gruffly, dragging him into a hug. "I was worried sick."

"You should have stayed with them," Harry said sternly, but he hugged me back tightly. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered.

"Yeah," I mumbled back. "You too."

Although a part of me couldn't help but admit that it was partially due to Malfoy holding me back. I'd been all set to charge blindly and, yes, recklessly, into the midst of a horde of Death Eaters to find my brother. If he hadn't held me back, I might have been in far worse shape.

* * *

Hermione, Harry, Ron and I were all settled in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Ron was pouting about how all the rest of his family seemed to know about something going on later this year at Hogwarts but they were keeping the students in the dark.

"It's not as if we won't find out soon enough," I reasoned, lying down across the seats and placing my head in Harry's lap.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," Ron said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what-"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours. We listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

"...Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do..."

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. I shook my head, standing up.

"No, wait," I said, opening the compartment door. I stepped over to the next compartment and yanked the door open. I wasn't surprised to see Malfoy had set up court with Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini sitting with him, Parkinson draped off of him. Daphne was there, and her little sister Astoria was sitting crammed in the corner and looking pleased with herself.

"Potter," Zabini greeted me genially. "Come to join the party?"

"Nah, I've got my own to get back to here in a moment," I said easily. "No, I'm here to collect on a debt." I shoved my hand in Malfoy's face. "Cough up, creep."

"Shove off, Potter, we were having a conversation," Parkinson snapped at me.

"Yeah, about how Malfoy wants to go to Durmstrang, we can hear. Shame your mum likes you, Malfoy, it'd be so nice not to have to see your ugly face every day."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You're walking on thin ice, Potter." He smirked. "Or is it just your jealous I've got a mum to care about me?"

"Ouch, I'm an orphan, I had no idea," I deadpanned. "Come on Malfoy, pay up before the perfume Parkinson bathed in suffocates me."

"What does he owe you for?" Daphne asked curiously.

"Bet at the World Cup. I put twenty Galleons on Ireland," I explained.

"You seem to be forgetting that I saved your life at the World Cup, Potter," Malfoy said smugly.

I froze, narrowing my eyes. It was a miracle he was still alive from the strength of my death glare.

"As I recall," I said softly, dangerously, "you were cowering in the forest when I found you, Malfoy."

"Yeah, and I kept you from running full-tilt into a bunch of Death Eaters," Malfoy said shortly, standing up and using his superior height to glare down at me. I didn't flinch, just adjusted my gaze so that our eyes locked.

"Please," I scoffed. "You wanted someone around to do the wand work if they showed up so you could slither off back to your hole."

"Excuse me, but I'm not the one who tried to punch you in the face."

"Reflex, I get touchy when bastards creep up behind me," I replied instantly. "Just pay up Malfoy and I'll leave," I wheedled.

Malfoy sneered, digging in his pocket and pulling out a pouch. He dropped it into my outstretched palm and sank back into his seat gracefully, spreading his arms across the back and crossing his legs.

"Go on, Potter, take it. Twenty Galleons doesn't mean much to me," he smirked. "But if you're so hard up, well, mum will be proud of my philanthropy."

I debated about whether or not to whip the bag of gold into his face and break his nose, but decided against it. Instead I burst out laughing in his face.

"Malfoy, have you forgotten who you're talking too?" I scoffed. "The Potter name may be almost gone, but the money isn't. Half of the Potter fortune belongs to me. And one of the perks of having no parents? It's _my_ money, I don't have to beg to mum and dad if I want something."

I shook my head incredulously as I turned and left the compartment, slamming the door shut behind me. I strolled back into the compartment, tossing the money pouch up and down in my hand casually.

"That was brilliant," Harry said proudly.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to taunt him like that?" Hermione asked in concern. "And in front of so many of your housemates!"

"You should have bet more, made it really hurt," Ron grinned.

"Didn't want to be too greedy," I said, tucking the pouch into the pocket of my robes and stretching out on Harry again. "Besides, all of Slytherin house knows that, with the exception of Quidditch, Malfoy and I are enemies."

"What was all that about him saving you at the World Cup though?" Harry asked, scowling.

I shook my head. "Totally in his head. I ran into him when I was looking for you and he held me back from charging out looking for you until the Death Eaters passed. He thinks that makes him some kind of hero."

Hermione frowned slightly. "I wonder why he bothered."

I sat up, glaring at her in offense. "Oi!"

"No, not like that," Hermione corrected hastily. "Just… why should Malfoy care? It's like you said, you're enemies. So why should he try and keep you safe?"

I bit my lip. Truthfully, I'd been mulling that over too. There were no reasons I could think of. Never before had either of us pulled any punches when it came to the other. We let each other have it verbally as well as magically. Both of us had spit out poison and curses at each other like it was our life's mission.

So why break character and look out for me?

"Probably just didn't want to lose someone to take out his spoiled brat angst on," I said with a snort, thought I knew that wasn't it. Malfoy was self-serving in the extreme, and much as he'd like to deny it, he _was_ a coward. Yet he'd held me back from the Death Eaters and, when they'd passed, he followed me out.

Thinking about it was going to drive me crazy, so instead I rolled over so that I was staring at the ceiling, crossed my hands on my stomach, looked up at Harry, and requested, "Pet me?"

"Sounds so weird," Ron muttered as Harry began stroking my hair with a snort. Ever since we were kids I had this thing about getting my hair stroked. It calmed me down like nothing else and it was the one thing guaranteed to put me straight to sleep. That's what I wanted right then, to sleep and not think about any possible motives Malfoy might have.

Within five minutes, I was out.

I woke up again when Seamus came in to talk. He was followed by Neville, who was listening jealously as the boys relived the match and the excitement that lead up to it.

"Gran didn't want to go," he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," agreed Ron. "Look at this, Neville..."

He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh wow," said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.

"You're still carrying that with you," I said in amusement, sitting up and stretching. I ruffled my hair.

"Nice nap?" Harry asked slyly. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"The best."

"We saw him right up close, as well," Ron continued. "We were in the Top Box-"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.

"That's because we didn't, he slunk in here of his own accord." I glared at Malfoy heatedly. "If you're here about the bet, Malfoy…"

Malfoy snorted. "Like I told you, ginger, twenty galleons is hardly going to break me, I – Weasley… what is that?" Malfoy pointed at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious. He'd thrown the dress robes over the cage to try and shut Pig up the moment we started off.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him. He seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" said Malfoy in delighted disdain, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" snapped Ron, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"Malfoy, I was just having a lovely nap," I snapped. "Piss off before I decide you need a permanent one." I aimed my wand pointedly at him.

"Put that away before you hurt yourself, Potter," Malfoy said, but I was pleased to note that his eyes lingered on the tip of my wand. "So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know... you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face. "Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago... heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry... Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley... yes... they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

I waved my wand and let off a bunch of firecrackers. Malfoy jerked back at the noise and staggered out of the compartment. I dispelled the firecrackers and shut the door with a flick of my wand, casting a locking spell at it for good measure.

"Hurt myself," I said irritably. "As if."

When we arrived at Hogsmeade Station, we stepped out into a downpour. I stalked off the train and split from Harry and co without a goodbye, as was custom. Once we left the train it was understood that I swapped over to the Slytherins.

"Oi, Moon, hold that carriage!" I shouted at Lily before she could shut the door to the carriage she was in. She held the door open and I leaped inside, slipping on the wet floor and landing in someone's lap. "Sorry Nott." I slid off of him into the seat next to him, brandishing my wand at myself and drying out.

"Do me?" Tracey begged. Bless her, I had no idea how she ended up in Slytherin. She was a follower to the core and knew how to curry favor but she wasn't much of a witch. She could do spells just fine, but you had to give her a second.

I gave her a tap with my wand to dry her out as Nott and Lily followed my example and dried themselves off.

"Good holiday?" I asked the compartment at large, using my wand to pin my hair into a messy bun.

"Decent," Tracey admitted. "I stayed with some cousins in France for most of it."

"I went to the World Cup," Nott said, nodding to me. "I hear you were there."

"Yeah," I nodded. "It was great up until a bunch of Death Eaters rolled in. I hate when that happens," I said, slumping back into my seat.

"Was it really like the papers made out?" Lily asked curiously. "I mean, that Skeeter woman is prone to exaggerating. My parents all assumed that there were only a handful of people actually doing anything."

"Oh no, there were a couple dozen at least," I corrected. "Storming through the camp firing off spells left and right like first years."

"Did you see any of them up close?" Tracey asked, face transfixed with horrified fascination.

"Yeah, I walked right up and shook their hands and introduced myself," I said sarcastically.

"You're lucky," Nott said grimly. "They wouldn't have been kind if they found you. I heard they levitated the Muggle site manager and his family and marched them through camp shouting insults."

I nodded, sarcasm gone. "Yeah, they did. The Ministry has basically deleted the entire week from their memories to keep them from knowing about us. When we left he was telling people Merry Christmas."

Tracey shook her head sadly. "That's horrible. I mean I know they're only Muggles but still, they must be traumatized. And his _kids…_ "

"I think wizards or Muggles they would be traumatized," Lily corrected. "Imagine being paraded about like that." She shuddered. "It's horrible. Those men are monsters," she said viciously. Beside me I felt Nott shift slightly and frowned.

It was no secret that Nott's father supported Voldemort last time. And knowing that Nott was there at the World Cup it was all too possible that his father had been one of the men in robes. For that matter, the parents of half of my house were linked to Voldemort and could have been there. I got the feeling that life in Slytherin house was about to get more difficult than normal.

"We're here," Tracey said, face breaking into a wide smile as the carriage drew to a stop. We stepped out, carefully picking our way around puddles and hoisting up our robes. There was nothing worse than robes with the hem wet.

Managing to dodge most of the water on the ground, we were feeling rather smug when we entered the Entrance Hall.

"Argh!"

"Peeves!"

Lily, Nott, and I were nailed in the face with water balloons, which succeeded in soaking us the rest of the way through.

"Peeves!" I roared at the poltergeist furiously.

"Ha ha! Got Potter, got Potter!" Peeves sang, doing a jig in midair and tossing another water balloon my direction. I whipped out my wand and blew it up before it could connect.

"Don't make me call the Baron, Peeves!" I threatened. Peeves stopped dancing.

"You wouldn't," he said, narrowing his bulging, ghostly eyes. I thrust out my chin and smirked.

"Well…" I drawled. "I might forgive you if you can soak Parkinson and Bulstrode on the way in."

Peeves laughed in delight and did a flip. "As Potty commands!" he grinned.

"It's really rather creepy how much he likes you," Nott pointed out as we dried ourselves off again and headed into the Great Hall.

"I prefer to think of it as lucky," I admitted. "I'd be screwed if Peeves didn't like me. You know how many times he's caught me sneaking around the castle and hasn't squealed?"

" _Potter!"_

From the entrance hall, I heard Parkinson and Bulstrode shrieking my name. I grinned widely.

"Ah, they're playing my song!" I scowled. "Do wish Peeves hadn't mentioned me though."

Parkinson and Bulstrode stormed into the Great Hall, sopping wet and furious. Daphne hustled after them with Astoria on her heels, trying to get them to stop and dry themselves off before they made a bigger scene. I was pleased to see Malfoy had been caught in the splash zone, his platinum hair dripping water down his face. Zambini was following the whole caravan of them, looking like he was trying his best not to burst out laughing.

"Parkinson, so good to see you, although…" I blinked and looked around at Lily. "Guess the storm's picked up, eh?"

"You told Peeves to hit us with water balloons!" Parkinson shouted, pointing at me furiously as she and Bulstrode sat down. Malfoy put one seat pointedly between us and glared before whipping out his and drying himself off.

"Ooh, do me Draco!" Pansy begged. I snorted.

"Keep begging Parkinson, it hasn't happened yet," I sang, and heard Lily giggle into her sleeve on my other side.

"Shove off, Potter, you're just jealous I can get a date and you can't," Parkinson spat, face bright red.

"Eh, I'm not too fussed actually," I admitted. "My lack of a date probably has something to do with the fact that I turn down everyone who asks."

That was an utter lie. Never in my life had I had a guy ask me out. I suspected it probably had something to do with my charming personality and witty sense of humor – or, as others called it, my general bitchiness and sarcasm.

Parkinson opened her mouth to snap something back, but Dumbledore took that moment to stand up. I really had to give it to him, that man knew how to hold a room. He, Snape, and McGonagall all shared that gift. All they had to do was stand up and you paid attention. I had to figure out how to do that some day.

"So!" began Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?" I shrieked, and I heard several people around the hall do the same, mostly players. I could see Cedric looking like someone had just run over his dog, Roger Davies was looking offended. Harry looked horrified and the twins seemed to be incapable of speaking. I was sure my face was some sort of mix of rage and disappointment as well.

I loved Quidditch. I loved getting out on the field and throwing the Quaffle, dodging and weaving around the other players. I even loved the hype and trash talk leading up to Quidditch games, which wasn't surprising, considering half of my daily conversations involved trash talking someone. To have that gone was a big bright spot taken out of my year.

Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. This year, Hogwarts will not only be _your_ home, but also home to some very special guests as well. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year Hogwarts has been chosen to host a _legendary_ event."

I perked up, interested, and most people seemed to be doing the same. At least if we couldn't have Quidditch we were having something legendary.

"The _Tri-Wizard tournament_." The hall exploded into chatter as people who knew what it was hissed their excitement and those who didn't leaned around to ask for information. Dumbledore calmly waited until there was a lull in conversation, and continued. "Now for those of you who do not know, the Tri-Wizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school a single contestant is selected to compete."

"I'm trying," Malfoy said immediately, sounding far more confident than I knew he was.

"Oh Merlin, please do," I snickered. "It'd do us all a favor if you got yourself killed."

"Now let me be clear, if chosen - you stand alone," Dumbledore said grimly. "And trust me when I say that these contests are not for the faint hearted-"

"Guess that cuts you out, blondie," I hissed at Malfoy, who sneered in return.

"-Please help me to welcome the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Accademy of Magic and their headmistress Madame Maxime."

The Great Hall doors burst open and revealed a group of absolutely gorgeous young women in travelling cloaks and hats tinted powder blue. I could see the guys across the Great Hall immediately start drooling and rolled my eyes. Clearly, Parkinson's predictions about my inability to get a date would hold true. No way I could stand out against girls like that. They all looked like Barbie's hotter cousin.

They all trotted down the aisle in synch, heels clicking, as a few dived forwards, turning elegant flips and spins. Those right on the aisle leaned and craned to get looks at the girls coming _and_ going, and some even dared to wave shyly. I saw Ron gaping after them gormlessly and set my chin on my palm. This was downright depressing.

At the end of their little runway show, the girls released butterflies into the air, and good thing they did. The girls around the Great Hall looked as infuriated as the guys were infatuated. Several had smacked their boyfriends. But the butterflies made the girls all coo and smile.

I sighed as several butterflies drifted over to the Slytherin table and danced along the length. It was a shame, really, they wouldn't survive long in a place this cold. It seemed a bit cruel to me, to let them loose in a place they had no chance of living. That solidly solidified my dislike of the Beauxbatons girls.

"And now, our friends from the north, meet the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their high master, Igor Karkaroff!"

The doors opened once more and in stormed a group of the most masculine guys I had ever seen, dressed in solid black. They strode down the aisle, banging staffs on the ground and chanting in rhythm. Their staffs swirled through the air in a series of twists and then several of them took off running. They proceeded to flip and, of all things, breakdance their way down the aisle.

The headmaster made his appearance, but of far more interest to everyone else was the man next to him. Viktor Krum apparently attended Durmstrang, and he was causing quite a storm amongst the guys again, although this time there were girls drooling as well.

"I want one," I leaned over and whispered to Lily as one of the Dursmtrang boys did a particularly impressive flip. "No, screw it, I want two."

Lily nodded and giggled in agreement and we went back to watching the show. They concluded with a phoenix of fire, which in my opinion was far more impressive than some butterflies.

"Your attention, please." Professor Dumbledore immediately had the attention of all three schools on him. "I would like to say a few words: Eternal Glory - that is what awaits the student who wins the Tri-Wizard tournament. But to do this, you have to complete three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain this, we have the head of the department of international magic cooperation: Mister Bartimus Crouch t-"

Before Mr. Crouch could do anything the Great Hall ceiling lit up with sparks and lightning that jetted down, coming dangerously close to the tables. The storm outside must be getting vicious I realized as I swiftly ducked down and looked around.

A spell shot from the corner of the room, striking the sky and quieting it some, although a storm still brewed. I gasped quietly at the sight of the spell's caster. He was a huge man with grizzled hair, stumping along on one original leg and a wooden one, leaning on a gnarled staff. A big chunk of his nose looked like it had been blasted off and one of his eyes was fake, a brilliant blue orb that whizzed and spun around in a strap over his eye socket.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Tracey gasped, looking fearful.

"Mad-Eye Moody," Nott said, drawing all eyes to him. He didn't seem pleased with the attention, but he appeased us all nonetheless. "He was a top Auror at the Ministry until he got too paranoid to be useful anymore. Now he's retired. Or at least, he was," Nott corrected as we watched Moody exchange a few words and a handshake with Dumbledore. "Now I expect he's our new Defense professor."

I looked up at the battered man, mildly impressed. Surely an Auror would be a step up from some of our other DADA professors. Lupin was undoubtedly the best thus far, but then again he didn't have much competition. A liar and a traitor who both had no business teaching the subject could only look worse compared to a teacher like Lupin or, hopefully, one like Moody.

Mr. Crouch made his appearance now that the commotion had settled. "After much deliberation, the Ministry has concluded that for their own safety that no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the Tri-Wizard tournament-"

"THAT'S RUBBISH!" the Weasley shouted from across the room. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

They weren't the only ones who looked angry, just the most vocal. I couldn't blame the Ministry though. As dangerous as they were making this competition sound, clearly no one under seventh year level had a shot at making it through without ending up looking like Moody or dead. I was glad though, because it meant that at least Harry couldn't enter the competition, otherwise I wouldn't put it past him to try.

"The Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore's voice cut the riot down to silence once again. Something that I had took to be a rather elaborate table behind him suddenly opened up as Dumbledore pointed to it, pieces sliding back to reveal a heavy chalice. "Anyone wishing to submit themselves for the tournament merely write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly," he emphasized as the thick goblet lit with cool blue flames. "If chosen, there is no turning back. As from this moment, the Tri-Wizard tournament has begun."

That seemed to be the end of announcements, because Dumbledore escorted the other headmasters to the Head Table and they sat down. The moment they'd done so, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students split, looking for a place to sit. The Beauxbatons girl went to Ravenclaw – maybe because the boys over there had enough sense to not totally lose it over them – and the Durmstrang boys, to the delight of the entire female population of the house, made their way to the Slytherin table. They filtered into seats that had been left empty. Immediately people bent in to ask them questions and introduce themselves.

Krum slid into the place between Malfoy and I and another one slid into the empty seat across from me. I could cheerfully have squealed, but I had a bit more composure that that, so instead I fixed an expression of purely Slytherin disinterest on my face and dug into the potatoes.

"My name's Draco Malfoy," Malfoy said immediately, offering Krum his hand. Krum shook it, opening his mouth to respond.

"And we know who you are, of course," Daphne cooed to him. She offered her hand as if she expected it to be kissed. "Daphne Greengrass, pleasure."

"I'm Pansy Parkinson," Parkinson added, offering her own hand. I guessed world-famous Quidditch player trumped Malfoy.

"I'm the Seeker for the Slytherin team," Malfoy continued. "I saw you play at the World Cup, really fantastic work. If you want, the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch is-"

Poor Krum looked oddly cornered, and I couldn't blame him. He had about three girls leaning in to introduce themselves at the same time as Malfoy was trying to butter him up with Quidditch talk. The Durmstrang guy across from me rolled his eyes and dragged a piece of chicken on to his plate.

I decided to take pity on Krum and spoke up, drawling, "Merlin, you lot, quit flirting with the poor guy, you're putting me off my dinner."

"Shove off, Potter," Bulstrode growled. "Just because you don't have a shot-"

I burst out giggling. "Of course I don't have a shot. You'll note I'm not looking for one!"

Krum seemed relieved that I had taken the attention off of him and the Durmstrang boy across from me seemed mildly impressed. I flushed slightly as both of them stared at me.

"Viktor Krum," Krum said in his thickly-accented voice. "And you are?"

"Lorena Potter," I said, taking his hand and shaking firmly. "I was at the World Cup too. Really great, I suppose, I'm not a Seeker like the bottle blonde over there," I said, nodding to Malfoy, who gave me a sneer. "My twin brother is, over there at Gryffindor table, the kid with the glasses. I play Chaser."

"And the scar," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Don't forget precious Potter's scar."

"Potter?" For the first time, the Durmstrang guy across from me spoke up. "As in Harry Potter? The one who destroyed your Lord… erm, Voldi-"

"Voldemort," I said bluntly. "And yeah, that's him."

"Careful Potter, your jealousy is showing," Parkinson cooed. "Just because people care more about your brother than you…"

I flicked my wand lazily in her direction and her soup exploded, drenching her.

"Messy messy, Parkinson," I chided. "Really, didn't your mummy and daddy teach you any table manners?"

"At least I have parents," Parkinson bit out as she dabbed her face with her napkin. "If this stains-"

"Yes, yes, doom and gloom, I'm terrified," I said lazily.


	24. The Reminder

"Lo brother dear," I greeted Harry as I slid into the seat behind him and next to Lily. Bless her for sitting next to Harry and remembering that I liked to be near him in the classes we had together. Thankfully, that was more than we used to have. Potions, Defense, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination we shared now. And yes, I had designed my schedule so that I could spend more time with Harry, although it helped that I found both subjects fascinating.

"Morning Rena," Harry replied.

"How was breakfast with the Durmstrangs?" Ron asked only slightly jealously. I smirked.

Somehow, probably thanks to my actions at the Welcome Feast, Krum had started sitting beside me at meals. Likely it was because he knew I wouldn't bug him. His friend, who I'd figured out was named Iliya, tended to sit near me too. None of us talked much, which I think he was thankful for.

He wasn't like Harry. Harry constantly sought out attention, while Krum actually seemed disappointed by it. He wasn't going out pulling dangerous and stupid moves – barring the odd Wronski Feint – getting into things that weren't his business. He seemed to actively avoid the attention as much as possible. I'd heard he had taken up residence in the Library often, trying to find some quiet.

"Yes, Ron, it was a great breakfast full of silence and with little to no drooling," I said pointedly. "Merlin, and you wonder why Krum hides in the Library."

"Nobody's drooling over him!" Ron said defensively.

"Don't lie," I snorted. "You drool. I know how to handle famous thanks to Mr. I-Save-The-World-Twice-Before-Breakfast over here," I said, jerking a finger at Harry.

"Thanks, Rena, love you too," Harry grumbled. I grinned widely.

Professor Moody made his entrance then, stumping through the door and up the aisle. He seized the chalk and in an almost overly-aggressive manner began to scrawl his name across the chalkboard.

"Alastor Moody," he growled out in an Irish lilt. "Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He tossed the chalk onto his desk carelessly. "I am here because Dumbledore asked me, end of story, goodbye, the end."

Not surprisingly, there were no questions. Not only because we had never had a teacher sweep into class and start off that brusquely, but because it was really creepy watching Moody's eye dart here and there, pinning different students for a moment and then moving on to a new target.

"When it comes to the dark arts, I believe in a practical approach. Constant vigilance!" Moody barked, making half the class jump and the other half reel back from him. "Now, which of you can tell me how many unforgivable curses there are?"

I stared at him incredulously. Unforgiveables? Sure, they were good to know about, but there wasn't much in the way of 'defense' you could have against them, and I was certain that fourth years weren't supposed to be learning about them. Sixth years maybe, but I'd wager it was seventh year material precisely because of how illegal it was.

"Three, sir," Hermione asked, sounding wary. No surprise she had answered, but I was a little surprised she knew the answer. Unforgiveables and other illegal Dark curses were more Slytherin territory than Gryffindor. In fact I knew of at least three books on the shelves down in the common Room that dealt exclusively in Unforgiveables. I'd read them all.

"And they are so named?" Moody pressed.

"Because they are unforgivable," Hermione explained. She still sounded unsure, like she wasn't sure if she should know the answer of not.

"Huh, who'd have thought, I figured they let you off with a slap on the wrist and a warning," I muttered to Lily sarcastically, who snorted into her sleeve, trying not to draw Moody's magical eye.

Hermione continued, "The use of any one of them will-"

"Will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban, correct," Moody finished. "Now the Ministry says that you're too young to see what these curses do: I say different."

Now I was outright awed. Learning about them was one thing. Seeing them? Moody was really pushing the envelope on this one. Using those curses, even in classroom environments for education purposes was strictly monitored. I got a feeling that this lesson was going to send a couple of people over in the Ministry into a tizzy.

"You need to know what you're up against," Moody continued. "You need to be prepared. You need to find somewhere else to put your chewing gum other than the other side of your desk, Mr. Finnigan!" I whipped around as I heard Seamus mutter something bitterly. " _And_ hear across classrooms!"

Moody whipped a piece of chalk at Seamus, who ducked to avoid it. The chalk broke against the desk behind him and clattered to the floor.

"He's mad," I whispered.

"That _is_ part of his name," Lily pointed out.

" _I love it."_

"You would," I heard Harry mumbled from in front of us. I took the opportunity to kick the back of his chair before facing the front again.

"So, which curse shall we see first?" Moody's magical eye whizzed around the room, looking for a target. "Weasley!"

"Yes!" Ron shot up almost a foot off his seat when Moody addressed him.

"Give us a curse."

"Well..." He looked around for support of some kind, but I don't know what he was expecting to find. "My Dad did tell me about one. The _Imperius_ curse?"

"Ah, yes. Your father would know all about that - gave the Ministry quite a bit of grief a few years ago. Perhaps _this_ will show you why."

On his desk was a jar of large, long-legged spiders. I shivered. I didn't like spiders, but I wasn't paralyzed with fear of them like Ron was – I could hear him whimpering in front of me. It probably came from living under the stairs and having at least three sharing my room at all times, but I wasn't fond of the little buggers.

Still, Unforgiveables…

" _Engrogio. Imperio!"_

The spider grew in size until it filled Moody's palm. He flicked his wand and it leapt out of his hand and landed on Dean Thomas's books. Dean leaned away as far as he could without toppling out of his chair. Moody cackled madly as he made the spider leap to Crabbe's head and then over to crawl up Padma Patil's arm. The spider went to Ron next, who whimpered and whined as the spider danced on top of his head.

"What are you laughing at?" Moody snarled at Malfoy, who was howling with laughter. Malfoy gave a very unmanly screech as the spider launched itself over to land on Malfoy's face.

I was doubled over laughing at this point, Moody must have noticed and not taken it well, because the next thing I knew the spider was leaping over to land on my parchment. It made to come towards me and I seized my notes, flipping them to the side and shamelessly hurling the spider at Greengrass, who screamed, recoiled, and toppled off her chair.

"What should I have her do next?" Moody asked loudly, the smile falling from his face. "Make her jump out the window?"

The spider hit the glass with a painful slap that made me wince in sympathy. The class seemed to hold its breath, waiting as the lesson went from funny to frightening in a snap. "Drown herself?

"Scores of witches and wizards have claimed that they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the influence of the Imperius curse. But here's the rub: how do we sort out the liars?" His magical eye was darting between Harry and I as he looked around the room with his real eye. "Another, another... Come on, come on."

He turned to the table that was directly beside Nott and motioned for Neville Longbottom to stand. I winced. Defense had never really been Neville's class. Then again nothing but Herbology was really Neville's class. If even Hermione wasn't comfortable being on the spot in this class I could only imagine how Neville felt.

"Longbottom is it? Professor Sprout tells me you have an aptitude for Herbology."

"Yes, sir," Neville mumbled weakly. "There's the...um... _Cruciatus_ curse."

"Correct, correct! Particularly nasty one: the torture curse." Moody set the spider down on his desk and beckoned Neville forwards. Slowly, unwillingly, Neville stepped from behind his desk and towards Moody's.

" _Crucio!_ " Professor Moody cast the spell. I could hear the spider's terrified screams and see it writhing. I hadn't realized a spider could make that kind of sound and immediately it made me wonder how much pain the thing had to be in - and more chillingly, how much pain it would cause if cast on a human.

Neville's face twitched and screwed up as he seemed torn between watching the spider and looking away.

"Stop it, can't you see it's bothering him?" Hermione shrieked at the professor from behind me.

"Stop it," I backed her. We had all seen, we all understood, and Neville looked like he was about to collapse- he'd gone pale and sweaty. The class was clear on how grim the curses were, how monstrous, and it was time for the show to end.

Professor Moody ended the spell. The spider relaxed into a shuddering mess, still making soft, pained chittering sounds. He picked the spider up and cleared his throat, carrying it over and setting it down on the pile of books on Hermione's desk.

"Perhaps you could give us the last unforgiveable curse, Miss Granger?" Moody asked quietly. Hermione shook her head, jaw set to keep it from trembling. She looked traumatized and so did Neville. She knew the last curse, we all did, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

So Moody did it for us. "Avada Kedavra."

There was a burst of green light and the spider toppled over, dead before it even fell. I looked from the spider to Harry. I could only see the side of his face, his eyes shielded by his glasses, but I could see the looseness in his jaw and the wrinkle in his nose that showed he was very much not okay right now.

"The Killing Curse," Moody gruffed. "Only one person has been known to survive it. And he's sitting in the room." Moody stumped over to Harry, staring down at him pointedly. Harry lifted his eyes to meet Moody's I couldn't see Harry's face, but I could see Moody's, and his expression was… odd.

It was almost like he was torn between hatred, fear, and anger. I had no idea what that expression meant. Moody fumbled for his flask, taking a deep swig of whatever was inside it and breaking the moment. He shut the flask, wiped his mouth gruffly on the back of his hand, and then his eyes flicked back to me.

"Of course, the Unforgiveables aren't the only illegal Dark curses, are they?" Moody asked the room at large. It was obviously a rhetorical question. "There are lots of other curses that will earn you time in Azkaban. The Entrail-Expelling curse, a rather nasty bit of business. Attempts at Necromancy, while doomed to fail, will also land you there. And there's some rarer ones.

"The Reminder is one of those. Sounds harmless, doesn't it? But does anyone here know what it does?"

Moody looked around the class and it was clear he actually wanted an answer on this one. His eye lingered on Hermione, on several Slytherins. It lingered on Malfoy for quite a while before coming to land on me.

"On your feet." I stood. "Any guesses, Miss Potter?" Moody whispered, and suddenly I realized what spell he was talking about.

The Reminder. An innocuous name for a horrible thing. I remembered in my second year, during one of my many hospital stays, asking Madam Pomfrey if anything could be done for the scar on my cheek. Her response had been an immediate and pitying no.

Because my scar would never go away. That was the point of the spell Voldemort had used. He wanted that mark – his mark – to stay on me until the day I died, and I was the only one who knew why. He wanted me to remember every day that I was still alive only because he allowed it.

The spell wasn't illegal because of the pain it caused. It was illegal because of what it did to you mentally. It carved an eternal mark into your flesh, one you could never get rid of, so that every day, when you dressed, when you showered, when you glanced at yourself, you remembered how you got it. It never left you.

"It leaves a scar," I said aloud, forcing myself to look up and meet Moody's gaze. For the first time, his real and fake eyes were focused on the same thing – me. "A scar that will never heal, so that the victim always remembers how they got it."

"Right in one, Miss Potter," Moody said quietly. His hand snapped out and he seized my chin, dragging it forwards and tilting my head so that he could see the scar on my cheek. I staggered and had to brace my hand on the desk to keep upright.

Harry stood up sharply and shouted, "Let her go!"

"The scar will fade some, over the years, but it never goes away… not all the way… not really," Moody whispered, and raised his hand to touch the scar.

I wrenched myself away from him with a snarl. "No," I said hoarsely. "No one touches it. Not you, not anyone, not even Harry. No one," I reiterated with a growl. I bent down, seized the strap of my bag, and fled the classroom, sweeping down the aisle.

I didn't duck my head though, oh no. I kept my chin held high, my nose in the air. Let the rest of the class judge me all they wanted. Let them see what Voldemort and done to me and what that meant. But be damned if anyone was ever going to touch that part of me.

* * *

Harry and Ron caught up with me in Care of Magical Creatures. Needless to say, I hadn't been back to class. In fact I'd headed immediately for my retreat of Hagrid's cabin. Hagrid had been confused but welcoming when I appeared on his doorstep and let me rant about Moody all I wanted as I helped him drag crates around to the front of his house for class.

What I was surprised to realize, though, was that I wanted to write Amity and tell her about it. Like Snape, she could be counted on for a certain reaction. With Snape it was blunt logic and an intolerance for bullshit. With Amity it was agreement followed by advice for what to do, and that's what I wanted right now.

"Rena!"

Harry and Ron were running across the grounds ahead of the rest of the class to get to me.

"Moody was way out of line," was the first thing out of Harry's mouth. "Doing that in a classroom, what was he thinking?"

"Hermione's up in arms about it too, talking about going to Dumbledore," Ron said supportively.

"No."

Harry and Ron looked at me in surprise.

"What'll that accomplish?" I countered. "Getting him fired? Great, then we have no Defense teacher. All he did was make me an example. He did the same thing to Neville, to Harry, to that spider. It's worth more to keep him than it is to get him in trouble."

"But Lorena," Harry protested. "He drew attention to your scar, you hate that!"

"You hate it too," I retorted. "Or you say you do, but you didn't do anything when Moody pointed you out, did you?" I was lashing out, I was trying to drive him away, and I knew it.

Harry had his own scar from that night, but he didn't understand that our scars meant different things to us. To Harry it was like a neon sign on his forehead, an identifying feature, telling others what he'd done when he was too young to even remember it.

To me, it was part of me. That scar was part of who I was. Maybe it was sick and twisted but that scar was a sign that I had come through that night alive too. I had survived Voldemort too, and maybe I hadn't taken him down like Harry did, but I was alive. And maybe it was Voldemort's will, but it didn't matter. That scar carved into my cheek was a sign of my existence. It was a part of me, personal.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I know what you're doing, Rena…"

"Do you?" I challenged, raising my eyebrows.

"Yes, you're being the martyr," Harry snapped. "You're trying to take the fall for something and there's nothing wrong with calling Moody out."

I stared at him incredulously. Was he… was he actually _serious?_ If you looked up martyr in the dictionary there was a bloody picture of my brother there with his patented sad-yet-determined-orphan face on. I wasn't thought of enough to be a martyr.

"No, I'm just not dumb enough to be petty when in the end I know it will screw me, brother-mine," I hissed to Harry, and stomped over to the cluster of Slytherins who'd joined the class, taking shelter in the ranks of green.

"That looked ugly," Nott observed as he looked me over from my messy red hair to my clenching and unclenching fists. "Care to share?"

"Harry bloody Potter," I growled incoherently, practically trembling with rage at my own brother's hypocrisy. " _I'm_ the martyr… son of a… I'll _kill_ him…"

"No you won't," Nott sighed. "Calm down and focus Potter, I'm counting on you to keep us alive through whatever's in those crates."

I forced down the anger – something I was unnervingly good at these days – and focused on the crates. I had no idea what was in them, Hagrid hadn't said, merely smiled and said it was a surprise. I did know that I'd heard what sounded like tiny explosions coming from inside, which didn't exactly fill me with hope that whatever was inside was one hundred percent safe.

"Hagrid?" I called out to him as the rest of the class trickled down. "What are we learning about today?"

"Got a real' treat fer yeh lot today!" Hagrid said, practically glowing with excitement. He reached down and, with seemingly no effort, tugged off the lid of the crates. The class pressed forwards slowly, curious but wary about what we were going to be dealing with. Lavender Brown was the first to reach the crate.

"Eugh!" she shrieked, and quickly backed away. I shoved past a Hufflepuff and peered into the crate curiously.

I loved animals, even things like opossums that most people said were ugly. But these whatever-they-weres had nothing redeeming about them. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of one, and with a small _phut_ , it would be propelled forward several inches.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid said proudly. "On'y jus' hatched, so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit o' a project out o' it."

"And why would we want to do that?" I glared at Malfoy, who was standing well clear of the crates with his arms crossed and an expression on his face like he'd just been asked to down a bottle of sour milk. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, as usual, giggling stupidly. "I mean, what do they do? What's the point of them?"

"Let him teach before you start asking questions and maybe you'll find out, Malfoy," I spat. Hagrid was one of my favorite teachers, right behind Snape. His classes were almost always hands-on, which I enjoyed, and he taught one of my favorite subjects.

Hagrid floundered for a moment, before clearing his throat and announcing, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things – I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake - just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"Have fun, Potter," Nott said, and backed up from the nearest crate, gesturing for me to go ahead.

"Traitor," I muttered under my breath as I approached the table laden with potential skrewt food. I wrinkled my nose at the smell a little, but I'd worked with far worse in potions, so I only gagged a tiny bit when I picked up several pieces of frog liver and carried it over to the crate.

I looked around. The Gryffindors, true to their house, were bravely making an attempt. Most of the girls had picked up ant eggs, which were undoubtedly the least gross thing on offer, but a couple of the guys had handfuls of frog liver like me and were steeling themselves to tempt the skrewts.

Deciding that Madam Pomfrey wasn't too far away, I thrust my hand into the crate to offer up the frog liver. The skrewts didn't even blink, which was possibly because they didn't seem to have eyes. They also didn't seem to have mouths, so I wasn't sure if they even could eat.

One of the skrewts crawled over my hand and I bit my lip to keep from shouting. They felt absolutely nasty.

"There now," I cooed to the skrewt, hoping it wasn't about to take off. "Stay calm, just eat some frog liver or something and move on."

The skrewt wandered off my hand casually, knocking the frog liver to the bottom of the crate with a wet thump. I pulled my hands out and held them up to my fellow Slytherins, smirking widely.

"No problem," I said proudly, and the other Slytherins seemed emboldened by my success. They moved forwards, making faces, the girls steadfastly refusing to pick up any food.

"There, you're not dangerous at all, are you?" Malfoy said with a sneer, thrusting his hand into the crate of skrewts, offering up some bits of grass snake. He looked up and met my gaze, looking even more obnoxiously smug than he usually did. "Couldn't be too hard, if Potter managed it."

"Careful Malfoy," I sneered. "Remember what happened last time you said-"

"Argh!" Malfoy ripped his hand back from the crate. The skin on the back of his pale hand was bright red as he clutched it to his chest. Dean Thomas seemed to have had much the same experience, because he was being fussed over by a couple of Gryffindors.

"This is the second time!" Pansy ranted as Malfoy clutched his burned hand, hissing curses through clenched teeth. "That oaf has no business teaching. Does it hurt, Draco?" she cooed, reaching for his hand. "Do I need to take you to the Hospital Wing?"

"Quit whining," I said, shoving my way past Crabbe and Goyle and brandishing my wand. Malfoy's eyes widened and he took a step back.

"Potter," he said warningly.

"Relax," I huffed, and pointed my wand at his hand, muttering a spell. There was a flash of blue and the redness on Malfoy's hand began to recede. "There, better?"

Malfoy flexed his hand, opening and closing his fingers, looking at me in surprise.

"Erm, Potter?" I turned and saw Lily looking at me in surprise. In fact, several people were looking at me like I'd just announced I was going to join Hufflepuff. Clearly they were taking my fixing Malfoy at face value.

I rolled my eyes at the lot of them. "What? Malfoy's hand is fine, nothing to say against Hagrid now."

Malfoy's characteristic sneer slid back into place almost immediately. "And here I thought you'd finally given in to my charms."

I gagged. "Charms? Please, Malfoy, those skrewts have more charm than you do."

"Well, at the very least I'm not a walking fire hazard," Malfoy retorted, referring to my hair. Fire hazard was one of my very first nicknames in Slytherin. I hadn't heard it in a while.

"Right, better to look like an old man," I said with a sneer, and headed back over to the table laid out with food for the skrewts. I examined the options, trying to figure out which one they might prefer. I'd assumed they were carnivorous, and maybe they were, maybe they just had very small mouths…

I picked up some ant eggs in one hand and turned around, venturing back over to the box of skrewts, thrusting my hand in immediately this time to get it over with.

"Who does Potter think she's kidding?" I head Parkinson sneer. "I don't know how she managed to trick the Sorting Hat into putting her in Slytherin. She's practically a Hufflepuff!" Greengrass and Bulstrode laughing along with several others. "It's like she goes around collecting lost causes. That oaf, and you remember how she used to help Neville? I mean, she's practically one herself! The _other_ Potter… and no prizes for guessing why, Moody already got on her bad side for it. Look at how messed up her face is!"

Oh no she didn't.

I turned around and whipped my arm through the air. With reflexes born of several years of playing Quidditch, my aim was true, and Parkinson suddenly found her laughter cut off by a mouthful of ant eggs. She shrieked and choked, spitting eggs frantically.

"Potter!" she screamed, eyes streaming as she glared at me furiously. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Take a number," I said carelessly.

"I mean it Potter, you'll pay for this!"

"I'm so scared," I snorted. "Trembling, really."

* * *

Needless to say, I didn't join my house for lunch that day. I had no desire to eat while Parkinson glared and hissed nasty comments under her breath. Instead I got a sandwich from the kitchen and smuggled it into the Library. Pulling a Hermione, I sought refuge amongst the shelves.

There was a particular spot I liked. Near the back of the Library, in the section on enchanting items, which was very rarely used, there was a window seat with a squishy red pillow. It was my favorite spot in the Library, and it was mostly hidden, so I didn't have to worry about being busted for eating.

I grabbed a book off the shelves and headed to my sanctuary, settling in against the window. The storm had blown out and the sun was shining, so it was pleasantly warm. I opened my book, propped it against my knees, and took a bite of my sandwich.

 _The core of a Patronus Charm is happy memories. Achieving a corporeal, that is, fully formed Patronus requires a powerful memory. This is the part most casters struggle with, choosing memories that are not powerful enough._

 _However, some casters have had moderate success with dreams. Instead of focusing on a memory they focus on a dream or visualize themselves achieving a goal of theirs. The emotions this evokes has, in some cases, been enough to produce a fully-formed Patronus._

 _Some scholars argue that this is sloppy casting, however, because the image being used is not a true memory. Other say that it is a perfectly acceptable way to cast a Patronus, given that the emotion it evokes is strong enough._

My goal for this year was to be able to produce a Patronus. A fully-formed one, like Harry's. He'd told me all about his little time-travel adventure with Hermione and the stag Patronus he'd produced. I could make a strong shield of silver light, but I'd never managed to make a corporeal one.

On top of that, everything Lupin had told us said that the form our Patronus took was meaningful. It said something about our personality or our inner selves. I was wary of this at first, remembering my last disastrous encounter with my inner self in the Mirror of Erised back in first year.

Something about this summer, getting a job, buying food and clothes with my own money… I felt like I was older. I felt like I was ready for more. I wanted to know now, I wanted to see what I could learn from my Patronus. Harry had guessed at what it might be, jokingly suggesting a doe to match his, or a snake for my house, but neither of those things had struck me as even remotely possible.

There was no way my Patronus matched Harry's. We were siblings but other than that we were nothing alike, either in looks or manner. There were times that I hated him for the way he risked himself for others. In his mind he was not worth as much as anyone else. He saw no problem in dying to make life better for someone else. To me, he was my brother, he was the most important person on this earth, and I'd kill a hundred people to save him.

I also could think of very, very few people I would ever even consider giving my life for. Harry was at the top of the list. The twins, Hagrid, perhaps. Snape and Sirius, maybe Lupin. As far as I was concerned anyone else was on their own. I wouldn't be swooping in at the last minute with a wish and a prayer as my only defense.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a bit of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Smoothing the parchment against the pages of the book across my knees, I dipped the quill in and began to write, already planning my project for next year.

 _Dear Snuffles,_

 _Sorry it's been so long since I've written. Things have been a bit mad here, as you can imagine. You've probably heard of the Triwizard Tournament taking place at Hogwarts this year. The Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons students are making quite a stir. The girl are_ gorgeous _and_ French _so the guys can't control themselves, and Durmstrang came with Viktor Krum, so the girls can't contain themselves either._

 _Anyway, no champions have been chosen yet. I'll write again when they have, keep you up to date on how the tournament's progressing. Thank god for the ban on anyone under seventeen entering, or I'd guarantee Harry would get himself involved. Voldemort can't seem to do him in, but I'd bet the tournament could do a decent job._

 _As Moony's probably told you, I started trying to learn a Patronus last year. I've got the shield form down, but it's not corporeal yet. Any advice? Whenever I ask Harry he just tells me to focus on a stronger memory. I don't think he understands that I don't have stronger memories. I'm guessing you do._

 _Advice in casting a Patronus isn't the only thing I'm interested in. I saw how you and Pettigrew transformed and hearing stories about my dad… I've decided I'd like to learn how to be an Animagus too. I know it's a bit much for someone my age, but I hope to at least make some progress on learning the theory and the basics. I was hoping you could give me some advice or recommend some books from the library?_

 _Hope you're doing well, give my love to our feathery friend._

 _L P_

"Oh! Sorry, I- Lorena."

I looked up from my letter, quickly folding it up and sliding it inside of my robe. "Hermione," I greeted, vaguely surprised to see her. She should be at lunch with Harry and Ron. "What are you doing here?"

"Research," Hermione said, gesturing vaguely to her book. "You?"

I wordlessly passed the book over to Hermione. She scanned the page it was open to, looking up at me with raised eyebrows. "The Patronus Charm? But I thought you could-"

"Not a corporeal one," I explained shortly.

Hermione paused, biting her lip. "Well, even a non-corporeal one is quite impressive for our age. There are many older wizards who can't even get that much."

"I know," I said obviously. "But _I_ want to be able to cast a corporeal one."

Hermione hesitated. I could tell there was something she wanted to ask but was hesitant to. Instead of pressing her, I just twisted to face her, raising my eyebrows and observing her coolly, waiting for her to ask.

Finally, she did. "Is this," she began uncertainly, "because Harry can-"

I let out an annoyed snarl and scowled at Hermione thunderously. "Why is it," I asked icily, "that everyone in this godforsaken school seems to think that every action I make is totally centered around Harry? Tell me, Hermione, please, because I want to know."

Hermione's eyes were wide. She wasn't dumb enough to expect I'd take her question well, but I guess that my response wasn't what she'd expected. She seemed to mull over her answer, and I couldn't blame her. I was well known for having a temper to match my hair, and people had been sent to the Hospital Wing either by a quick jinx or a thought-out prank, depending on how mad they'd made me or how bored I was.

"I think," she mused slowly, "it's because you're always following him. And everyone sees that and just assumes that you're jealous, that you're trying to become as famous as he is, because you're-" She cut herself off abruptly.

"Because I'm a Slytherin," I said bluntly, and knew I'd hit the nail on the head by the way she winced. "Yeah, I figured. And Slytherins and Gryffindors don't get along. But what people don't realize is that for the first eleven years of our lives Harry and I were all we had. So now, whenever he's doing something more stupid than usual, I go along with him to make sure he's safe."

Hermione stared at me like she'd never quite seen me before, and to be honest, she probably hadn't. She'd been viewing me, like most people did, through green-tinted glasses. The reality was that I was just a person trying to figure everything out just like the smartest Ravenclaw or the friendliest Hufflepuff or the bravest Gryffindor. House didn't matter. I was just a fourteen year old kid who was used to protecting her big brother from harm, and that's what I kept trying to do.

"Tell anyone I said any of this, and I'll hex your hair even bushier than it already is," I said gruffly, standing up and snatching back the book from Hermione's startled hands. "I've got to get to Divination."

* * *

After dinner that night, which was filled with glares from Parkinson, silence from Krum, and confused looks from Malfoy and Iliya, I beat a hasty retreat to one of the few places at Hogwarts where I could guarantee I wouldn't be disturbed.

"Sir, I have had the absolute worst day and I need you to tell me to get over myself," I announced as I breezed into Snape's office. Snape didn't so much as flinch, just looked up at me and glared like he wasn't even surprised I'd showed up.

We really did have a beautiful relationship.

I seated myself in front of Snape's desk. Most people cringed at the idea of even being in Snape's office. It was dimly lit, just like everything in the dungeons, but there was always a fire crackling in the fireplace and the things floating in jars were significantly less creepy once you knew what they were.

"Yes, I heard about the events in your Defense class today," Snape said, leaning back in his chair with a sneer. "Storming out of class… quite dramatic, wasn't it?"

"Totally warranted."

"You also threw ant eggs at Parkinson."

"Needed."

"And you were late to Divination?"

I opened my mouth, hesitated, and admitted, "Okay, that was less than necessary."

Snape shook his head. "Potter you have barely been back at school for a full day and already you're causing me trouble. Professor Moody is now insisting he speak with you about the events in his classroom and Miss Parkinson is back to begging me to expel you."

"They can both stuff it," I grumbled, slumping down in my chair.

"I gathered that was the point of the ant eggs?"

I grinned. "This is why I like you, sir. You get me."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Then I suppose I shall be regularly subjected to your presence this year as well? Joy."

I smirked. "Don't lie sir, you know you like me."

"You are not a dunderhead," Snape allowed, which was high praise coming from him. He turned back to his paperwork, wordlessly handing me some summer essays from his second years and a bottle of red ink. I eagerly got started.

"So, sir, how was your summer?" I asked him, almost positive I wouldn't get much of a response.

"Dull. Dumbledore once again denied my request to journey to Romania to search for potions ingredients and insisted I remain behind to help with preparations for this ridiculous tournament."

I winced in sympathy. "Sorry about that sir. Did you go to the World Cup?"

Snape's eyes flicked up to pin me disdainfully. "And why on earth would I attend, Potter?"

"I dunno, sir, get some sun?" I responded cheekily. I got a glare for that one. "Now, you're supposed to ask me how my summer was."

"That would first require caring, a prerequisite I do not meet. However, I strongly suspect you intend to tell me anyway."

"You would be correct," I announced as I cheerfully marked through three whole lines of a Hufflepuff's essay and wrote a scathing comment in the margins. Really, nothing made me feel better than tearing into a student's essay. I was starting to consider getting detention just to help Snape grade essays as the world's weirdest form of therapy.

"I got a job this summer," I began. Snape looked up, seeming mildly interested.

"I was under the impression that your aunt and uncle…"

"Wouldn't allow that? You'd be correct, which is why they have no bloody idea. They're used to me wandering around during the summer so they just assume I'm off taking a walk."

"You are fourteen," Snape said pointedly.

"So?"

"So it is illegal for anyone to hire you."

I nodded. "You're right. Which is why my salary is listed on the finances as an office expense," I muttered irritably, earning an amused smirk from Snape. "But my boss, Amity Raincrow, said that as long as no one brought up my age or came yelling at her about it, she didn't care how old I was, and if they did, she'd just lie and say I told her I was sixteen."

"You do not look sixteen," Snape countered. I rolled my eyes.

"That would be a problem sir, but Amity's blind."

Snape seemed mildly interested now. "You work for a blind woman?"

"Yes. I swear sir, she'd be a Slytherin if she were a witch. She told me point blank that she would lie to save her own ass and people would believe her because people always agree with the blind woman. But she pays well and all I have to do is handle inventory, since she can't stock the shelves very easily. She even said she'd take me back next summer so long as I asked."

"I see," Snape said, looking thoughtful. "This boss of yours seems to be incredibly accommodating to a relative stranger."

"She is, but then again, Amity's weird."

"In what way?"

"Not in a dangerous way," I assured him. Snape rolled his eyes, like he was annoyed with me for even thinking he cared about my safety. "But she's American. She has all sorts of interesting stories." I shook my head. "It's like she knows things even though she can't see them, sir. I wondered if maybe she was a Seer, but like I said, she's not a witch. Do you know if Muggles can have Sight?"

Snape sneered. "If you have questions about Divination, speak to the quack in the tower."

"I tend to avoid Trelawny outside of the necessary."

"Yes, I have a similar stance."

* * *

 **More info on Lorena's scar this chapter, which I'm excited about. The Reminder curse will make more appearances in this story. *maniacal giggles***


	25. The Champions

**I wasn't going to post anything for another week, but considering the circumstances and a suggestion from ZabuzasGirl, I decided to go ahead and put something up. This chapter is officially dedicated to Alan Rickman. He brought Snape and so many other characters to life. RIP /***

* * *

I settled on the tiered seats of the room where the Goblet of Fire waited. That morning I'd sent Harry a note, asking him to meet me there to watch the submissions, and also to make up. I did not want to start our fourth year already angry with each other.

I'd traded my uniform skirt for pants and was sprawled across the top tier gracelessly, one leg bent, holding the same Patronus book from earlier over my face as I did.

I glanced to the side, observing the room. Hermione was settled several rows down with her own book, and Harry and Ron were standing near the silvery line dancing in the air around the Goblet. Dumbledore's Age-Line was impressive, I'd give it that. It and the Goblet were the only sources of light in the room, barring what filtered through the grey day outside.

A Durmstrang boy tossed his name in, followed almost immediately by a burly Ravenclaw I recognized as one of their Beaters. I'd played against him last year and had to dodge one of his Bludgers for fear of my life.

"Go on Cedric, put it in!"

Cedric was pushed and shoved good-naturedly towards the Goblet of Fire by some of his fellow Hufflepuffs. He was a favorite to win Hogwarts champion from what I'd heard. He was on the Quidditch team, made good grades, and he was nice to everyone on top of being devastatingly attractive. Most people thought he was the ideal choice.

Cedric tossed his name in and retreated from the Age-Line into the congratulatory back pats from his friends. I smirked slightly as I saw Ron raise a hand awkwardly for a high five, only to be completely missed.

He and Harry thrust their hands in their pockets, loping casually over to the seats.

"Yeah!"

Familiar voices were shouting from the door. I stood up, tucking my book under my arm. Fred and George ran into the room like race winners doing a victory lap, shouting and waving their hands and giving high-fives as they ran along the seats.

"Well, we've done it lads!" George announced.

"Cooked it up this morning!" Fred continued as they twins proudly held up two corked vials of potion.

"It's not going to work."

Oh look, Granger had emerged from her book.

Fred and George flung themselves down on either side of Hermione, leaning into her.

"And why's that, Granger?" George asked.

"You see this?" Hermione said, gesturing pointedly to Dumbledore's line. "This is an Age-Line. Dumbledore drew it himself."

"So?" Fred shrugged carelessly.

"So!" Hermione huffed, shutting her book with a thump, "A genius like Dumbledore isn't going to be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an Aging Potion!"

"Ah, but that's why it's so brilliant-"

"-because it's so pathetically dim-witted!"

"Let them do it, Hermione!" I called from my spot along the back. I leaped down a few tiers and sat down right behind them, leaning in with interest. "I want to watch this."

"Haha, see? Rena agrees!" Fred grinned.

"Ooh, Rena never said that," I whispered slyly as Fred and George stood up. "Rena agrees with Granger, actually."

"Ready Fred?"

"Ready George!"

"Bottoms up!"

The twins uncorked their vials, wrapped their arms around each other, and tossed back the contents of the potion. I gave them credit for not wincing – Aging Potion was known for having a truly foul taste, and considering most potions tasted about as good as dragon dung smelled, that was saying something.

The twins leaped over the line, hesitated a moment, and when nothing happened they cheered again. The crowd applauded and cheered for them as they danced around triumphantly inside the Age Line. The twins sauntered confidently up to the Goblet and tossed their names in, turning around the face the crowd with big grins.

The Goblet behind them suddenly burned red, spitting out their charred bits of parchment. The Age Line pulsed, hurling Fred and George several feet and sending them skidding along the floor. They landed in a heap of knotted robes and tangled limbs. Groaning slightly both twins sat up, revealing that their famous ginger hair had gone stark white and they'd sprouted beards. I laughed wildly as they began to scuffle.

"Told you," Hermione sniffed, and opened up her book primly. I snickered as I stood up, leaping off the seats and darting over to the boys.

"Alright you both, this is what you get for not listening to Granger," I said as I tugged at Fred's robes. "Don't you know she knows everything? Oi!" I said indignantly as a missed kick at George's shins nearly hit mine. Annoyed, I dove in and seized the pair of them by the ears, jerking them apart.

"Ow ow ow!"

" _Rena!"_

" _Ow!"_

"Go shave!" I laughed at the pair of them, shoving them towards the door. The twins staggered and then hastily corrected their course as Krum walked in, flanked by Karkaroff. I took a step back, out of their way, watching curiously. Krum stalked through the Age Line without flinching, tossing his name in.

He glanced to the side, locking eyes with Granger and holding her gaze for a longer moment than was strictly necessary. Hermione surprised me by giving a tiny little half-smile. I raised my eyebrows. Well that was certainly interesting.

Krum walked out of the Age Line and back along the aisle the students had created for him. He noticed me out of the corner of his eye and nodded a greeting. I smirked in reply, crossing my arms and nodding approvingly.

"Drooling over Krum now, eh Potter?"

I didn't bother turning around. I'd know that drawling voice anywhere.

"Last I checked that was your job, Frosty," I said, rolling my eyes. I started to walk off, intent on heading back to Harry and the others for a nice evening of companionable chatter, possibly skipping off to the kitchens later for a mug of cocoa.

Instead, a pale, strong hand curled around my upper arm and tugged me back. I staggered and spun slightly.

"Malfoy, what the-?"

I blinked. I felt even tinier than usual with Malfoy towering over me, his hands wrapped around my biceps and holding tight to keep me from dashing off or going for my wand – both of which were equally likely.

"I just wanted to say something."

"What?" I demanded irritably, thrashing uselessly in his grip before sagging. I knew it was no good before I even started, Malfoy was much stronger than me, curse him. "Spit it out, Malfoy, I have better prospects for conversation than a slug like you."

I saw his jaw clench and his eyes flash with anger at the insult, but instead of spitting out an insult like I had expected, he took a breath, like he was forcing down something nasty. Probably whatever his retort was going to be.

"Potter, about Moody's class…"

My jaw clenched. A couple of people had been bold enough to approach me and ask if they could see my scar 'for class.' A few had even started asking personal questions. Did it hurt, did I remember it. One Ravenclaw even had the balls to ask if I knew what Voldemort wanted to remind me of.

He was in the Hospital Wing with his feet on backwards and I had detention with Snape tomorrow night for that one.

"Quit looking at me like that, Potter, it's not what you think," Malfoy snapped. "I just wanted to say… Moody was out of line."

I stared. Then I blinked. Then I stared some more.

Moody was obviously out of line. That wasn't even a question. However, Malfoy saying something about it, that was surprising. I had expected him to be front of the queue asking me tactless questions, not… _I thought he was trying to comfort me._

Or at least I would have, if it weren't Malfoy. But it was, so my shields shot up. I opened my mouth to respond, but Malfoy beat me to it.

"But you handled yourself well. Like a real Slytherin."

With that parting comment – which might have actually passed for a compliment – Malfoy released me, spun on his heel, and stalked off. I watched him go, mouth open wordlessly, mind spinning.

What in the name of Merlin had that been?

Shaking my head, I decided that conversation could wait. That cup of cocoa was far more important.

* * *

It was time for Moody's class again. I wasn't looking forwards to it, unlike a lot of people. Moody's hands-on lessons were drawing a lot of interest, and a lot of terror. Of course, the fear only fed the interest, and was quickly making his lessons some of the most anticipated of the year among most people.

I sat in the same spot behind Harry and Ron's table, Lily sharing my desk with me. Behind me were Tracey and Nott, who I suspect were sitting there in some kind of show of solidarity. It was appreciated.

I made sure my expression was icy and disdainful, arms crossed over my chest and chin tilted back defiantly, fixing Moody with a hateful stare no matter where he moved as he stumped around the classroom. Dislike and annoyance absolutely radiated off of me, which was the goal, and which was apparently working well.

Harry turned around and flinched when he saw my expression.

"Merlin, Rena, you look like you're about to kill him."

"Contemplating it," I replied coolly. Harry shook his head. From the desk to my left, Hermione leaned over.

"Lorena, he's made his point about your scar. If you keep looking at him like that you'll just draw attention to yourself," Hermione hissed. "He'll be even harder on you!"

Lily gave Hermione a dark look. "Maybe you can let Lorena handle her own life, hmm, Granger?" she sneered pointedly. Hermione scowled in reply and her eyes flicked to me. I saw the silent question in them. Was I going to say anything to my housemates on her behalf? The answer was a resounding no. I still wasn't pleased with her after her comments in the Library.

"Everybody stand up!" Moody barked suddenly, and class began. Wordlessly, we all stood up and gathered our bags. With a flick of his wrist, the desks flew out of the way and stacked themselves against the far wall, clearing a wide space in the middle of the class. "Today, you're going to be attempting to throw off the Imperius curse."

A horrified mumble broke out at that, and even I dropped my icy façade for a moment to gape at him. He was going to perform Unforgivables on us? In front of us was one thing, but actually _on_ us? That was crossing some kind of line, it had to be. However, I knew that the Ministry and, more importantly, Dumbledore had to be aware of what he was planning. If Dumbledore had okayed it, then Moody had no one stopping him.

That old man really was crazy.

"But you… you said it was illegal, Professor," Hermione said uncertainly, the first to voice her concerns loud enough to be heard by everyone. "You said the use… on another human being…"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody growled, his magical blue eye swiveling to land on Hermione, pinning her with its stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way – when someone's putting it on you to control you – then you're welcome to leave. There's the door. You're excused."

Moody pointed at the door with one gnarled finger that was missing the tip. Hermione went pink, mumbling about not leaving. Harry and Ron exchanged subtle smiles behind her and I smirked. Hermione would never just walk out of class in protest like I had, Divination being the one exception. She would be too afraid of missing something.

Moody crooked a finger at Dean Thomas first, who promptly went ashen. He stepped forward hesitantly, moving to the middle of the classroom. He faced Moody, a expression of suppressed fear on his face. Moody raised his wand and flicked it at Dean, crying, _"Imperio!"_

Dean's expression immediately went glassy, his features going slack. He opened his mouth and began, of all things, to sing the National Anthem. He started hopping his way around the room. He made three circuits before Moody removed the curse. Dean was mid-jump and he staggered slightly as he came back to himself, shaking with the horror of being controlled.

Head down, he moved back to the cluster of students, where Seamus clapped a supportive hand on his shoulder and whispered something. Dean was still pale, but the corner of his mouth quirked slightly, so I assumed he was okay.

Lavender Brown was up next. She imitated a squirrel, holding her hands up by her cheeks like paws and making chittering sounds. She darted about the classroom, pausing every now and then to straighten up and look around, swishing her rear like she had a tail.

Neville performed an astonishing series of gymnastics, doing cartwheels and handsprings that I highly doubted he could do in his normal state. I winced in sympathy. He'd be feeling the effects of that last split tomorrow for certain.

"Potter!"

The bark was unexpected and made me flinch. I looked up, wondering which one of us Moody meant. He was staring at me though, and I saw Harry slump a little in relief out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't blame him though. People were making chattering noises in Lavender Brown's direction already – some people would not be coming out of this place with their reputations intact.

Still, I steeled myself and stepped forwards into the middle of the room. I turned so that I faced Moody. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at my classmates. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked worried, as did Neville. A couple of the Gryffindor and Slytherin girls looked like they were waiting to see what kind of show I would put on. Lavender Brown seemed hopeful that whatever I did would make people forget about her squirrel impression. Nott, Zabini, and even Malfoy looked grim.

I focused my attention on Moody, who flicked his wand.

I only barely heard him shout the spell before my mind was wiped blank, leaving nothing but a sense of serene happiness. My eyes closed, relaxed. That blankness was soon filled with one thought.

 _Dance…_

I raised my left foot off the ground slightly, toes pointed, but paused. No, I wasn't going to dance. I didn't dance. I couldn't dance, and I wasn't going to try in front of everyone here.

 _Dance!_

The voice insisted, and my foot shook, still hovering a few inches off the ground, but I didn't move beyond that. Dimly, things drifted across my mind. Moody, this was class… He had me under a spell… He was trying to make me

 _Dance! Do it!_

My eyes snapped open. Moody stood across from me, his magical and normal eyes fixed on me, his expression pulled into a frown of concentration as he tried to make me do what he wanted. But I wouldn't. I did not do what other people ordered me to – that part of my life was over. I did what I wanted, and right now, I wanted to make Moody pay for what he'd done.

 _I WON'T!_

With a great, mental shove, what felt like rubber bands breaking freed my mind. A headache pounded into being immediately on the heels of that, but my lips curled into a sneer as Moody staggered slightly, my mental shove throwing him off balance.

"Well done Miss Potter," Moody said quietly.

"I think we're done," I said coolly, and turned my back on him, striding back to the line of awed students. Lily grinned and Tracey gave me a thumbs up as I approached. Zabini flashed me a smile that had broken many a girls' heart and nodded approvingly. I smirked in reply.

"Potter!" Moody barked again. This time, there was no question. Harry stepped forwards, feet leaden as he slumped over to stand in front of Moody. Moody cast the spell on him and I leaned forwards. Part of me was worried about my brother, but the other part of me wanted to see if he could do what I had just done, if he could throw the curse off.

Harry's expression went glazed and loose like everyone else's. He stood for a moment, trembling. His knees bent suddenly and he looked like he was about to jump, but he didn't. For a moment he just crouched there and shook, and then his knees suddenly snapped straight, sending him pitching head-first into the desk.

"Look at that you lot!" Moody shouted as Harry picked himself up with a wince. "Potter fought, and he damn near beat it!"

"Yeah, but you did beat it!" I heard Lily hiss indignantly next to me. I shook my head.

"Yes but that would mean acknowledging that I did something right," I murmured back. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen."

* * *

When I walked into Snape's office that night, he was sitting behind his desk grading, a stack of essays and an extra quill and bottle of red ink across from him. Briefly I wondered if he ever regretted giving so much work for the time he had to spend grading assignments. Then again I could always be counted on to get detention and help him with grading, so it wasn't really that bad.

"Good evening, sir," I said as I sat down in the chair opposite Snape. I ignored the quill for a moment in favor of pulling out the grubby letter I'd received that morning from Sirius.

 _Lorena,_

 _I've heard about the tournament. I try and scrounge papers when I can. They're usually pretty out of date but I manage to keep up with what's going on. I'm a little jealous to be honest; they haven't had a Triwizard Tournament in decades._

 _As far as your Patronus goes, shield form is impressive on its own. Don't get too caught up trying to get to a corporeal form. I know you're going to though, so I'll just say this – I do know what it's like to not have many happy memories. I also know that there are moments, rare and precious moments, times you may not even consider important, but the emotions attached to them are so strong that they can create a Patronus. Don't focus on big events. Look smaller, maybe you'll find something._

 _Animagus_ and _a corporeal Patronus? You do intend to actually attend classes, don't you? As far as general advice, I'd say_ brace yourself _. The process isn't easy and it takes a long time. If you're going to do it, make sure you're determined or you won't be able to get through. And once you start,_ don't stop.

Following that was a list of a couple of titles. I made a mental note to check the Library for them tomorrow.

"Potter, fascinating as your correspondence undoubtedly is, you are here to be punished."

"Of course sir," I said, and tucked the letter into my pocket. I reached for the stack of essays and tugged them closer, seizing my quill and lifting it aloft, ready to wreck some grades. For a long time there was only the sound of scratching quills and the odd huff from Snape or me as we read something particularly stupid.

 _If you tried to collect dragon's blood like this, the dragon would eat you, which wouldn't really be a loss,_ I scribbled on a third-year's essay and then paused.

"Sir?" I asked curiously. "If you were still a student here, would you have entered the Triwizard Tournament?"

Snape looked up at me a raised an eyebrow. "What a ridiculous question. The Tournament is for those wizards who need a grand platform to become great. Those who cannot get by on their own wits and cunning."

"In other words, Gryffindors," I rephrased drily.

"Exactly so, although not them exclusively. Nothing is so common as the wish to be extraordinary. The difference is how we go about it."

I nodded appreciatively. "That's deep, sir."

"What of you, Miss Potter? Were you old enough, would you submit your name?" Snape asked, eyeing me calculatingly.

I paused, really thinking about it. I hadn't seriously considered it before because I couldn't enter anyway. But if I was old enough, if it was a real option… would I?

"I don't think so, sir," I admitted. "I'd rather make a name for myself on the Quidditch field or as a Potions Mistress. I'm not interested in risking my life for fame when I can do it in a much safer way."

Snape looked at me approvingly. "And that is what makes you a Slytherin."

* * *

It was the night the champions would be chosen, and everyone in the Great Hall was excited. The noise was almost deafening as I slid into an open spot at the Slytherin table next to Lily and across from Daphne. The two of them were discussing who it might be.

"Well it might be Diggory," Lily reasoned.

"A Hufflepuff?" Daphne scoffed. "Please, it'll be some Gryffindor lunk. Someone who's all brawn and no brains."

"Did any of the Ravenclaws even enter?" Lily asked, frowning as she tried to recall.

Parkinson jumped in with the names of the three Ravenclaws who had submitted their names and the debate continued. Personally, I wasn't even trying to figure it out. I had no idea what kind of criteria the goblet even looked for. Brains or brawn? Older or younger? Male or female? Were there some things that automatically put you out of the running? And how did the bloody cup even know? Unlike the Sorting Hat, it didn't seem to have any brains. It had certainly never burst into song.

I looked at the Goblet of Fire curiously. It sat in the middle of the room on a pedestal, blue flames flickering lazily inside of it. It was a fascinating magical object.

"Sit down!" Dumbledore urged. "Sit down!"

Those who had been milling around talking quickly took seats with their friends, poised eagerly. The whole hall was silent, waiting. There were some particularly tense knots around the room, usually centered around someone who had put their name in to the Goblet.

"And now the moment you've all been waiting for, the Champion Selection!" Dumbledore called.

I saw Karkaroff and Maxime huddled with their students, waiting breathlessly to see which one would be chosen. Dumbledore raised his wand and flicked it. The fires burning in the braziers around the hall dimmed, casting the room into an eerie half-light, the blue of the Goblet's flames standing out sharply. I found my eyes drawn towards it inexorably.

"How do you think it announces the winners?" Parkinson hissed nearby.

"Maybe it shouts it, like the Sorting Hat," Bulstrode guessed dumbly.

"Where's its mouth?" I countered quickly, then hissed, "Shhh!"

Dumbledore approached the Goblet of Fire slowly, his hands outstretched. He placed his palms against the worn metal of the cup and then stepped back, drawing one hand along in front of him as if he planned for something to follow his hand away.

For a moment nothing happened, and then the flames burned scarlet and blazed higher, startling a few people. I heard one younger Hufflepuff give a little shriek and several people around the hall flinched as a charred bit of parchment was shot into the air.

Dumbledore caught the smoking paper as it fluttered down, turning it over in his hands. "The Durmstrang champion is," the Durmstrangs leaned forwards tensely, "Viktor Krum!"

"No surprises there!" Zabini laughed, applauding with the rest of the hall as Krum got up and approached Dumbledore. His schoolmates were going mad, cheering him on like they were at one of his Quidditch games. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of all the brooding boys suddenly animated and wild.

Krum took Dumbeldore's hand and shook it heartily. Dumbeldore clapped him on the shoulder in a congratulatory way and then gestured to a side door. Krum nodded, took his paper, and left the room. People began to calm down as he left, going dead silent when the cup blazed red again.

Another singed parchment was fired into the air. Dumbledore caught it, turning it over in his fingers before announcing, "The champions from Beauxbatons is Miss Fleur Delacour!"

A gorgeous girl with a sheet of silvery-blonde hair stood up from the Beauxbatons cluster and trotted over to Dumbledore, smiling angelically as she shook Dumbeldore's hand. He passed her parchment over and gestured her to the same door Krum had gone through only moments before.

The Goblet burned red again and we all leaned forwards in interest. This was what we had been waiting for – the Hogwarts Champion, the one we'd be supporting for the rest of the year. I still had no idea who it might be. Those Ravenclaws were all genii, they had a good shot. There weren't any Slytherins in the running, which wasn't surprising, but a fair number of Gryffindors had thrown their hats into the ring. It wouldn't surprise me if it was one of them, they all seemed the type.

Dumbledore caught the final piece of paper as it fluttered down and announced proudly, "The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table exploded into cheers, and I couldn't blame them. It wasn't often Hufflepuff got recognized for anything. They weren't exactly a power player on the Quidditch field and they didn't usually lead their classes.

"Well if it had to be a Hufflepuff at least it's a cute one," Daphne announced, applauding with the rest of us as Diggory approached the Headmaster to shake his hand. She leaned over and nudged Parkinson. "He won't be bad to stare at all year, eh?"

Diggory vanished through the same door as Fleur and Krum and the Great Hall quieted again as Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.

"Excellent!" he announced. "We now have our three champions! But in the end only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions, this vessel of victory," Dumbledore flung a hand behind him. Barty Crouch had just placed yet another goblet on a pedestal behind Dumbledore. The covering over it whipped away and revealed a gleaming goblet made of pewter and crystal, TRIWIZARD etched in glittering letters on it.

"The Triwizard Cup!" Dumbledore finished grandly.

The applause shattered the room. I stared at the cup. It was impressive, certainly, and it was much prettier. But in the end it was just a trophy. Maybe I was a bit odd, but I was far more interested in the Goblet of Fire, despite it's clunkier and more weathered appearance.

I was one of the only people still looking, so I was one of the first to fall silent as streams of blue fire began to curl out of the top of the Goblet of Fire. It's flames flickered and danced, but this wasn't that.

"What's happening?" I murmured.

People were starting to notice, the applause replaced by whispers as the Goblet continued to let off streams of fire. Dumbledore approached the Goblet, hands raised over his face protectively. The fire burned scarlet for a fourth time and shot yet another slip of parchment into the air.

My eyes widened. "No way."

"Is this some kind of surprise?" Lily murmured.

I shook my head. "No, not the way Dumbledore was acting. Did you see him? He had no idea what was going on. And look at Crouch," I added, nodding to the other man. Crouch's eyes were bugged out and his jaw was loose under his toothbrush moustache. He clearly didn't know what was happening either.

The parchment slip came fluttering down and Dumbledore caught it. He held it carefully, like it might suddenly attack him, turning it over to find the name. He murmured something, and though I strained, I couldn't hear it. It sent a ripple out from the students close enough to hear though.

A moment later, Dumbledore roared, "Potter!"

"Of bloody course," Parkinson said in disdain, kicking my shin under the table. "Your brother just couldn't handle not being in the spotlight for a year, could he?"

"It makes you wonder how he did it," Daphne said a little bitterly. "How'd _he_ get around the age line?"

I was watching Harry. "I don't think he did," I whispered.

Harry was slowly trying to sink down out of sight, his expression one of pure shock. He hadn't been expecting that at all, not even a little.

There was a difference between power and skill. Harry had power, he was a strong wizard, and he could do some pretty impressive magic. But he didn't have the skill for the finer stuff – that was my domain. The Goblet of Fire was a powerful object, it would take more than brute force to overcome it. It would take subtle, finessed magic, and that wasn't Harry's area of expertise.

Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulder, hissed something to him, and yanked him upright. Staggering gracelessly, Harry made his way down the aisle to Dumbledore, his expression still one of blank shock.

"He's a cheat!" someone yelled.

"He's not even seventeen!"

Harry reached Dumbledore, but he didn't get a handshake or a clap on the back. Dumbledore simply stared at him intently for a moment, blue eyes twinkling, before he held up the slip of paper.

"It says 'Potter.' Just 'Potter.'"

All eyes turned to me and I felt my head swim and my heart pound. Potter? Just Potter? Of all the reasons for me to hate sharing a surname with someone, this definitely took the cake. I stared at the stunned and suspicious faces of my housemates. A few looked grudgingly impressed but others were sneering down their noses.

I looked helplessly to the teachers lined up along the stage, to Barty Crouch, who was in charge of the whole thing. There was no help there, they all looked as surprised and severe as Dumbledore himself. In desperation I looked to Snape, waiting for him to step forward and say there was some mistake, that I didn't need to go anywhere because this was all a joke, that I wasn't going to have to _risk my life_ over a damn _trophy_.

Snape saw me looking at him. He met my gaze. And he flicked his head, just a little, a tiny gesture, but I understood it. I had to go. I had to stand up and walk down the aisle and listen to people yell hateful things at me just like they had at Harry.

It took everything in me just to stand up. And just like that everyone's eyes were on me. I felt simultaneously hot and cold under the stares. But just like I had when I left Moody's class I held my head high, shook my hair out of my face, and walked proudly.

"She cheated too!"

"I bet she did it!"

"Couldn't handle Harry having all the fame, probably."

"She'd under-aged too!"

I hadn't had this many eyes staring at me like they wanted me gone since second year, since I'd stood up on top of the Slytherin dinner table and screamed at the whole bloody school in Parseltongue to leave my brother alone. They'd shut up after that, staring at me in horror like I had just announced I was going to pull a dementor and suck out their souls.

I stood silently in front of Dumbledore. He was looking back at me suspiciously. I felt Harry worm his hand into mine supportively and squeeze, hidden by the sleeves of our robes. I appreciated the gesture and it made me straighten my spine even more as Dumbledore stared at me like he was waiting for me to break down and confess to cheating.

But I didn't. He gestured to the door the other champions had gone through. Harry started walking and I followed after him, the whispers bearing down on my ears as we passed.

"Of course it's them, it's always them."

"Don't know why we're all surprised."

"Poor Cedric, how's he going to feel?"

"I wonder how they did it?"

"Course it's the bloody Potters."

We had reached the head of the Great Hall when I snapped. I dropped Harry's hand and whirled around the face the Great Hall at large. I opened my mouth. Harry and I heard what I yelled. "Shut your damn mouths, you don't know anything! Nothing!" To the rest of the Great Hall, it was a strangled snarl of a hiss and those closest reared back as they were reminded of the year when they'd split in the hallway for fear of me and my brother. I smirked in satisfaction. Like before, they'd stopped talking.

"Rena!" Harry hissed, and grabbed my hand, hauling me mercilessly through the door and shutting it behind us. "What were you thinking?" he demanded as we descended into the room. Trophies glittered all over the various tables and from within cases, torches on the wall and a huge, roaring fireplace lighting the room. Krum leaned on the mantle while Fleur lounged near one table of trophies and Cedric stared at some of the names on a cluster of small plaques.

"I shut them up, didn't I?" I replied coldly.

"Do zey want us back in ze 'all?" Fleur asked as we stepped off the last stairs.

"Not exactly," I replied shortly. Harry grabbed my shoulder, whipping me around and holding my shoulders tightly, forcing me to face him. The green eyes behind his glasses were desperate and his face was paler than usual as he begged, "I _didn't_ do it, Rena, you _have_ to believe me."

I snorted. "Of course you didn't. You're not a skilled enough wizard to trick the Goblet of Fire and you also know I'd kill you for dragging me into this with you."

Harry looked at me incredulously. "Thank you?"

"And you know I didn't do it either, right?"

"… Right."

I glared. "You hesitated." Rage pounded in my ears as Harry's eyes shuttered a little, his grip on my shoulders loosening. "You son of a banshee, you think it was _me?_ " I demanded furiously. "I'm _wouldn't-_ "

The door banged open and in rushed a giddy Ludo Bagman.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as incredible as it may seem," Bagman announced with a grin on his face. He grabbed my arm and Harry's and shoved us towards the other champions. "These are the fourth and fifth Triwizard Champions."

Cedric was looking bewildered while Krum scowled at the pair of us. Fleur, meanwhile, just tossed her hair and chuckled. "Oh, very funny joke, Meester Bagman," she laughed.

"Joke?" Bagman chortled. "Why not at all! The name 'Potter' just came out of the Goblet of Fire."

Krum was looking less and less pleased by the minute, Cedric looked like someone had just kicked his puppy, and Fleur was staring down her nose at Harry and I.

"Zat ees a mistake!" she said contemptuously. "Zey are too young!"

"Well... it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at us. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as their name's come out of the goblet... I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage... It's down in the rules, you're obliged... Harry and Lorena will just have to do the best they-"

The door banged open again and this time there was a rush of teachers and Headmasters with Barty Crouch bringing up the rear and looking stressed. McGonagall went to Harry's side supportively as Maxime and Karkaroff moved to stand by their own champions. I was relieved when Snape came to stand behind me, putting a hand bracingly on my shoulder.

Fleur looked up at Madam Maxime and said indignantly, "Zey are saying zat zese children are to compete also!"

Children? Ooh, she'd pay for that later. "You'd better guard that pretty silver hair of yours, you French bitch," I snarled under my breath. Snape's hand tightened on my shoulder warningly and I winced.

Maxime swatted a dangling lantern out of the way as she approached Dumbledore. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she demanded imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "Three Hogwarts champions? I don't remember the host school getting special treatment?" He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, resting her giant hands on Fleur's shoulders. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave three champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" he asked calmly.

Harry shook his head frantically, "No sir!"

"Did you ask an older student to do it for you?" Dumbledore pressed, and again Harry shook his head.

"But of course 'e is lying!" Maxime insisted. I scoffed.

"Clearly, you've never met my brother. He can't tell a convincingly to save his life."

I'd drawn all eyes to me and I knew it. I was resigned to it by this point, but at least Harry was looking a little relieved to have all the attention off of him.

"Was it you, Miss Potter?" Dumbledore asked me sternly. I shook my head.

"No sir, it wasn't."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "Between you and your brother you have the history with tricks-"

I narrowed my eyes, staring at the Headmaster hatefully. "I said I didn't do it. Sir," I tacked on as disrespectfully as possible.

"Zis one is a Parzelmouth!" Maxime said, thrusting a finger at me accusingly. "Not to be trusted."

"So's _zat one_ ," I said mockingly, thrusting a finger at Harry.

"If my student says she did not do it, then she didn't," Snape said firmly, but he was currently squeezing my shoulder so tightly I was sure I'd have a bruise by the next morning. I knew I shouldn't be shooting his mouth off but damn it, it was just so tempting a way to let off some of my stress.

"They could not have crossed the Age Line," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that-"

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

"It is possible, of course," said Dumbledore politely.

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" said Professor McGonagall angrily. "Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"

"Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, "you are our - er - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

"Hang on!" I burst out. "I'm not competing in the bloody thing! No way am I risking my life for that damn trophy! Count me out!" I shook my head vehemently.

"I don't want to compete either!" Harry agreed. "Cedric's name came out first, he wanted to compete. We'll back out, he can be the Hogwarts Champion."

Barty Crouch shook his head. "You don't understand. The Goblet of Fire works similarly to the magic in an Unbreakable Vow. I said it makes a binding contract. To break that contract would… not be wise," he finished delicately. "I don't know if there is any change because the paper simply read your last name, but I suspect you shouldn't risk it."

I lowered my head, defeated. Harry was slumped as well, looking crushed.

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," snapped Karkaroff, an ugly snarl on his face. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has three champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament-"

"-in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract. Convenient, eh?"

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. I scowled at him.

"Oh lovely, just what I needed," I grumbled.

"Convenient?" repeated Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put the Potter's name in that goblet knowing they'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts more bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards-"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's the Potters," growled Moody, "but... funny thing... I don't hear them saying a word..."

"Why should zey complain?" burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. "Zey 'ave ze chance to compete, 'aven't zey? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A chance to be remembered - zis is a chance many would die for!"

I tore my shoulder out of Snape's grip before he could give me a warning squeeze and stepped closer to Fleur. "You're not terribly bright are you?" I asked her shortly. She swelled up with rage and opened her mouth, but I cut her off. "A chance to be remembered? Our names are already in history books, and I mean that literally, or did you forget?" I tilted my head so that the flickering firelight caught the scar on the side of my cheek. Fleur paled. Good. "Fame is something I neither need nor want."

"Potter!" Snape growled, dragging me back to his side. I went willingly, glaring at Fleur the whole way.

"Maybe someone's hoping the Potters _will_ die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man...what a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the name in that goblet..."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament... I'm guessing they submitted the Potter name under a fourth school, to make sure they were the only one in the category..."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously..."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember..."

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction – Karkaroff's face was burning.

I stared at the Durmstrang Headmaster, I had something else to look up in the Library now – old court cases. Karkaroff had apparently done something very naughty and I wanted to know what.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Cedric, Lorena, and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do..."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr-"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

She didn't.

* * *

Later that night I walked into the Slytherin Common Room and was unsurprised to see that most people were still up and waiting for me to return. I stared around the room.

"I'm a Triwizard Champion," I announced. "And I'm going to bed."


	26. Weighing the Wands

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I was suddenly popular in Slytherin house, which was a new one on me. The Gryffindors seemed furious with Harry for going behind their backs and slipping into the tournament. In Slytherin, that was something to be admired. The fact that I insisted I hadn't even entered and wouldn't admit to cheating my way in seemed to make them even prouder of me.

"What's next Potter, going to wiggle your way onto the Ravenclaw team?" Malfoy sniped as I ate breakfast Monday.

Most people were, anyway.

I spent Sunday squirreled away in the library looking for records of past tournaments trying to figure out what I might come up against. The problem was a lot of effort was put into keeping the tournament fresh, so all I'd really figured out was what I _wouldn't_ be doing.

I scowled and stood up from the Slytherin table, abandoning my breakfast. I wasn't hungry lately. The prospect of potential death did terrible things to my appetite, oddly enough.

The Hufflepuffs were usually friendly, even being decent enough to us Slytherins, but when I walked past I was glared at with more venom that I'd ever believed the badgers had in them. In response I tossed them my best Slytherin sneer and strutted from the Great Hall.

I headed to the Owlery. The place reeked as usually, but I was too out of it to notice much. Artemisia flew down from the rafters and landed on my shoulder. I smiled at her and scratched her under the wing. She hooted happily and ruffled her feathers.

"Think you can take a letter to Sirius for me?" I asked her. She fluttered off my shoulder and landed on the window sill, offering her leg helpfully. I grinned as I tied the letter onto her leg and sent her on her way.

"At least one person doesn't hate me," I muttered as I turned away from the Owlery. My first class was Care of Magical Creatures. Normally I'd be pleased, but even I couldn't defend the Skrewts. Not to mention it was a Slytherin-Gryffindor class so I would be dealing with not only my brother's angry housemates but my own proud ones. It was a recipe for disaster.

I was one of the first down to Hagrid's cabin, which wasn't surprising given how early I'd left breakfast.

"Hullo L'rena!" Hagrid called as I approached. I smiled and waved as I set my bag down against the steps to his house.

"Hello Hagrid," I greeted. He was heading around the back of his cabin. I leaned around, calling after him, "Do you want some help?"

"No, don' bother yerself, I've got it!"

I sat on the step next to my bag, watching as students began to spill out of the castle and make their way down. I stood up and watched, waiting for a familiar black head of hair to appear. I perked up when Ron came out but, to my surprise, I saw only Ron and Hermione. Harry was lingering behind a different clump of Gryffindors.

When he arrived by the cabin I rushed over and grabbed his arm, dragging him a little bit away from the rest of the class.

"Why didn't you come down with Ron and Hermione?" I asked him, confused. "I get the rest of your house is pissed, but they should be protection against the rest of them."

Harry tossed a dark look at the back of Ron's head. "They would be, if Ron wasn't such a prat. He's as convinced as the rest of them that I cheated my way in, or at least got you to do it for me. No offense."

I wasn't even paying enough attention to be offended. Instead I was glaring at the back of Ron's head as well. "Are you serious?" I demanded. "Has he met you?"

"Exactly!" Harry burst out, throwing his hands up in the air helplessly. "It's not like I ask for all of this to-"

"You're not smart enough to have tricked the Goblet of Fire."

Harry's face fell. I got my own glare. "Thanks Rena. Really supportive."

I shrugged. "Just being honest. And Hermione?" I asked, tossing my head at her.

"Trying to keep the peace and get Ron and I talking," Harry said, grudging appreciation written all over his face. I raised an eyebrow.

"So it's going well then?" I asked sarcastically. Harry shook his head tiredly. Exhaustion and sadness was written on his face. I couldn't help but feel bad for him. He was from the house that valued honor and justice. In their eyes, he'd just done the incredibly dishonorable thing of cheating his way to the prize. To them, he'd undermined everything their house stood for.

"How have the Slytherins taken it?" Harry asked me.

I snorted. "They're delighted. They think I cheated my way in, of course, and they think I'm an idiot for getting you in as well, but they think it's great. I don't think I've ever been more popular."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Figures."

"Of course, there have been a couple of people who are still as dickish as usual," I said, narrowing my eyes as I saw Malfoy approaching with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champions," he called casually. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt they're going to be around much longer... Half the Triwizard champions have died... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potters? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To everyone's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.

"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry, L'rena - you come here an' help me with this big one..."

Hagrid just wanted to talk to us, it turned out. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to us and said seriously, "So - yer competin'. In the tournament. School champions."

"Some of the champions," Harry corrected him.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows. "No idea who put yer names in fer it, Harry?"

"You believe we didn't do it, then?" said Harry eagerly. I wasn't surprised. Hagrid always trusted us, no matter the situation.

"Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh – an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."

"Dumbledore believes Harry," I said bitterly. "I think he's still on the fence about me."

"Wish I knew who did do it," said Harry, sounding just as put out as I did.

The class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs- but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.

"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily. I assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because my classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet. I grinned when Malfoy got dragged five feet across the ground by a particularly aggressive skrewt. When he stood up, the front of his robes was stained with grass and dirt.

"Ah, I don' know, yeh two," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a worried expression on his face. "School champions... everythin' seems ter happen ter you, doesn' it?"

"Everything happens to him," I said, pointing a finger at Harry accusingly. "I just get dragged along for the ride because someone has to keep his skin mostly attached to his meat."

Harry winced. "Charming visual, Rena, thanks."

"Welcome."

* * *

Things continued in much the same vein for the next few days. Most of the school hated me – as per usual – while a surprising number of my housemates were on my side. Malfoy and Puginson were still laughing it up and calling out to me in the halls, asking if they could have my stuff after I snuffed it or making loud predictions about how long I'd last.

If Double Potions on Friday was hell for my brother, it was heaven for me. I could forget all about the tournament for a while and focus on nothing but getting the week's potion as perfect in possible, hopefully winning some points for my house in the process.

I descended gratefully into the dungeons and let the cool air embrace me, having a soothing effect on my temper as I went deeper under the castle.

I arrived outside of the Potions door and squinted. There were a lot of Slytherins already waiting there. And they all seemed to be wearing badges. The red letters stood out brightly in the dim lighting – _support Cedric Diggory, the real Hogwarts champion!_

I looked around and noticed it was all mostly Malfoy's fan club lingering by the door. Them, I had no problem insulting, so I took a deep breath, strode forward, and loudly announced, "You're all real bastards, you know it?"

A platinum head of hair pushed its way through the crowd. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy had one pinned to the front of his robes and was grinning widely.

"Like them, Potter? I made them myself."

"Yeah, that's how you'll pass your classes," I said, rolling my eyes and giving him a thumbs up. "Nice use of your time, Dragon Breath."

Malfoy smirked. "Some of us are smart enough that we don't need to spend all our time locked up in the Library to make it through the school year."

I rolled my eyes. I was definitely antisocial – and my house wondered why – but I didn't spend all of my time locked up in the Library. Only when I had something important to focus on and occasionally whenever a subject had gotten stuck in my head.

"It's called improving your mind, Malfoy, you should look into it. I think you hit eleven and froze mentally."

"Better than dying at fourteen," Malfoy countered.

"Thirteen years longer than I should have lived," I said coldly, and that shut him up. If I ever wanted to stop the Slytherins in their tracks I could just remind them of why I had that nice little beauty mark carved into my face. It was usually enough to throw them off at least a little.

Malfoy's eyes flicked over my shoulder and lit with interest. I sighed, already able to guess that my brother had probably just arrived.

"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. "And this isn't all they do - look!"

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green: HARRY POTTER STINKS!

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message HARRY POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around us. I saw him going red and winced. This wasn't going to end well.

"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson, who was laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.

"Want one, Granger?" offered Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

"Watch your language," I snapped at him.

People scrambled out of the way and an infuriated Harry drew his wand and stared Malfoy down.

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Do it, if you've got the guts-"

For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.

"Furnunculus!" Harry yelled.

"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles – Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up. Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!"

Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her. He dragged Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth - already larger than average - were now growing at an alarming rate. She was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin. Panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations. Snape pointed a long finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir-"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.

"-and he hit Goyle, look-"

Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron announced. "Look!"

He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Hermione let out a whimper. Her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

"Sir!" I protested aloud. "They did strike at the same time, I saw it-"

It was that both Harry and Ron also started shouting at Snape at the same time. Our voices echoed so much in the stone corridor it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.

"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Potter, you will serve detention with me tonight. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions for all of you."

We all filed inside and I settled into my usual seat between Lily and Nott. The pair of them were glancing at me sideways. I couldn't blame them. I was giving Snape dirty looks, and that was odd for me. Even I had to admit though that what he'd said to Hermione was a little too harsh.

"Antidotes!" announced Snape, looking around at us all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..."

A knock on the dungeon door broke through Snape's lecture. It was Colin Creevey. He edged into the room, beamed at Harry, gave me a look of terrified awe, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" said Snape curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry and Lorena Potter upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

"The Potters have another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "The will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin went pink. "Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir – he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Cohn. "All the champions..."

"Very well!" snarled Snape. "Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!"

Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. I stood up and grabbed my own bag, tossing it over my shoulder, and followed him out.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment the dungeon door closed behind us. "Isn't it, though? You both being champions?"

"Yeah, really amazing," said Harry heavily as we set off toward the steps into the entrance hall.

"What do they want photos for, Colin?" I asked. Colin shivered slightly as I spoke and I couldn't resist the urge to smirk. The little kid seemed equal parts fearful of my very presence and awed by my history. It was fun to tease him.

"The Daily Prophet, I think!"

"Great," said Harry dully. I agreed. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

"Good luck!" said Colin when we had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and we entered.

It was a fairly small classroom with most of the desks pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. Three of them had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than usual. She kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted us, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here they are! Champions number four and five! In you come, Harry, Lorena, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment-"

"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry and me.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

I hated her on sight.

I was saved from having to interact much with her by Dumbledore stepping into the room with the headmasters of the other schools and Mr. Crouch. Ollivander trailed behind them all, looking just as absent-minded as I remembered him.

"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight. "How are you?" she said, walking up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," replied Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed. "I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street-"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start."

The champions were ushered voer to chairs in the corner of the room. I made sure to take one that was closer to Harry than anyone else. The judges seated themselves behind the velvet-covered tables.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm..." he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur proudly. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Well that explains a hell of a lot," I mumbled and heard Harry snort softly next to me.

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander uncertainly, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..."

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps. He muttered, _"Orchideous!"_ and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn... must have been seventeen hands, nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition... You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Harry gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub the fingerprints off of his own wand surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he stopped. I glared at the French witch.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I... however..."

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

"Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... _Avis!"_

The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Miss Potter, if you would."

I stood up and walked over to Mr. Ollivander, pulling my wand from inside my robes. The white wood gleamed brightly and the dark speckles on the wood stood our sharply. The carvings in the handle were free of dirt and oil. Unlike Harry, I'd been expecting this thanks to my research on the tournament.

I offered the wand to Mr. Ollivander and he took it, turning it over thoughtfully in my fingers.

"Ah yes," he said softly. "Phoenix feather core, supple, twelve and a quarter inches. Yew."

I saw Karkaroff perk up and Maxime looked vindicated. I wasn't stupid. Sayings about wand wood were a dime a dozen. Yew was one of the ones with a darker reputation – literally, wielders of a yew wand were supposedly more liable to turn to the Dark Arts. A yew wand in the hands of a Parselmouth – I was a walking advertisement for 'this kid is going Dark.'

"You take good care of your wand," he observed. It was true – I polished it monthly and checked it for cracks or wear often. I was as attached to my wand as I had been when Mr. Ollivander first gave it to me.

"I remember when you gave it to me. You said I would do great things with it," I reminded him. Mr. Ollivander nodded and I knew he remembered just as well as I did.

"That I did. _Serpensortia!"_ Mr. Ollivander cast, his eyes lingering on the Slytherin crest on my robes. A snake, an adder, shot from the tip of my wand. I scowled at him as Fleur recoiled and screamed girlishly at the reptile. It raised its head and peered around the room, letting out a low hiss.

"Where in holy hell am I? What is this? Oi, did you do this?" it snapped.

I glared at Ollivander darkly as the snake looked at me. I bent down, not in the least bit afraid of the adder despite the fact that they were venomous. Snakes didn't bother me at all.

"Sorry about this," I hissed at the snake, crouching down. If the adder could have, I think it would have grinned.

"Hey, you speak snake! Great, someone I can have a decent conversation with."

"Perhaps later, we're getting some odd looks," I requested, offering it a hand. The adder crawled up my arm, the cool, scaly weight of it soothing as it wrapped itself around my shoulders. I straightened up and turned to Mr. Ollivander.

"Can I have my wand back now?" I asked him tartly. Mr. Ollivander looked at me blankly.

Behind me, Harry advised, "English, Rena. She wants her wand back," he added to Mr. Ollivander.

I scowled and licked my lips. I had trouble pulling out of Parseltongue sometimes. It lingered in my mouth for whatever reason. I took my wand back from Ollivander and stalked back to my chair.

"Thanks," I said in English. Harry grinned.

"No problem."

"That leaves... Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander said. Harry stood and approached the older wizard to hand over his hand. Harry's wand didn't interest me – I knew it had been up a troll's nose.

"Keep zat creature away from me," Fleur sniffed, scooting her chair farther away from me and closer to Cedric. The adder flicked out a tongue and lifted its head from my chest.

"I don't like her," the snake hissed. I smirked.

"I don't either," I cooed to it, stroking its head with a finger. Fleur shuddered and leaned even closer to Cedric. "Want to scare her? Just scare," I said sternly.

"It would be my pleasure."

The snake reared up and hissed at Fleur, opening its mouth wide and flashing its fangs. She shuddered again and curled closer to Cedric, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"I don't know how she can stand to have it touch her." Fleur shuddered delicately.

Cedric smiled at her sheepishly. "I've always thought it was a bit impressive."

I blinked at Cedric, thrown. "You… what?" I asked incredulously. He nodded.

"Yeah. I thought it was really brave how you stood up for your brother two years ago," Cedric explained. His eyes lingered on the adder and my lazy stroking of it. He raised a hand curiously. "Can I?"

I looked down at the adder. "I like this one, don't bite him," I ordered sternly. The adder bobbed its head.

"Got it, boss." I saw Fleur's eyes widen at the gesture. Cedric chuckled and reached out hesitantly.

"You really can talk to them," he said softly as his fingers made contact with the adder. Tentatively, he stroked it. I grinned as Cedric's face showed a childish delight. It wasn't often that snakes got the recognition they deserved. Personally, I thought they were brilliant. Then again, I was biased.

"I thought it'd be slimy, for some reason," he admitted.

The adder hissed angrily. "Oi!" Cedric whipped his hand back.

I hissed a warning back at it and looked at Cedric apologetically, stroking along the adder's spine soothingly.

"They don't really like that," I explained.

"Apparently," Cedric said faintly as Harry seated himself next to me again.

"Made a new friend?" Harry asked drily, nodding to the snake.

There was a flash of light and we both jerked as we were blinded. We whipped around and saw Rita Skeeter's cameraman lowering his camera. Rita swaggered forward.

"I'm Rita Skeeter," she announced, shaking hands. "I write for the Daily Prophet. But then, you knew that. It's you we don't know," Rita said, stepping back quickly. "It's you we don't know. You're the juicy news. What quirks lurk beneath those rosy cheeks." She patted Fleur's cheek a bit harder than was strictly necessary. "What mysteries to the muscles mask." She stroked Krum's arm. "Does courage lie beneath those curls?" She ruffled Cedric's hair. I think the adder kept her away from Harry and I, for which I was grateful. I'd be fetching him some eggs from the kitchen before I turned him loose on the grounds. "In short, what makes a champion tick? Me myself and I want to know, not to mention my rabid readers. So, who's feeling up to sharing?"

Awkward silence reigned. "Shall we start with the youngest?" Rita seized Harry's arms and dragged him upright and towards a door. "Lovely!"

I shook my head and stared after my brother sympathetically, settling back into my chair. I reached into my bag and dug around. My Transfiguration textbook and the book on Patronus charms, and finally…

With a small sound of triumph I tugged free my Potions textbook and flipped through it thoughtfully to the section on antidotes. My own antidote for today's class was written on a clean sheet of parchment for easy reading, but it could also been found in cramped note form in the margins of my books. I skimmed over it again, looking for any improvements I could make there.

"I haf heard you are good at brewing," said a thickly accented voice. For once, it wasn't the one that made me cringe. I looked up at blinked at Krum.

"Eh? Oh yeah. I'm the best in my year," I said proudly.

"I vas never good at brewing," Krum admitted quietly. "I vas always best at flying."

I rolled my eyes. "No kidding. I'm a little jealous, to be honest," I admitted. "I've never seen anyone fly that well."

"You like flying?" Krum asked eagerly. I was quickly picking up on his type – surly until he found something he could talk to you about comfortably, then he opened up.

"Love it!" I grinned. "I tried out for the team second year and made Chaser. I've been playing ever since."

"Potter's a brilliant Chaser," Cedric put in. "I'm glad I don't have to go up against her on the pitch."

I was befuddled and Fleur looked incredibly put out. For once, I was the one that the man candy was doting on, not her. It felt good. I sent her a triumphant look and said, "Yeah, well, I'd say you're a brilliant Seeker but I'm biased you know."

Cedric nodded in understanding. "Of course," he said wryly.

"My friend Iliya, he flies as well," Krum put in. "Does your brother's friend like to fly? With the curly hair?"

I blinked at him incredulously and I could see Cedric looked amused over my shoulder, both of us reaching the same conclusion. Viktor Krum had a thing for Hermione Granger. Well now, that was unexpected. Then again, it would explain his constant haunting of the Library with a sullen Iliya trailing after him.

"Hermione Granger," I told him, and watched his face brighten slightly. "No, sorry. Hermione's a terrible flyer, actually. Brilliant though, completely brilliant. Really brave too," I added. "Did you know that in our second year she got Petrified?"

Krum's eyes widened in horror. "She vas?"

"Uh huh. But even though she was Petrified she ended up helping save lives. She had a page from a book in her hand, see. It helped Harry figure out it was a basilisk haunting the school."

Fleur's face was disbelieving. "You had a _basilisk_ in your _school?_ " She sniffed. "I don't believe you."

I snorted. "Believe what you want. I can take you down to see the thing's corpse if you like; Harry killed it."

I settled back and watched the two foreign students come to the same conclusion Cedric already had. Despite us being younger, Harry and I were no pushovers. We'd been in more dangerous situations than some wizards twice our age.

"Then there was the werewolf last year," I added as the door Skeeter had dragged Harry through opened up. Harry emerged looking infuriated. Krum and Fleur gaped after me as Rita Skeeter crooked her finger at me. Normally I would have denied her out of spite, but the moment was too good to pass up. I rose, leaving the slack-jawed foreigners and amused Cedric behind me.

"What's she like?" I whispered to Harry as I met him on my way across the room.

"Vile," Harry spit out. "Best not to say anything, Rena," he cautioned. I nodded and kept going towards the door. I stared inside it incredulously.

"This is a broom cupboard," I said blankly.

"I know, cozy isn't it?" Skeeter cooed and shut the door sharply, stepping in with me. She seated herself on a crate of Magical Mess Remover. I sat down on the crate opposite her. Between us was stretched a piece of parchment, already halfway filled, where an acid-green quill hovered.

"Don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?" Skeeter asked sweetly. "It lets me talk to you normally."

"That's fine," I allowed, watching her carefully.

"Lovely! Now, let's start with what made you enter the tournament."

"I didn't," I replied dully. It had become an instinctive reply. I didn't even think about it.

Skeeter winked at me. "Course you didn't." She smiled widely. "But come on, just between us… You're a Slytherin, and one with a reputation at that. So how'd you do it?"

"I didn't enter the tournament," I insisted. Skeeter looked slightly annoyed, but continued.

"Alright alright, keep your secrets. How about what we saw out there? How long have you been a Parseltongue?"

"Parselmouth," I said shortly.

"Pardon?"

"I _am_ a Parselmouth," I explained slowly, as if I was talking to a very slow child. "I _speak_ Parseltongue."

"Right, right," Skeeter said carelessly. "So is that why your little friend isn't attacking us right now?"

I stared at her incredulously. Adders had a reputation for being very shy around people – they avoided confrontation with humans. Attacking her? The adder would have slithered off into a crack in the walls somewhere if I hadn't stopped it.

My eyes flicked from her overly-made-up face to the quill, which was scribbling furiously across the parchment. _Lorena Potter strokes the snake around her shoulders thoughtfully, seemingly unconcerned by the Dark reputation of Parseltongues. Or is it her house that gives her such ease around dangerous creatures?_

"He's not dangerous!" I said defensively as I glared at the quill. It continued to scribble. _Perhaps it is her growing Dark reputation that makes Miss Potter confident enough to enter such a dangerous tournament._ "I didn't put my name in the tournament! And I don't have a Dark reputation!" I said furiously.

"Ignore the quill," Skeeter said sharply. "Tell me, do you think Dark magic would be effective in the tournament?"

I scoffed. "Of course. _Any_ kind of magic would be effective, it being a _magical_ tournament."

 _Lorena leans forwards and purrs, "I think Dark magic definitely has its uses."_

"Do you think your parents would be proud of your actions?" Skeeter pressed. I scowled.

"I wouldn't know," I said shortly. "They died."

 _Miss Potter draws back, suddenly hesitant. "I… I don't know. I never met them," she says, seeming much more like the young girl of twelve one would expect her to be._

"I'm fourteen!" I exclaimed hotly.

"Right, of course. Do you think your past brushes with danger will make you more qualified to compete in this tournament?" Skeeter continued eagerly. Her hand reached out towards my cheek and her eyes held an ugly, eager light. I was done with this woman.

"Scare," I hissed at the adder, who reared up and hissed loudly. Skeeter pulled her hand back with a shriek. In English I continued, "Listen here, you _absolute hag_ ," I snarled. "I don't know what you're planning to write, but I warn you. Be _very_ careful what you say about myself or my brother, or I will end up with that _Dark reputation_ you seem so keen on, _do you understand me?"_

With that I turned and stormed out of the broom cupboard, pushing the door open so sharply that it banged loudly against the wall and rattled. All eyes turned to me as I stomped over to the chairs again.

"Rena," Harry groaned upon seeing my face. "What did you do?"

"The usual. Was sarcastic, threatened bodily harm," I said shortly. "See you later, Harry."

I slung my bag over my shoulder, being careful of the adder, and stalked from the room, red pounding at the corners of my vision. My fists coiled and uncoiled at my sides as I swept through the hallways, making a beeline to the kitchen. The pear was less tickled than it was brutally clawed at, but it turned into a doorknob nonetheless and I stepped into the kitchen.

The familiar bustle of the house elves and the scent of lunch being prepared calmed me a little and I looked around.

"Lorena!"

It had taken me all of three years, but Tippy had finally started calling me Lorena at the end of last year. I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. I knew Tippy would start blaming herself if I was angry, and the last thing I wanted was her shutting her ears in the oven door.

"Hello Tippy," I greeted, crouching down slightly so that the little house elf didn't have to crane her neck.

"Tippy is glad to see Lorena!" Tippy squeaked. "Tippy has heard that Lorena will be in the tournament, Tippy has. Tippy has been very worried about Tippy's friend Lorena!"

"I'll be fine, Tippy," I assured her. "But do you think I could get some snacks?"

"Yes, yes!" Tippy said eagerly. "What would Lorena like?"

"Could I get a couple of eggs and some hot chocolate?" I asked. Tippy made a face.

"Eggs and hot chocolate? Lorena has very strange cravings."

I chuckled. "The eggs are for him," I said, nodding to the adder. "Just take them out of the carton, please."

Tippy's face brightened. "Lorena is feeding a snake! Lorena is a nice person!"

I shook my head helplessly and straightened up as Tippy hustled off. I wasn't that nice, I was just grateful for the adder's assistance and figured he deserved a treat.

Tippy returned only moments later with a basket holding three eggs and a thermos of hot chocolate.

"Here you go, Lorena, here you go!" Tippy said brightly. I thanked her. "Anything for Lorena! Anything Tippy can do to help Lorena, Tippy will do."

"That's sweet of you, Tippy. Say hi to Dobby for me!" I said gratefully before waving at the rest of the house elves and leaving the kitchen. I headed outside and towards a rocky section of the shore around the Black Lake. It would get lots of sun in the day time and had plenty of places to hide. Perfect for releasing a snake.

"Here we are," I said, sitting down on the rocks. I lifted the snake off my shoulders and set him down on the rocks. "You're free to go. Thanks for the help."

"No problem, boss, and thanks for the food," the snake hissed in reply as I pulled the eggs out of the basket and set them out for him. I took a swig of my hot chocolate. "Say, what's this tournament thing?"

I explained the Triwizard Tournament, trying not to focus too much on the fact that I was having a full-blown conversation with a snake. He was a great listener though.

"I feel bad," I admitted once I'd finished. "I've been calling you 'the snake' in my head. Do you have a name?"

The snake made a slight squelching sound as he finished forcing the second egg down his unhinged jaw and replied, "Nah, we don't really do that naming thing you humans do."

"Would you mind terribly if I gave you one?" I asked curiously. The snake bobbed its head thoughtfully.

"Might as well. Might be fun, having a name."

I tried to think of a suitably snaky name. "Silas?" I suggested. The snake pondered for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, I like that one. Silas. Yeah, I'm gonna be Silas!" He seemed excited about having a name. "Say, boss, want me to looked around, try and find out some information on the tournament for you?"

I bit my lip thoughtfully. On one hand, having a snake as a spy could be a big advantage. On the other hand, if Silas was seen he'd probably be blasted on sight by the nearest person with a wand. Of course if he stayed out of the castle then he would be able to sneak off into the grass or underbrush before anyone saw anything.

"You don't have to do this," I assured him. "I didn't do anything, really. I'm sure you have other things you could be doing."

Silas made a rolling motion with the first foot of its body. It was a snake-shrug, I guessed. "Yeah, but I don't have much going on lately. Besides, you saved my life when most people try to kill me. Just bring me an egg every now and then, huh?"

I nodded. "I could to that," I said thoughtfully. It really would be an advantage. "But stay out of the castle," I said sternly. "It's too dangerous for you in there."

"Okay," Silas replied eagerly. He seemed delighted at the idea of being a spy. "This has been a great day! Eggs, a name, and I got something to do!"

I chuckled. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," I replied, and stroked his back. "Just be careful, I don't want you getting hurt on my account."

"You won't even know I'm here," Silas replied smugly before unhinging his jaw to take on the last egg.

* * *

 **As this chapter is going up I am writing the last chapter of year four. Yeah, it's pretty much done, and I'm very excited about it. After that there will be a chapter or two of summer and then I'll probably take a break from posting for a little while before charging headfirst into year 5, where Lorena makes a deal with the devil ;) I will admit that I pulled a lot of Voldemort's dialogue for the graveyard scene from the book - no matter how hard I try I can't write him, I don't know why. Hope you guys don't hate me too much for that.**

 **Oh, and also, I don't know if any of you have noticed but I updated the story photo! What do you guys think?**


	27. Labs and Ferret

**Hey guys. So... I've been snowed in and bored out of my mind waiting for my next semester of college to start. They've already called it for tomorrow and are now saying we won't start back until Tuesday. Anyway... I've had nothing to do but sit on my butt and write. Aside from starting a new story about a Muggleborn genius in Slytherin that may or may not become something, (let me know if you'd be interested in something like that and maybe I'll focus on it after I finished this story) I've been writing Lorena obsessively again. And guys...**

 **I'm on chapter 51. I kid you not. I finished year 4 and am in the beginning months of their fifth year of school. This is ridiculous and I'm kind of ashamed of myself because I have been doing nothing but sitting in front of the computer writing for Lorena. Good for you, kind of sad for me. I just thought you guys might like to know that this story is progressing so barring unforeseen circumstances I should be able to update once a week for quite a while. From now on, I'm going to try to update every Wednesday, so you'll know when to look for a new chapter.**

 **Also a couple of people have asked if Silas will find out if Moody isn't Moody for Lorena. The answer, after some debate, is no. Lorena has him looking for information on the tournament, which the teachers don't have. Therefore there would be no reason for Silas to follow Moody.  
**

* * *

I was right on time to my detention with Snape and in a much better mood than I had been when I stormed out of the broom closet. I still wasn't pleased with him for what he'd said to Hermione, but I understood his annoyance with her as a teacher. I settled myself in at my usual seat opposite Snape's desk and drew out my parchment from inside my bag, passing it over the desk to him.

"Well?" I asked eagerly as Snape took the parchment and scanned over my antidote. "Would it work?"

I waited for his response as he combed over the steps and instructions I'd neatly written out. Finally, he looked up and nodded.

"Yes, Potter, your hypothetical poisoning victim would survive if you gave them this," he replied, passing the paper back. "Although you could simply shove a bezoar down their throats and save yourself the trouble of brewing," he added pointedly. I groaned and smacked my forehead with my palm.

"See sir, this is the problem with you. I considered writing that down, but then I figured that'd get me detention."

"Well, you got that anyway," Snape countered. "But, as it happens, I gave you detention for a reason."

"Aside from my general misbehavior?" I asked blankly. Snape gave me a dark look.

"This is not a joking matter, Potter," he said shortly. "It has been a week since you were announced as a champion. I want to know what you've done to prepare yourself for the first task."

I stared at him, surprised. Snape wanted to talk strategy with me? A slow smile crept across my face. "Aw, sir," I said saccharinely, "you do care."

Snape sniffed. "You are one of the few slightly promising students I have seen in my teaching career. I would be most disappointed if you died and left me to a class full of dunderheads."

I snickered at that. "Sure, sir, whatever you say." I sobered and got down to business. "I've done research on the task used in previous Triwizard Tournaments, but they are very strict about making sure a task isn't repeated. I've come up with is what I won't be doing, which isn't much help. I'm just glad I won't be fighting a Quintaped," I admitted weakly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you've discovered?" he asked shortly. "It appears my faith in your ability to research was misplaced."

I scowled. "Now hold on sir, that's not entirely fair. I know that the first task usually involves retrieving a clue to the content of the second task. And the third task is usually an… obstacle course of some kind. But the first task is always a surprise."

"A surprise," Snape repeated slowly. "So… a lack of information? Are you incapable of gathering the necessary information?"

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Sir, what you're suggesting sounds dangerously close to cheating."

Snape snorted. "You're a fool if you think Karkaroff and Maxime aren't willing to cheat to get their champions to victory. If you don't cheat, then you're disadvantaging yourself for something as pathetic as the moral high ground, and that's never been your style. Your brother's perhaps," Snape allowed "but never yours."

I tilted my head at Snape. "Sir," I asked suspiciously. "Do _you_ know what I'm going to have to do?"

Snape settled back in his chair, lacing his fingers on the desk in front of him. "I do."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not supposed to tell me, are you?"

"No."

"Will you?"

"Of course not."

I chuckled drily and raked a hand through my hair. "Thought not. You couldn't make it easy on me just this once, sir?" I asked him with a pout. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Stop that at once, Potter, it's appalling and infantile." I pulled in my lip immediately and Snape nodded in satisfaction. "Dangerous as this tournament is and determined as I am to see you come out alive, I am also aware that you wouldn't be pleased with yourself if I were the only reason you came out of the tournament alive, a sentiment I understand and accept."

I grunted. "I just have to hope that Silas comes up with something, then."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Silas? Who is Silas?"

I explained quickly about the _Serpensortia_ and the events that followed, as well as Silas's offer to spy for me. Snape's eyes lit with pride as I told him about my acceptance of the offer and it made me feel warm and appreciated, something that was definitely lacking lately.

"Well done, Potter," he said. "Your methods are subtle, unexpected, and unique, exactly as I would hope. Just don't rely too heavily on this adder," he cautioned.

I nodded. "I won't sir, I plan to go back to researching in the Library and trying to come up with something. Hopefully, even if Silas can't figure out exactly what's going on, I'll be able to find out enough to come up with some kind of defensive measures."

Snape nodded approvingly. "You are off to a better start than most would be, Potter. I would recommend researching defensive and protective potions. Play to your strengths," Snape advised.

I blinked. "I can use potions?" I asked in surprise. Snape nodded.

"So long as they are brewed by yourself and either a teacher or judge can verify that, they can be used."

I nodded in understanding, biting my lip thoughtfully. I smiled. "I can work with that, sir. Would you be willing to monitor my work, sir?"

"I would," he replied, standing. "That brings me to the second reason I gave you detention."

"And here most teachers only need one," I smiled. "Always going above and beyond, eh sir?"

Snape scoffed. "Follow me and keep your mouth shut, Potter."

"Can't make any promises, sir," I said as I stood up and followed Snape out of his office. I looked around curiously as we turned down a corridor I'd never gone down before. It seemed less-used than other corridors, going by the way the torches were banked. They blazed higher as we entered the corridor.

Snape paused, seemingly randomly. On his left was a small niche where a silver statue of a snake coiled around a cauldron rested on a pedestal. Opposite that was a blank wall. Snape turned to face the snake. It blinked its emerald eyes and lifted its head away from the base of the cauldron.

"Password?" it asked lazily, its voice holding a metallic edge to it.

"Sorcerer's Apprentice," Snape said sharply. The snake lay back down and the blank wall suddenly turned into a door. Snape opened the door and held it wide for me, nodding for me to go ahead. Curiously, I crept inside. Torches blazed alight at my entrance and I looked around.

It was the bare bones of a potions lab. The room was too small for much. There were three cauldrons resting along one wall, divots under them where fires could be made. On the opposite wall was an empty countertop for preparing ingredients. Empty racks lined the walls above the countertop for ingredients and completed potions. Opposite the door was a single bookshelf against the wall. In one corner was a carved gargoyle head with a divot in the floor under it and a tap coming out of the mouth for water, a bucket resting in the dip. The room was small – it would take me maybe two steps to get from the counter to the cauldrons.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around curiously.

"This room," Snape said quietly, "is a throwback to the days of the master-apprentice dynamic. Professors here used to frequently take on graduated students as apprentices. The practice has mostly fallen by the wayside here at Hogwarts, but this was the lab for the personal use of the Potion Master's apprentice. For the duration of the year, it is open to your use."

I turned around, gaping at Snape incredulously. A lump rose in my throat. "S-Sir," I said thickly. "Y-You mean-?"

"Don't you dare cry," Snape snapped. "I am not taking you on as an apprentice – you're far too young and I haven't the time besides. But, I understand the value of privacy when brewing. The classroom is entirely too public and I'm not letting you into my personal lab. This room wasn't being used anyway, so it will suit your purposes." I bit my quivering lip as Snape continued, "You will not tell anyone about this room. Should you wish to work on a potion, you will alert me by owl no later than breakfast the morning of. I will not assist you in any brewing and I will not- _Gah!"_

It had been four years since I had last hugged Professor Snape, and he didn't seem to appreciate it any more than he did last time. I was at least pleased that this time I wasn't sniffling into his robes. I kept myself from crying, but I wrapped my arms around my professor's waist and squeezed tightly.

"Thank you, sir," I murmured. "It… it means a lot."

Red-faced, I let go of my ruffled professor. Snape took the time to smooth down his robes and stared down his nose at me, giving a huff. "Control yourself Potter. As I said, I'm only doing this so I'm not left with classes full of dunderheads."

I smiled faintly. "Right sir. But still… thank you."

* * *

I was still on a high from the idea of having my own Potions lab to work in, even if it was temporary and only for tournament business. The idea was heady enough – potions was what I wanted to do with my life and the idea of having my own lab to putter around felt like practice for when I was old enough to have my own real lab, a place where I could do whatever I wanted.

Not only that, but I was deeply touched by Snape's gesture. I knew that he wasn't exactly pleased with me about not waking him up after he was knocked out in the Shrieking Shack the year before, but he seemed to have forgiven me. Stiff and surly as the man was, I knew he cared about me and wanted to see me succeed. Now that I knew it was an option, I was even considering approaching him for an apprenticeship once I graduated.

But I couldn't brew anything if I didn't know what I was facing. My research in the Library hadn't turned up anything meaningful. Silas hadn't come to me with anything and the first task was getting closer and closer with every day. It was still almost two months away, but I felt completely unprepared with nothing to work on and no leads to follow.

So, I turned to my own projects for the time being to keep me from going spare. I had planned to focus on Patronus charms this year, but that was a Defense spell. With Lupin gone to who knew where and Moody my only other option, I was tossing that project for next year when we'd presumably have a new teacher and focusing instead on the much more difficult and time-consuming process of becoming an Animagus.

"Professor McGonagall?"

McGonagall looked up at me in surprise as the last of the students filed out of my Transfiguration lesson. I didn't blame her for being surprised. It was almost unheard of for a Slytherin to hang back to talk to her unless they were inches from failing the class. House rivalries ran too deep.

"Miss Potter," she greeted coolly. "Can I help you?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied politely. "I was wondering if I could meet with you privately? I have a few questions about a Transfiguration-related topic and I was wondering if you'd be willing to grant me some of your time to discuss."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Potter, you know very well that I can't help you with the tournament-"

"This isn't about the tournament," I said hastily, then wrinkled my nose, "well, I mean it might, but I don't have high hopes of getting a handle on it before the end of the year. Before the end of next year either, really."

McGonagall was looking intrigued. I knew that would be my best weapon here, keeping her interest. "And what is this mysterious topic you wish to discuss?" McGonagall asked sharply.

I glanced at the clock over her head. "Uhm, I actually have to run to Divination professor, but could I come by your office after dinner tonight?"

McGonagall hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that would be alright."

"Great, thank you, professor," I beamed, and dashed from the room. It wasn't a lie – I had to run to get up to the North Tower before class started and I collapsed in a panting mess onto a purple pouf next to Lily. I laid my sweaty forehead on the tabletop and closed my eyes.

"Running late?" she asked innocently. I opened one eye and glared.

"Go chase a unicorn."

She snorted softly and Nott looked amused. "Charming as ever, Potter. What held you up, you came here from Transfiguration like the rest of us?"

"Stopped for a quick word with someone," I said briskly, straightening up and looking around absently. "So what're we doing today?"

"Tarot cards," Nott replied suspiciously. " _Who_ did you want a word with?" he pressed.

"Your mum," I replied smartly and whipped out the pack of tarot cards I'd gotten at the beginning of the year. Or rather, that Mrs. Weasley had gotten for me. She had done the shopping for all of us while we were away at the World Cup, having no interest in Quidditch herself. I was relieved to see it was a nice-looking pack, with a blue back dotted with stars that, when I looked closer, were actual constellations.

I successfully avoided Nott for most of class by partnering up with Lily. We attempted to read each other's future from the guidelines in the books. In the end, I'd come up with Lily dying next Thursday, which pleased Trelawney to no end. Lily said I would find true love, which was equally ridiculous, and we headed off to dinner.

I ate like a wild animal, scooping vegetables into my mouth at lightning speed and barely chewing before I swallowed.

"Merlin, Potter, slow down before you choke yourself!" Malfoy exclaimed in disgust, setting down his own spoonful of peas. "Hogwarts isn't going to run out of steamed carrots."

I rolled my eyes at him and swallowed with some difficulty. I down a gulp of pumpkin juice and explained, "I need to go to the Library."

"Surprise surprise," Daphne rolled her eyes. "You're turning into Granger, Potter."

I felt Krum shift uncomfortably to my right and resisted the urge to smirk. I hadn't spoken to him since Ollivander showed up and I went all Parselmouth on everyone, but he was still sitting near me at meals, which I took to mean he wasn't too appalled by what I'd done.

"Worse things to be," I replied with a careless shrug and shoved a piece of pork that was about twice as big as it should be into my mouth.

"Worse than a cosmetically-challenged Mudblood?" Parkinson rolled her eyes. "I can't think of much."

"How about a pug-faced bitch who pines after a guy who doesn't want her?" I replied sweetly.

Parkinson's face reddened as Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I saw Zabini smirking on Malfoy's other side. I smirked back and buried myself back in my plate.

"I swear Potter, you shouldn't keep harping on my love life when you don't have one to speak of!" Parkinson snapped.

"Yeah yeah," I replied absently. I'd heard it all before. My lack of a boyfriend was one of Parkinson's favorite topics. It was fair – I liked to point out that Malfoy still wasn't her boyfriend frequently. At least I knew why guys weren't interested – my face, my personality, my general lack of manners and penchant for spending half of my free time in detention. Parkinson seemed blissfully ignorant to how obnoxious she was. I had to feel bad for her, really.

… No I didn't.

I downed the last of my pumpkin juice like I was taking one of Pomfrey's nastier medicines and darted off the Library. I was excited to finally have a topic where I could go somewhere, make some kind of progress. I didn't have much time if I wanted to meet with McGonagall, but I knew what I needed.

I dropped off my book about Patronuses and darted down the aisles, pulling out the books I needed - the ones from Sirius's list - and piling them in my arms. There were about five, and neither of them were what you would call light reading. I heaved my load back to the front desk. Madam Pince looked at me suspiciously as she scanned her wand over the books and checked them out. I tapped my foot impatiently, barely waiting for her to set the last book down before I scooped them into my bag and took off again.

I shot off for McGonagall's office like a woman possessed, my bulging bag bouncing painfully against my side. I rounded a corner and shrieked in surprise as I slammed into someone and went flying. I collapsed onto my butt and shook my head, looking around dizzily for whatever I'd collided with.

"Iliya!" I said in surprise, taking in Krum's friend sprawled on the ground. He groaned and brought a hand to his dark curls.

"You seem to be in a hurry," he said in accented English. His accent wasn't as strong as Krum's though. I nodded weakly.

"Uh, yeah… I'm supposed to be meeting a professor."

"I see," Iliya nodded, shaking himself off. He looked down and saw the book resting by his leg. It had been flung out of my bag by the impact. He picked it up and read the title. _"Theory of Animagus Transformations."_ He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. "Something for the tournament?"

"No no, a personal project," I said, harried. My cheeks were flushed but I was glad I could pass it off as exertion instead of embarrassment. "I don't know what I'm doing for the first task. Erm, can I have that back please?"

"Ah! Of course." Iliya passed over the book and I crammed it back into my bag.

I stood up sharply. "Excuse me, sorry to hit and run, but I really need to go."

"Of course," Iliya said, scrambling to his feet as well. "I won't keep you. I will see you at breakfast tomorrow?" He smoothly reached out and snagged my hand, bowing over it and planting a quick kiss on my knuckles. I stared at him incredulously.

"Oh, er… depends, might be in the Library," I muttered uncomfortably, snatching back my hand and tucking it against my chest. "S'cuse me…"

I darted around him and hustled off down the hall, my face as red as a tomato and cursing myself in my head. He was being nice, was even maybe flirting, and what did I do? Say I'll be in the Library and rush off to meet a teacher like a good little Granger. Here I was making jokes about snagging a Durmstrang for the year, and when the opportunity presented itself I turned into a wreck.

Joy.

I arrived at McGonagall's door and knocked. She called for me to enter and I stepped inside. McGonagall sat behind her desk, scratching on a piece of parchment. I entered and sat down opposite her. McGonagall finished a line on her paper and set it aside. She folded her fingers on the desk in front of her and frowned at me.

"Are you alright, Potter? You're red."

"Oh, er, sorry. I stopped by the Library and ended up running most of the way here," I explained, shifting uncomfortably. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. She didn't believe me.

"If something blows up, Miss Potter, I'm going to come looking for you."

I winced. "That's fair, but nothing's going to blow up."

"Were you in the Library looking up information on this mysterious topic you wish to ask me about?" McGonagall pressed. I nodded in reply.

"I'll come out and say it professor: I want to become an Animagus," I said firmly. McGonagall's eyes widened. Whatever she thought I wanted to talk about, this definitely wasn't it.

"Well, you're right Miss Potter. There is no way you'd be able to use that in the tournament, or even next year," McGonagall said faintly. She shook her head. "Much as I hate to discourage anyone in the pursuit of Transfiguration… you have other things you should be focusing on right now."

I winced. "I know that ma'am, and trust me, I'm doing what I can. But there's only so much I can find out before the first task and I've hit wall. And without something to keep me interested, I'm going spare worrying that I'm going to have to… I dunno, swim through a bunch of runespoors or something."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and looked almost amused. "Yes, I can see how that would be disconcerting. Can I ask why the sudden interest in Animagus transformations?"

Her eyes were gleaming and cunning and she was slightly tensed, waiting for me. I could have rolled my eyes. This was the problem when Gryffindors tried to be sneaky – they got so excited to see if they'd pulled it off that they gave it all away. McGonagall was waiting for me to say something, that much was obvious, and it wasn't much of a leap to figure out what she wanted. She was the Deputy Headmistress after all, and Dumbledore's right hand woman. I didn't doubt that she knew all about what happened in the Shrieking Shack and where exactly Sirius Black had run off to.

"My father was an Animagus, and so is my godfather," I said bluntly. "I want to carry on the tradition."

McGonagall seemed pleased that I'd told her the truth. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I'd have told her that the sky was purple and bunny rabbits flew if that's what I thought she wanted to hear.

"I'm not saying I'm going to try and turn into a porcupine tomorrow or something," I explained. "I know that an alarming amount of research goes into this. I figured that I could use my free time this year to do that."

McGonagall looked at me skeptically, her lips pursed tightly. "What you're undertaking requires a massive amount of commitment. There are plenty of experts in the field who never bother to become Animagi because of the amount of time and dedication it takes. Not to mention skill. Transfiguration is not your best subject," she finished bluntly.

I sighed. "I know that professor. I've spoken with my godfather, I know it took him three years to manage it. But he didn't have anyone supporting him who knew what they were doing. I was hoping you'd be able to answer any questions I may have and guide me?"

McGonagall looked thoughtful. "I'm always pleased when a student wants to look deeper into my subject," she said. "But let's see if you have the ability first, shall we?"

I blinked as McGonagall rose from her desk. "Er, what are you talking about, ma'am?"

McGonagall was approaching a worn old chifforobe. She pulled open one of the drawers and began to dig around inside. "It's been years since I even bothered to pull this out," she called over her shoulder, before pulling out a hand mirror triumphantly. It was ovular, with a heavy silver filigree handle and what looked like runes etched into the edge of the mirror.

"What is that?" I asked, surprised. McGonagall moved to sit behind her desk and held up the mirror so that I could see the back. In the center was a bear, but as I watched it slowly shifted into a woman, then back into a bear.

"A very old artifact," McGonagall explained. "People found long ago that it was easier to perform an Animagus transformation when you knew what you were trying to turn into. So, mirrors like this one were invented. You can look inside and it will show you what your Animagus form would be. In addition, the clearer the reflection is, the more likely you are to achieve it. It can also show what form your corporeal Patronus would likely take."

"Because they're usually the same," I recalled from my reading. McGonagall nodded approvingly.

"Exactly. This is another reason many who study Transfiguration never bother to become Animagi. They may see no purpose in becoming a cricket. Observe."

McGonagall tilted the mirror so that I was able to see her reflection in it. Except instead of a Scottish witch in a pointy hat and spectacles, it was a silver tabby cat with markings that resembled her glasses. The image was completely clear, like a cat really was sitting in front of the mirror.

"That's amazing," I breathed, leaning closer. "And I could learn my Patronus form from this as well?" I asked eagerly. McGonagall nodded and passed over the mirror.

"Well?" she asked, looking interested despite herself as I stared into the mirror. My eyes widened. "What do you see?" she asked impatiently.

I stared at the reflection. "I-I can't… That's not possible!" I said sharply, lowering the mirror.

"Show me," McGonagall ordered. I twisted so that she could see my reflection. Only it wasn't my reflection but the golden and scarlet plumage of a rather battered phoenix, its red feathers the exact same shade of my hair. Claw-like scars wrapped around the side of its body and tiny golden feathers formed a small S on its face, mirroring my scar.

More than that, was that the image was remarkably clear. The edges of the feathers blurred together and faded into nothingness around the ends, but the green eyes were bright and the golden beak gleamed.

"Miss Potter," McGonagall breathed. "Taking the shape of a magical creature is exceptionally rare."

"I know," I said faintly. "This can't be right, I'm not... I mean a _phoenix?_ That's not… _I'm_ not…"

"But apparently you are," McGonagall said firmly, looking at me like she'd never quite seen me before. I couldn't blame her. I was dizzied by the idea myself. Phoenixes were dignified, noble, loyal creatures. Not exactly the kind of traits that came to mind when I was mentioned. That sounded more like Harry than me.

"Your mirror has to be broken," I told her, hastily passing over the looking glass. McGonagall took the mirror back and laid it on her desk but shook her head confidently.

"The mirror is working fine – you saw my reflection. However, apparently there's more to you than meets the eye, Miss Potter."

I glanced back down at the mirror and picked it up again, staring at the phoenix in the glass. I tilted its head. The phoenix tilted its. I blinked lazily and the phoenix blinked back at me. Slowly, the realization washed over me and I was grinning, leaning forward eagerly.

"Professor McGonagall, please, I have to learn how to do this."

"I can understand your eagerness," McGonagall said, and she was looking eager herself. "But as you yourself agreed, you have the tournament to worry about."

I shook my head. "I told you, I can't do anything about the tournament right now. I can work on this. Please, professor, help me?" I nodded to the bag on the floor by my chair. "I've already got books and I'm ready and willing to put in the time to do this right. _Please_ , professor."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and seemed startled by my vehemence. I was too, to be honest. When I'd looked in the mirror, I don't know what I expected to see. Maybe something like what Harry had predicted for my Patronus? A snake or a doe? A phoenix, a creature like that… never in my wildest dreams had I believed myself capable of that.

Things like Animagi and Patronus forms were reflections of your inner self. I'd rather self-deprecatingly wondered more than once if maybe my inner self was a slug or something. To see that it something beautiful and magical and goo like a phoenix… It made me think that maybe I wasn't as bad as I thought I was. Maybe I wasn't all bitterness and anger.

"You seem much more eager now that you know what you'll be turning into," McGonagall noted. I stared at her.

"Wouldn't you be?"

McGonagall nodded. "Indeed. How about this…" she offered. "I will recommend books and papers for you to read on the topic throughout the year. When you have free time," she stressed. "At the end of the year, I will see what you've learned and we will revisit the topic. Then we will decide if, during your fifth year, we can move on to actually attempting transformations."

That was more than I'd hoped for, to be honest. I was expecting McGonagall to give me a reading list. The way she was talking she intended to teach me and walk me through the process. Having an actual Animagus to guide me, that would be a huge advantage that most people didn't have when they were learning. It had taken my father three years to become an Animagus from when he first started research, and I knew it had taken McGonagall two. She was a Transfiguration prodigy, but I didn't care. I wanted to shoot for less than two years.

"Sounds perfect, ma'am," I said truthfully. McGonagall nodded, and there was a spark of excitement in her eyes. I wondered how long it had been since she'd have a student approach her about learning to become an Animagus. Had anyone ever had the guts to approach the stern Head of Gryffindor?

"I will prepare a list and have it owled to you within a few days," McGonagall explained. "Will that suffice?"

"Yes. Yes, I really appreciate this, ma'am," I said earnestly, reaching across her desk to shake her hand. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

"It's quite alright, Miss Potter," McGonagall said, rising and moving towards the door. I shrugged my bag over my shoulder and followed her. "I look forward to seeing what kind of progress you make. Oh and… good luck in the tournament. I will, of course, be supporting your brother first and foremost, but I wish you and Diggory all the best."

"Thanks professor," I said, stepping out. McGonagall shut the door behind me. I looked around and started down the hall, ducking into a niche that I knew was concealed behind a tapestry of a swan. Once I was inside, I promptly dropped my bag, clutched my hands over my mouth, and proceeded to scream in delight, prancing around the tiny space in celebration.

I quickly got myself together, fixed my hair, and pulled my bag back onto m shoulder, emerging from the tapestry and looking just as put together as I always did.

* * *

When I left History of Magic the next day, my nose was buried in _Theory of Animagus Transformations._ It was a pretty day and the siren song of sun and a nice breeze lured me away from the silent stuffiness of the Library out into the courtyard. I laid myself out on a bench with my bag on the ground next to me, the book held over my face as I read.

" _The original Animagus was Falco Aesalon, who turned into a falcon. Among other early Animagi – here meaning those who predate the registry – are the famed Dark witch Morgana le Fay, who assumed the form of a bird, and Cliodna, who became a seabird. This suggests an interesting trend among Animagi towards avian forms, something that has been the subject of several studies…"_

"Why so tense Potter?" called a familiar, slimy voice. I looked up, wondering why he thought I was tense when I was the picture of ease, lounging on a bench and reading. It took me a second to find Malfoy, because he was lounging in the branches of a gnarled tree, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini huddled under it.

As it turned out, he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to Harry, who was frozen in surprise near an entrance to the courtyard. Annoyance was written across his face as he looked at Malfoy.

"My father and I have a bet, you see!" Malfoy continued. "You see, I don't think you'll last ten minutes in this tournament." Malfoy slid down and landed with a thud on the ground, swaggering forward with the boys flanking him. "He disagrees. He doesn't think you'll last five!"

The boys all cackled at the joke, but Harry stormed forward, shoving Malfoy.

"I don't give a damn what your father thinks, Malfoy!" he snapped, sounding angrier than I'd heard him in ages. "He's vile, and cruel. And you're pathetic," he added, turning away.

"Pathetic?" Malfoy snapped, his hand diving into the pocket of his robes for his wand. I sat up sharply, letting my book fall to the ground as I rose.

"Harry!" I shouted in warning as I darted forward, but I needn't have.

From out of nowhere burst Moody, limping forwards angrily and brandishing his wand.

"Hold it right there, sonny!" he bellowed, and a jet of light shot out from his wand and connected with Malfoy. The blonde gave a startled yelp that I would be teasing him about later. Malfoy shrunk, blonde hair spreading, and between one blink and the next he was a ferret on the ground.

"I'll teach you to curse someone when their back is turned!" Moody ranted, coming even closer. The Mal-ferret chattered fearfully as Moody raised his wand again and began to bounce him up and down in the air. What had been funny turned a bit sad as Malfoy writhed helplessly.

"Professor Moody!" McGonagall cried, flying over with her robes streaming behind her. "What… What are you doing?"

"Teaching!" Moody snapped as he continued to bounce the ferret. McGonagall's eyes widened in horror.

"Teaching? Is… Is that a _student?"_ she demanded.

"Technically it's a ferret," Moody replied shortly, reaching over and grabbing Crabbe by the waistband. He tugged it out and dumped Malfoy down Crabbe's trousers as the watching crowd howled with laughter.

"It's Malfoy, professor," I called around my own smothered chuckles as the platinum ferret waved one paw pathetically before sliding out of view down Crabbe's pant leg.

"Stand still, stand still!" Goyle said, and shoved his hands down Crabbe's pants to try and retrieve the ferret. Everyone laughed louder as Goyle whipped back his now-bleeding finger. The ferret slipped out of the end of Crabbe's pants and made a break for the castle. I bent down and snatched him around the middle, lifting him up.

"Oh no you don't, Malfoy!" I snapped, lifting him aloft so I could look into his beady eyes. "You head in there and you'll get trampled."

"Miss Potter, kindly escort Mister… Mister Malfoy..." McGonagall shook her head wearily. I wondered if this was the first time she'd had to deal with a student turned into a ferret. By the look on her face, it wasn't, and I'd dearly love to know the story behind that. "Take him to Madam Pomfrey."

I stared at her. "Professor, shouldn't you…?"

"I have other things to deal with," McGonagall said, rounding on a scowling Moody.

"Er, right," I said, and turned away hastily. Much as I would have dearly loved to see Moody laid into, an angry McGonagall was not something you wanted to be nearby for.

"Do me a favor and chuck him in a toilet," Harry murmured to me as I passed him. I gave him a scolding look.

"Normally I'd have no objection but he's all… cute and fuzzy…"

Harry looked vaguely ill. "Did you just call Malfoy cute?" he asked in disgust. I shrugged and held out the ferret, which had ceased squirming and now hung limply in my hands, trembling. I could feel his little heart pounding against my fingers.

"Look at his little face," I cooed, slipping unintentionally into the girlish response to all things small and fuzzy. "Look at his whiskers!"

Harry shook his head. "I mean, it's not exactly good that he makes a cuter ferret than he does a person, is it?"

I was unpleasantly reminded of Pettigrew, who made a better rat than he did a person. My face twisted into a scowl and I remembered that I was holding _Malfoy_ , not an animal.

"Right. I'm gonna go get him back to his normal slimy self," I said, stepping away. "I wonder though… why a ferret?"

"I agree, some kind of bottom feeder would be more appropriate," Harry grinned. His smile faltered slightly. "Hey, uh… Rena?"

"Yeah?" I asked, pausing on my way back into the castle.

"How are you coming on preparing for the first task?" Harry asked.

I debated telling him that I had no leads and that I was helpless. But that would mean admitting that I didn't know what I was doing and no way in hell was I going to do that. Not only would my pride not allow it, but I had no idea if Malfoy would remember this or not and I wasn't going to hand him anything to use against me.

I tossed Harry a cocky grin and called over my shoulder as I continued into the castle, "Think I've got it pretty well in hand, actually!"

I moved through the corridors, ignoring the odd looks I got for the traumatized ferret in my hands, and made my way up to the Hospital Wing. Somewhere along the way I ended up absently petting his back. I caught myself as I was about to start stroking his tail when I was reminded that I would essentially be fondling Malfoy's rear.

I glanced down at the animal in my hands and smirked slightly when I saw how relaxed Malfoy looked. His shivers had all but faded and his eyes were half closed. His heartbeat had slowed down too, which was a good sign.

"Who'd've thought, Malfoy? You like being petted," I snickered as I pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing. I covered Malfoy's ears before calling, "Madam Pomfrey?"

The mediwitch came bustling out from her office and she threw her hands up in exasperation when she saw me.

"Lorena Potter, the year's barely started and you've yet to do anything death-defying! Why are you here?" I held up the ferret wordlessly. Madam Pomfrey gave me a thoroughly unimpressed look. "I am not a vet," she sniffed.

"It's Malfoy, Madam," I explained. Pomfrey's eyes widened.

"Ah, I see, I see," she said, bustling forward and reaching for him. "What happened?"

"Moody got him for trying to curse Harry when his back was turned," I explained as I moved to turn Malfoy over. He immediately began thrashing and making this ominous hissing sounds as Madam Pomfrey's hands came closer. She whipped her hands back just in time to avoid getting bit on her thumb.

"Well, it seems he wants to stay with you," Madam Pomfrey said, looking torn between amusement and annoyance. "Sit down on one of the beds and hold him, please?"

"You're never living this down," I told the ferret as I sat down on one of the beds and set him on my lap, holding him gently but firmly. I looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "What are you going to do to him?"

Madam Pomfrey was used to me asking questions. Mediwizardry was a hobby of mine, which Harry had always found hilarious considering our family made their fortune from inventing medical potions like Skele-Gro. Whenever I was in the Hospital Wing I always barraged her with questions about what spells she was using and what potions she was pouring down my throat. She usually sent me off with a book recommendation and an exasperated expression but I knew she enjoyed my questions.

"This spell normally is used to reverse accidental Transfigurations, but considering there's no way of knowing what spell exactly Moody used on him, it'll serve us well enough here. _Pristinus!"_

What neither Madam Pomfrey nor I had considered was that when Malfoy was back to his normal size, he would still be in my lap. The Mal-ferret burst out into Malfoy, which wasn't exactly an improvement. I groaned as his weight settled on my thighs, his head whipping around. When in Merlin's name had he gotten this heavy?

"Wait until that my father hears about what that old madman did to me!" he ranted furiously. "He'll be out on his ear in no time!"

"Now now Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey scolded. "The Headmaster will handle Alastor, don't you worry, and there's been no lasting damage. In the meantime, you should probably get off of Miss Potter."

"I should… _what?"_

"You're so fat," I groaned from underneath him. Malfoy leaped up and whipped around. I glared at him darkly as I rubbed my thighs, trying to get some blood flowing back into him.

"Why was I sitting on you?" Malfoy demanded.

"Because when I tried to hand you to Madam Pomfrey to get fixed you lost your mind and tried to bite her!" I snapped back at him, standing up and thrusting my finger in his face. "You wouldn't let anyone but me touch you!" I added smugly.

Malfoy's cheeks were slightly pink. "Well that's… that's not… I mean I didn't…"

"Yeah right," I snickered, crossing my arms and looking up at him slyly. "You were practically purring in my hands on the way up here, you know what?"

Malfoy shuddered. "This never happened," he snapped at me before turning and stalking from the Hospital Wing. The doors shut with a bang behind him.

"Not even a thank you!" Madam Pomfrey said in annoyance.

"He's very rude," I agreed conversationally. "Nice to see you, Madam P. You know, when I'm arriving under my own power and all that."

"Yes, you as well Miss Potter. We should do this again sometime. Perhaps after you've read _Magical Medicine for Magical Maladies?"_

"Maybe. See you around."

"Probably, dear."

* * *

 **Some discussion on Lorena's Animagus form. Yes, I know it's a bit Sueish to have her be a phoenix, especially since I've been trying hard to avoid Sueishness for so long. However, there is actually a reason I chose that animal.**

 **As you know, quizzes asking 'what's your Animagus form?' 'what house are you in?' 'what's your Patronus?' are a dime a dozen on the internet. One day I sat down and took about a dozen of them, answering the questions as Lorena. I charted all the responses including the number of times they popped up. Most only came up once, but phoenix came up three times. Wolf was a close second, and it seemed more realistic, so I did some research on the symbolism of both.**

 **I was surprised to find how far mythos about phoenixes spread. 'Phoenix' is the Greek name, but there's also the Russian Firebird, Native American Thunderbird, Egyptian Bennu, Japanese Ho-o, and Chinese Feng Huang. The phoenix is also an alchemical symbol representing change that** **has to do with the steps of alchemy in the making of the Great Work, or the Philosopher's Stone. Which was very appropriate ;)**

 **In addition, I found that phoenixes were associated with qualities like reliability, magic, loyalty, creativity, protection, and duty. The combination of characteristics were what convinced me that it would be a very good fit for Lorena, in addition because of her coloring and because bird-forms for Animagi seem to be the most common, according to Harry Potter wiki.**

 **The transformation/renewal angle as well as the fact that phoenixes are deified creatures is actually helpful for Lorena's character as well. As you'll remember from year one she has a lot of confusion in her about whether or not she's a good person and whether or not she deserves to be a Potter. Having this form presents a little bit of hope for her.**

 **I know that doesn't change the fact that it's still a pretty Sueish move, but it did open up some plot possibilities I'm kind of excited about for later. But I hope knowing why I made the decision was made. I wasn't just trying to make Lorena 'ohemgee she's lyke so badass and super cool.' There was actually serious thought that went into it.**


	28. Bloody Dragons

" _\- Lorena Potter, the less-famous sister of the legendary Boy Who Lived, is another surprise entrant to the Triwizard Tournament. Despite being barely twelve years old, the Slytherin will be competing against her very own brother. Perhaps this is her chance to snatch some of the fame from her brother for the first time in her life?_

 _The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that Miss Potter is a Parseltongue. Readers are reminded that this is the art of talking to snakes, long thought to be a Dark talent and one possessed by the founder of Slytherin house himself. Lorena Potter seems to flaunt this ability, using it to scare and intimidate her fellow students in what can only be a desperate cry for some of her brother's attention._

 _The young witch even arrived to her interview with a nearly six-foot poisonous snake around her shoulders which she later made attack Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, when she was pressed on the subject of her parents and her reputation._

 _In contrast to her brother, Lorena Potter seems to favor the shadier and Darker methods of magic much associated with her house. On top of being a Parseltongue and having a wand made of yew, a wand wood much associated with the Dark Arts, Miss Potter is reported to be very well-versed in illegal curses. Perhaps an interest sparked by the curses used on her and her brother on that famous night many years ago?_

 _Miss Potter has openly admitted that she had no problem with Dark Magic. When asked if she believed it would have any place in the Triwizard Tournament, she leaned forwards, stroking her snake, and purred, "I think Dark magic definitely has its uses." The darker Potter twin seems unfazed by the reputation she is gathering for herself with talk like this._

 _Undaunted, Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, asked about her parents. It was as if a Transfiguration spell had been cast as Lorena Potter turned from a Dark witch in the making to a wounded child. Miss Potter drew back, suddenly hesitant. "I… I don't know. I never met them," she says, seeming much more like the young girl of twelve one would expect her to be._

 _One thing is for certain. Despite being much older, the competitors of the Triwizard Tournament must assuredly be watching their backs. There's no telling what Lorena Potter will attempt, perhaps even against her own brother, as the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament draws closer._

I tossed aside the Daily Prophet in disgust as I finished the section of the paper about myself and Harry. Harry's section had been just as bad – she portrayed him like some kind of traumatized crybaby and me like some kind of… of slutty Dark witch you read about in trashy romance novels.

"If Rita Skeeter turns up dead, who's going to be my alibi?" I asked aloud.

Parkinson cackled. "Careful Potter, keep talking like that and they'll send the dementors after you."

"Did you really turn up with a snake, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Melodramatic, much?"

I flushed. Malfoy had been nastier than ever since the ferret incident. I suspected he was embarrassed. "Ollivander conjured one when he was checking my wand, and you all know snakes like me," I snapped hotly.

"You'd think she'd at least get her facts straight," Nott sneered as he scanned the paper. He nodded absently in my direction. "You're a Parselmouth. You speak Parseltongue."

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, throwing up my hands. "I even told her that, I-"

An owl landed in front of me, one of the barn owls that the school employed. An envelope was tied to its leg. I stared at it and then recognized the Gryffindor seal on the flap and realized what it must be. Eagerly, Daily Prophet article forgotten, I reached for the letter and tugged it free. I slit the flap with a knife and pulled out the parchment inside. It was a list, a very long list, containing various book titles, some with specific chapters or pages for me to focus on. At the end was a quickly scrawled _Good luck._

I grinned as I stuffed the book list into my bag. There was a Hogsmeade trip coming up and I was already anticipating hitting up the secondhand bookstore in the village for some of the titles so I could have copies to refer to and wouldn't have to keep getting them fm the Library. In addition, I wanted to get a copy of the Patronus book I'd returned recently and the book Madam Pomfrey had mentioned.

I winced as I considered how much all of that was going to cost, but then I recalled my bet with Malfoy and smirked. He'd be covering my reading addiction this time, it seemed. I grinned to myself.

* * *

I was once again buried in books in the Library as the first task loomed on the horizon, only a month away. I didn't have much time left. Any potions I could think of that might do me real good would take a month to make, so time was running out for me to find out what I would be up against. I had abandoned my Animagus research and dived fully back into records of past tournaments.

"You seem to be taking this very seriously."

I looked up sharply and realized that Iliya had taken a seat across from me. He looked down his slightly overlarge nose at the mounds of books in front of me and the sheet of scratch parchment where I'd been writing down random ideas that came to mind in disorganized lines. Many of them were crossed out, some rather aggressively.

"I like being prepared," I replied shortly. I nodded in the direction of a table two aisles over where I knew Hermione was seated. I'd seen her when I came in. I assumed she was still there. "Krum still stalking Granger creepily?"

Iliya winced. "Ah. He's very obvious?"

I scoffed. "Aside from the staring and the fact that he can't go anywhere without a flock of fan girls throwing up a fuss? It also didn't help that he asked me if she liked to fly."

"Ah, yes. Does she?"

I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "You looking to get Granger too?"

Iliya chuckled. "No, no! What kind of friend would I be? No, merely curious. Viktor told me of his conversation. He mentioned that you enjoy flying?"

I nodded. "I do. I play Chaser on the Slytherin team," I reminded him. Then I scowled. "Or at least I do when I'm not dealing with _this_ nonsense," I said, gesturing to the books in front of my in disgust.

Iliya shifted uncomfortably. "And how are you coming on, er, _this nonsense?"_

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not telling you," I replied shortly.

"Why not?" Iliya asked, playing innocent. Very badly at that. He was fidgeting worse than ever. I rolled my eyes.

"You'd make a terrible Slytherin, can't gather information subtly at all," I chided him. Iliya's eyes widened.

"No, you misunderstand!" he said hastily. "I was not trying to… well I was a little," he admitted sheepishly. "But mostly I was trying to have a conversation?"

I flicked a hand again in the general direction of Hermione. "Go save you friend from the hordes, then."

Iliya shook his head. "Viktor is a good friend, do not misunderstand. But he is not… He doesn't really…"

"All brooms, no books?" I guessed wryly. Iliya nodded in relief.

"Yes exactly! It's not a bad thing, just… makes for very limited conversation."

I snorted. "I understand."

"Well well Georgie."

"What's this, Freddie?"

"Looks like our little Rena-"

"-is fraternizing with the enemy!"

"Naughty, naughty, Rena," the twins chimed as they swooped down on me from opposite sides of my chair. Iliya looked vaguely put out as both twins gave me a one-armed hug.

"'Lo boys!" I greeted cheerfully. My self-imposed isolation in the Library meant that I hadn't seen the other twins much. "How are you?"

"Very disappointed," George said sadly. I blinked at him.

"Beg pardon?"

"We taught you everything we know and you've yet to raise even a little bit of hell this year," Fred scolded me. I stared at him incredulously.

"Well excuse me for trying to keep myself in one piece instead of blowing up toilets," I huffed.

Iliya stared at me incredulously. "You… blow up toilets?" he asked me uncertainly. "What does that mean?"

I stared at him. "It means I blew up a toilet. Boom," I said, miming something exploding. I scowled. "I was an accident too, I meant to get them all but only managed one."

Again, Iliya looked confused. "Why did you do this?"

"For shits and giggles," I shrugged.

"Our little Rena here," Fred explained, ruffling my hair. I swatted his hand away and glared, "is the third-biggest puller of pranks and maker of trouble in Hogwarts."

"After us, of course," George said smugly.

"I see," Iliya said, looking amused now that he understood. "You enjoy… making mischief?"

I smirked and glanced at the twins. "I prefer… _mischief managed."_

The three of us laughed at the inside joke as Iliya stared at us blankly. The twins suddenly sobered, crouching down so that each one of them rested a head on one of my shoulders.

"Back to our original question," Fred said sternly. " _Why_ are you fraternizing with the enemy, Rena?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's not the enemy."

"He's Krum's friend," George chided. "He could be pumping you for information."

"That would be unfortunate for two reasons," I explained. "One… I don't know _squat_. Two, he's already tried and he's _crap_ at it."

"Just know that we're watching you," Fred warned Iliya sternly.

"Oh, and mum's furious about the Daily Prophet article," George added. "She wanted us to tell you that she thinks it's all lies and anyone that knows you will know that to."

I stared at him, feigning offense. "You mean I'm not planning to take over the world with the power of Dark magic and sex appeal?"

Fred and George burst out laughing.

"You?"

"Dark magic?"

"Sex appeal?"

"Please!"

"Oh, sod off!" I grumbled. They headed off, still laughing uproariously as they went. "Hope Madam Pince catches you," I cursed them as they left.

"Who are they?" Iliya asked, staring at the retreating Weasleys in bewilderment.

"Fred and George Weasley, fifth years," I explained. "They're friends of mine."

"Friends," Iliya repeated, seeming pleased.

"If you're looking for conversation, I'd chase after them," I advised. "They're much better at it than I am these days," I said, giving the books another dirty look. Iliya shook his head.

"I disagree. You are a girl who blows up toilets and talks to snakes." He chuckled. "Very interesting."

I flushed. "Oh, er, is that right?"

"Would you mind having a conversation with me?" Iliya asked, his voice going low and his eyes getting darker. I blinked. What in holy Hufflepuff? I was being flirted with! And by a reasonably-attractive older man at that! _Eat your heart out Parkinson._

I gave him my best sly smile. "I suppose that can be arranged," I said, doing my best to purr like Skeeter said I did. I shoved my books around so that they were no longer a block between me and Iliya, but rather a wall hiding all but the tops of our heads from anyone who walked past the aisle.

And then, because the world hated me, my stomach picked that moment to make a sound like a dying walrus. I went beet red as Iliya chuckled.

"Hungry?" he asked pointedly. I grinned weakly.

"Been skipping meals to read," I explained.

"Perhaps we should find someplace with food for our conversation, then?" Iliya suggested, starting to rise.

"No need," I said, beckoning for him to sit down again. He did so, looking at me curiously. I glanced around and then said, "Tippy, could I have a plate of sandwiches and some pumpkin juice please?"

There was a crack and a puff of smoke and a plate of turkey sandwiches appeared along with two goblets and a jug of pumpkin juice. I gestured to it.

"Help yourself," I said, smirking at Iliya's startled expression. "It pays to be nice to the Hogwarts house elves," I explained.

"House elves? That's how the castle stays clean? That's who makes the food?" Iliya said interestedly as he poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. He did the same for me and offered the goblet to me. I took it, blushing when Iliya's fingers brushed mine.

"Yeah, they do everything. I make them cookies at Christmas, and I get special treatment. They really are sweet," I said fondly, taking a bit out of a sandwich to shut my stomach up.

"You make them cookies?" Iliya asked uncertainly. "Do they not…? I mean aren't you a little…"

I narrowed my eyes at him warningly. "If you go adl 'wizarding supremacy' on my I will hex you, take my sandwiches and go. And I'll kick Krum on my way out for good measure."

"No no!" Iliya said hastily, waving his hands as a startled laugh erupted from his mouth. "I just meant… well, I don't really know much about house elves," he explained. I nodded.

"That's understandable. Most people don't take the time, but their magic is amazing. Like for example, they can Apparate inside of Hogwarts despite the Anti-Apparition wards. And they don't need to bother with wands to work magic. It's impressive."

Iliya was looking impressed, but he seemed more impressed with me than the house elves. I preened. "You know a bit about a lot, don't you?"

I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I spend a lot of time reading. Keeps me out of detention. Well, you know, mostly. Sometimes I get detention on purpose so I can talk to Snape."

"The Potions professor?" Iliya asked, surprised. He wrinkled his nose. "High Master Karkaroff doesn't seem to like him very much."

I chuckled. "Oh that's fine, he's an ass." Iliya looked surprised that I agreed with him. I shrugged. "What? I admire the man, but that doesn't mean I'm blind. He's a jerk to everyone. He gets away with it though because he's a Potions Master. That's what I want to do one day, become a Potions Mistress," I explained to him.

Iliya nodded. "So you get detention to ask him for advice?"

I nodded. "Exactly."

"I see," Iliya nodded. "Not a way I've ever considered getting help from my own potions teacher. I'm fond of brewing as well but I want to do something more in the way of Healing."

"Mediwizardry is another interest of mine," I said eagerly. "I've just been reading about…"

* * *

I spent nearly two hours talking with Iliya. I loosened up and learned to take his sporadic flirting in stride. He was really knowledgeable about mediwizardry and was able to answer some higher-level questions that I'd never gotten around to researching or asking Madam Pomfrey about. He told me a little about Durmstrang and I told him a little about Hogwarts. We talked about a lot of different things as we made our way through the jug of juice and plate of sandwiches.

Our conversation was ended when Madam Pince found us behind our book fort, the crumb-covered plate and half-empty goblets monuments to our blasphemy. She chased us out of the Library shouting abuse. Iliya and I fled in fear before she started firing spells. We parted ways and headed off to our own respective groups, he to the Durmstrang ship and me to the Slytherin dorms for a nap.

Normally I wasn't one for naps but I was planning a late night in the Library and I knew I was going to need some sleep beforehand if I was going to make it past eleven.

Eleven oh five found me in my favorite window seat with a book across my knees, illuminated by my wand propped against my stomach and the moonlight coming through the glass. I had three more books ready and waiting on the floor next to me.

" _Animagi are most common among criminals and people who wish to move undetected. An Animagus form is a useful disguise. When one is looking for a spy, the neighborhood stray or one of the half dozen birds in the tree are hardly the first suspects…"_

A loud crack split the air and I jerked, grabbing my wand and pointing it randomly into the darkened Library. The lit tip illuminated the stacks of books, and standing in the middle of the aisle,

"Dobby," I said blankly, staring at the house elf in disbelief. "Wha- What are you doing here?"

Dobby hurried forward, blinking a little in the light from my wand. I hastily lowered it out of his eyes.

"Lorena needs to come," Dobby insisted. "There is things happening in the kitchen."

"What kind of things is – _are_ – happening Dobby? What's going on?"

Dobby was nervously fiddling with his fingers. "Lorena's snake. He came to the kitchen and Hilly hitted him with a frying pan. Lorena's snake is fine!" Dobby hastily assured me, seeing my worried face. "But Hilly is shutting her earses in the oven and Lorena's snake is very angry."

"Oh lord," I groaned, bringing a hand to my head. "My snake is named Silas, Dobby. So you think you can take me to him? I can calm him down."

"Dobby can take you," Dobby said eagerly, reaching out a hand to me. I grabbed his hand, expecting him to pull me towards the door. Instead I had the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed down a tube that was far too small for me, pressure on all sides, and just when I thought I'd pass out from lack of breath, the pressure faded and I found myself in the kitchens.

I'd just been Apparated.

"Worse than a Portkey," I groaned, grabbing the edge of a counter to steady myself as I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to settle my stomach. I heard a torrent of cursing coming from one corner where several house elves were clustered.

"This way, Lorena Potter, this way!" Dobby squeaked, taking my hand again and pulling me towards the knot. "Make way for Lorena Potter!" Dobby said importantly. The house elves hustled aside as Dobby dragged me through the crowd. Sure enough, there was Silas looking furious and spitting curses every which way while the house elves tried to soothe him. Tippy was at the forefront, wringing her hands helplessly.

"We's very sorry Mr. Snake!"

"Hilly's gonna punish herself for hurting you, Mr. Snake."

Silas was spitting out an unceasing stream of curses and threats that grew more and more ridiculous. He had just threatened to 'eat all of you and your damn pans' when I reached him.

"Quiet!" I shouted. The house elves and Silas immediately fell silent. There was a loud bang and a whimper from the direction of the ovens and I winced. "Hilly, you can stop that please."

The sobbing house elf fled from the oven, clutching her ears. "Thank you Miss Potter! Hilly's sorry for hurting your snake Miss Potter!"

"It's fine, it's fine," I assured the little elf, pulling out my wand and tapping her ears. She sniffled and perked up as a pleasant cooling sensation covered her ears. I knew she'd be offended if I tried to outright numb the pain, so I just gave her the equivalent of a magical ice pack.

"Thank you Miss Potter," Hilly sniffled, pulling her hands away from her ears. I turned to Silas, who had stopped shouting and was now knotted into a sulky coil.

"I'm sure Hilly didn't mean anything," I assured him. "She just panicked because you're so, er, big and threatening."

Silas brightened. "You think so?"

I nodded immediately, not wanting an angry adder on my hands. "Of course! She just saw you and was scared!"

Silas grumbled, "Story of my life," but he also loosened his coils slightly. "I came here to give you information. I thought maybe I'd find you with the house elves, but then this one hit me," he said, jerking his head in the direction of Hilly.

Hilly tugged at the hem of my robes and asked nervously, "Is Miss Potter's snake mad at Hilly?"

"No no," I said hastily. "He's just explaining the situation."

Hilly looked relieved. I turned back to Silas. "First off, are you okay?" I asked worriedly. I didn't see any blood, but then I also wasn't one hundred percent sure the house elves wouldn't have immediately cleaned the mess up.

"Yeah yeah," Silas grumbled. "She just clipped me with the frying pan. Still hurt though," he pouted. I tapped him with my wand, casting a spell to numb pain on him. He stretched out cautiously.

"Hey, that's better. Thanks!" he said. I grinned at him.

"No problem. Now you said you had something to tell me?"

"Yeah!" Silas crawled closer to me eagerly. I sat down and let him coil himself up in my lap, raising his head to look up at me. "I found out what you've gotta do?"

Elation washed over me. Finally, a solid lead! Something I could work with! "What is it?" I asked eagerly. "How did you find out?"

"Well, I headed into the forest, when I noticed a lot of people running around. So I went closer. That's when I saw them," Silas said dramatically.

"Saw what?" I pressed eagerly.

"Dragons," Silas whispered mysteriously.

I paled. Of course. Of _bloody_ course, we'd have to fight a dragon. Because what else do you do when you're a wizard? No, you can't do normal things, you've got to go slay a bloody dragon! And _dragons_ didn't help much at all. After all, different dragons were capable of different things. Some were poisonous, some used their spikes, some had flames that ballooned out or that came in long streams. Dragons in general held a lot of possibilities for ways to kill me.

And not only that, but fighting dragons wasn't exactly something you did on a Friday afternoon. People didn't fight dragons anymore, they just preserved them, and that wouldn't do me much good. Even experienced dragon workers lost limbs and got burned. Fighting dragons was the stuff of legends, and myths were not exactly a precise manual.

"What color were they?" I pressed Silas. I spent enough time with dragon-obsessed Hagrid that I could identify the different types of different dragons by descriptions. Knowing what dragons I was facing would help me know how to prepare. "How many?"

Silas stared at me, unimpressed. "I'm a snake," he said bluntly. I winced, recalling that he couldn't see so much in colors as he did in shades and hues.

"There's five," he added. "But that's all I got. I like heat, but that was too much." He gave a snaky shiver. "I saw what they were and got out of there fast!"

"Good choice," I praised him, even though I wished he'd lingered long enough to hear something about the kinds of dragons that there actually were.

"Excuse me, Miss Potter?"

I looked up and saw Hilly, Dobby, and Tippy still standing there. Most of the other elves had gone back to work and left me to my conversation. Hilly stood there very shyly, holding out an egg in her spindly fingers.

"Hilly wants to apologize to Miss Potter's snake," Hilly said, shame-faced. "Can Hilly give Miss Potter's snake an egg?"

I smiled at her kindly. "Sure. Be nice, she's saying sorry," I added to Silas, who nodded. Hilly approached and presented the egg to Silas.

"Hilly is very sorry, Miss Potter's snake," she said contritely, and placed the egg in front of Silas. His eyes lit up.

"Tell her thanks!" he said, and dove onto the egg, eagerly unhinging his jaw.

"He says thank you," I assured Hilly, who brightened noticeably. I glanced past her to Tippy and Dobby, a thought crossing my mind.

Five dragons ate a lot of food. Like, absolutely ridiculous amounts of meat. There was no way they were hunting in the Forbidden Forest. For one thing, the only large enough game was the centaurs, which was a definite _no_ as a food source, and for another, the centaurs wouldn't allow the hunting it would take to feed that many dragons. So the food was coming from somewhere else.

The kitchens, perhaps?

"Tippy, Dobby," I asked slowly. "Do you know anything about dragons in the Forbidden Forest?"

Tippy grinned. "Oh yes, Lorena!"

"The elfses prepare lots of meat for them!" Dobby agreed.

I grinned. Success! "Could you tell me what color the dragons are? What they look like?" I asked them innocently. Tippy nodded eagerly and began to tick them off on her fingers.

"One is blue, and it breathes blue fire too!" Tippy recalled. I paled. A Swedish Short-snout? They stayed relatively isolated, so they didn't have many human deaths to their name, but their fire was hot enough that they could turn bone to ash in seconds. They didn't have forward limbs though, so they weren't particularly agile on the ground.

"One's green!" Dobby announced brightly. That was a Common Welsh Green. Not too surprising, they'd be one of the easiest to get your hands on in this part of the world. They were smaller than the short-snout and their flames came in narrow jets, so outright dodging would be my best bet there.

"One is red and spiky," Tippy continued, miming with her fingers a fringe of spikes around her face. I scowled. That was a Chinese Fireball, no doubt. That would be a rough one. The Fireball's name was apt, and that meant that if it got me in range for a shot I would be hard-pressed to dodge out of the way. On top of that, they were heavy and the most aggressive breed she'd named thus far.

"One is black and it has bronze horns," Dobby recalled. He spread his arms as wide as they would go. "It's huge!"

I could have cheerfully burst into a torrent of curses. That could only be a Hungarian Horntail. Gigantic, vicious, and they could turn rocks cherry red in seconds with their flames. On top of that, they could breathe fire for a range of fifty feet. They were also particularly fast and agile flyers.

"And the last one?" I asked weakly. At this point the only thing worse could be if she announced I was going to have to face a Peruvian Vipertooth – tiny, fast, sneaky, and venomous.

"It's big and blackish too," Tippy explained. "But it's got ridges down its back!"

I breathed a sigh of relief, even felt a bit of fond nostalgia. A Norwegian Ridgeback. The second-largest dragon mentioned, but one of the least dangerous. Less hostile than the Horntail, at least. Their fire wasn't really special in any way, aside from the fact that they developed it sooner than most other breeds. The problem with those was that they were venomous, and that didn't concern me overmuch. If I got close enough for it to bite me, I might as well just bent over and kiss my ass goodbye anyway.

"Thank you Tippy," I said gratefully. "You've been a huge help. You too Silas."

"Mph wmphmph," Silas said around a mouthful of egg. I chuckled slightly and shook my head.

Well, it was something. I knew what I was going up against, and that was more than I'd had this morning. The only problem was what I was going up against. _Bloody dragons._ I dragged my fingers through my hair. No wonder they didn't want anyone under seventeen getting involved in the tournament. I pictured some tiny first year in front of a dragon. My imaginary firstie promptly crapped himself and passed out.

The biggest problem was obvious – fire. I wasn't fire retardant and I didn't know any spells or potions that would make me that way. Or did I? I straightened up. Something about that felt familiar. Fire, potion… a potion to walk through fire? To come out unharmed…

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead…_

If Snape had been in the kitchen, I might have hugged him again, dirty looks be damned. I remembered the obstacles Harry had told me about guarding the Sorcerer's Stone. One of Snape's potions let him pass unharmed through fire. It was spell fire, granted, not dragon fire, but it was a place to start.

I dug in my pockets for parchment and a quill but came up with just my wand and some lint.

"Tippy, do you happen to have any parchment?" I asked her curiously. Dobby snapped his fingers and held out a stack of parchment, a bottle of ink and a pretty eagle feather quill on top of it.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, and took the things from him. I spread two sheets of parchment on the floor and scrawled quick messages on them.

 _First task?_ _Dragons._ _~LP_

 _Sir, I need to know about that potion that you used in your riddle to protect the Sorcerer's Stone. The one that let people pass through fire? More specifically, would it work against_ _dragon fire?_ _~LP_

"Could you make sure these get owled for me?" I asked Tippy, folding up the letters and addressing them to Harry and Snape. "I don't think I could get up the owlery and back to the dungeons without getting seen," I admitted, then frowned. "Or back up to the Library to get my books," I admitted glumly.

"Hilly will do it!" Hilly volunteered eagerly, jumping to my aid. "Hilly will do it all."

I grinned at the elf. "Thank you, Hilly," I said, and passed her the notes. She vanished with a crack and barely a full minutes later she returned with my books in her arms, the stack nearly as tall as she was.

"Thank you Hilly, I really appreciate your help, all of you," I said, hastily taking the books from her shaking arms and addressing my corner full of weird little allies.

"Anything for Miss Potter!"

"You is welcome, Lorena!"

"Dobby is happy to help his friend!"

"Sure thing, boss."

* * *

The next morning I watched carefully as owls carrying my notes landed across from Snape and Harry. Tippy had used Artemisia for Harry's letter. I saw him feed her a bit of bacon and smile at me from across the hall. My eyes flicked between the two of them eagerly. They both looked to me and did almost the exact same thing, flipping my notes over and writing quick responses to my notes, handing them to the owls and directing them towards me. They both arrived at almost the exact same time.

"You're popular," Daphne observed as she hastily moved her goblet out of the way of one of the owls.

"Tournament business," I explained as I tugged the responses from both owls and flipped them over, waving the animals off.

"Ooh, tournament business?" Tracey asked interestedly. "Tell us, tell us!"

"Do you know what the first task is going to be yet?" Lily pressed. My eyes flicked to Iliya, who caught my stare. He shifted uncomfortably and offered me a sheepish grin.

"They're playing it very close to the chest," I replied honestly. "But I've got a couple ideas."

"Do tell, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "I need to know how you'll die so I know who to send flowers to."

"Stuff it, inbred," I grunted, reading Snape's reply first.

 _The potion you mentioned only works against spell fire. It was popular to drink before duels several centuries ago. It's called Flame's Foil, since I'm sure you're curious. We will discuss it after dinner in your lab._

I scowled, not pleased at the fact that my first and at the moment only idea for how to counter the dragon's fire was a bust, but I still had a few more weeks to prepare, so hopefully Snape and I could work something out tonight.

I shoved his note in my pocket and turned to Harry's. I was expecting some kind of panic-ridden scribble or a thankful gush, but instead I got two words that made my blood boil.

 _I know._

 _He knew?_ He knew and he didn't bother to _tell me?_ What, he figured I didn't _need_ to know? We were fighting dragons, for Merlin's sake, not taking a stroll down to the Black Lake. I glared across the hall to where Harry sat, glumly prodding some eggs and shooting Ron disgruntled looks every now and then. I couldn't even bring myself to feel sorry for him. His best friend was peeved at him? Well, my big brother was going to toss me to the dragons, literally.

"Trouble in Potterland," Zabini said, following my gaze. "What's he done now?"

"It's what he didn't do this time," I growled back. Zabini looked surprised.

"Really? He didn't do something? That's surprising."

"Was to me too," I grunted and stood up sharply. "I'm going to the-"

"Library," was the chorus from most of my year. I looked at them all in surprise.

"It's not exactly surprising," Daphne said shortly. "You're turning into a Granger."

"We don't blame you, preparing for the tournament and everything," Lily added hastily. "It's just… we've hardly seen you this year!"

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "I know, I know. But once the first task is over and I have some idea of what I'm doing, I'll probably have some more free time."

"Why don't you join us for some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?" Tracey offered. "My treat?"

That's right, the first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up soon. Strictly speaking I could get there without a Hogsmeade weekend but since one was so close I didn't see much point to risking it.

"I've got some books I want to grab, but then sure," I said gratefully. An afternoon spent with _people_ instead of _books_ sounded absolutely heavenly.

* * *

"Sorcerer's Apprentice," I told the silver statue of the snake. It blinked at me and the wall behind me turned into a door I stepped into the apprentice's lab and found Snape already there and waiting, sitting at the counter on a tall stool.

"Sir," I greeted, pulling up another stool.

"Tell me what you know," Snape replied. I smirked slightly. Of course, down to business. I explained to him all about Tippy coming to get me after the incident with Silas and Hilly. He listened incredulously as I told him that my sources were a snake and couple of house elves, but even he couldn't deny that they were credible.

"You are correct, Potter, you will be dealing with dragons," Snape confirmed.

"No offense sir, but how do you know? This seems like the kind of thing they would keep secret. Otherwise teachers might play favorites."

Snape smirked. "Who do you think has been brewing extra-strength Burn Salve for the past month? A dunderhead could figure out what they have planned."

"A dunderhead like my brother," I said bitterly, my anger at him leaping up my throat. It stayed curled in my stomach, waiting for a reminder that Harry hadn't told me about the dragons, and then it would jump on me and make my face turn red and my fists clench.

I tried to force it down, telling myself that Harry might have just found out and hadn't had time to tell me yet. Maybe he really thought I would handle it? That excuse appealed to my pride. I kept shoving the rage back down and trying to stamp it out with excuses, but they were getting flimsier and flimsier.

"I noticed you sent him a note as well," Snape recalled. "I take it he already knew."

"That he did," I said bitterly. "But did he tell me? No, a snake did. If it weren't for the fact that I know Harry doesn't have a malicious bone in his body I'd hunt him down and hex his balls of."

Snape snorted. "Charming. Whether or not Potter meant you any harm, the dragons are what you need to be concerned about."

"Right," I nodded, and began to explain what I'd come up with. "I plan to take a bezoar in with me, just in case I get the Ridgeback."

Snape nodded approvingly. "That would be wise. That still leaves the fire though. Flame's Foil can't help you there. Dragon fire is much stronger than spell fire."

"Right," I grumbled. "And that's not even my biggest problem. Dragon scales-"

"-are resistant to most forms of magic." Snape finished my thought for me and nodded.

"I'll have to aim for the eyes," I reasoned. "Which is going to be tricky, seeing as they're right over the bit with the teeth and the fire."

"That's why many people who work with dragons wear dragon skin – because dragon scales possess a natural resistance to dragon fire."

I gave a weak laugh. "Right, is there anything else that does that that's a bit easier to come by?"

Snape scoffed. "Of course not, Potter."

I sighed and banged my head on the counter top. "Of course not," I repeated. "Because that would be easy, and god forbid my life be that."

"There are other substances that possess a similar resistance," Snape mused. "But as I said all are hard to come across. Demiguise hair would protect against magic, basilisk skin against magic… and fire to some degree. Phoenix tears of course can heal even dragon fire burns, but by that point it's a bit too late for you, isn't it?"

My head throbbed as I recalled my Animagus form. That was another thing running circles in my brain. But then I reviewed what Snape had said and my head snapped up.

"What did you say?" I demanded. Snape raised an eyebrow at me.

"Phoenix tears. You could possibly procure some from the headmaster, but that's not-"

"No no no, before that!" I corrected. "What was that about basilisks?"

Snape snorted. "Potter, you can hardly..." His eyes widened. "Ah. But _you_ can of course."

I nodded, a grin splitting my face. "It's been two years," I said, wincing as I considered what state the basilisk's corpse might be in. "But there should be some skin left, and if there isn't, I know where I can find some of it shed."

"It will only be enough to protect you from a glancing blow," Snape warned. "Not a direct blast-"

"Well I wasn't exactly going to stand in front of its mouth and scream 'Roast me!' sir," I said tartly. Snape stared at me pointedly. I winced. "Sorry sir."

"Right," Snape said shortly. "I can give you a bezoar, but while you will be more resistant to dragon fire, the dragon will still be resistant to your spells."

"I don't know much about magic that affects the eyes," I admitted. "I mean, barring just letting off a bunch of firecrackers in its face."

"I unfortunately, don't know much about fighting dragons either," Snape admitted, sounding deeply annoyed that he had to admit to not knowing something. I covered my smile with a hand. He wouldn't appreciate it. "It used to be a somewhat popular sport among wizards, but it was banned centuries ago, and any spells used for it were lost to time. I believe the last wizard to actively hunt dragons for sport died nearly five centuries ago."

"Don't suppose he left a spell book lying around?" I asked hopefully. "How to Slay a Dragon for Beginners?"

Snape gave me a dark look. "Please stop being childish, Potter, nothing will be handed to you."

I sighed. "Right, sir." I paused, considering what he'd said. Anyone who could possibly tell me what they'd done was long since moldering in the ground, and any records they left were likely in personal collections. If only I could talk to… their…

"Ghosts," I breathed, smiling slightly. Snape looked at me sideways.

"Pardon?"

"Ghosts!" I announced grandly. "People who fight dragons may be dead, but some of them are still lingering! Hogwarts has been around for ten centuries, and the last one died five centuries ago? Someone who knows something _has_ to be floating around here! And even the painting s might know something," I continued, the idea striking me. I looked up at Snape and found him giving me the strangest look. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you think I'm wrong, sir?" I asked uncertainly. Snape shook his head wordlessly. He stared at me a little more before finally speaking.

"Miss Potter," he began. "I have met resourceful people, but you are without a doubt the most resourceful girl I have ever met. You use sources most people wouldn't even consider."

I glowed under the praise, feeling over the moon. "Thank you sir," I beamed. "That really means a lot." And it did. It made me feel appreciated, like I was doing something right for a change.

But another thought struck me and I groaned aloud, slamming my head on the countertop.

"What's wrong now?" Snape snapped at me.

"I have to go to the Chamber of Secrets," I moaned, clutching my throbbing head. Snape raised an eyebrow at me.

"It can't be that bad."

I looked up at him darkly. "You wanna come, sir?"

"Potter," he said warningly.

"Fine, fine," I sighed. "While I'm down there, you want some basilisk fangs for brewing, sir? They're Class A Non-Tradeable materials, but…"

Snape smirked. "If you wouldn't mind."

I sighed and banged my head on the counter one last time. It seemed I had one more thing to research in the Library now – magical sewing.


	29. Chamber of Secrets

It hadn't been easy to get the ghosts of Hogwarts together; it took me nearly a week. For one, a lot of them didn't like me purely for the reason that Peeves liked me. For another, they had their own squabbles among each other. In the end, I just cornered the Bloody Baron – no easy feat, cornering a ghost, they had a bad habit of drifting through walls – and asked him if he could get the ghosts together for me at a specific date, hoping that his fearsome reputation would be enough to get them to listen.

It apparently was, as I was the only living person in a crowd of about fifteen, all of us crammed inside the apprentice's lab. I could think of no better place to meet where we wouldn't be disturbed. I spotted all the house ghosts. Peeves was blessedly absent, as was Moaning Myrtle. There were a few random ghosts I'd seen over the years – the Cavalier, the knight with an arrow in his forehead, the ghost of a Keeper who hung out by the Quidditch pitch and occasionally helped teams practice.

The apprentice's lab was a little too small for a gathering this size. I was seated at the counter, and every now and then I'd feel the cold brush of a stray bit of ghostly cloth or a limb. A couple of the ghosts were half in the wall and the Cavalier was hovering with his feet in one of the cauldrons. The Bloody Baron and the ragged man in chains were in a corner clanking around together.

I took a deep breath and began.

"So you're all probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you," I said. The few ghosts who'd been having quiet conversations stopped and looked at me.

"Well, live ones don't usually stop to talk to the local specters," sniffed the Cavalier. I blinked. I'd never actually heard him talk before. He sounded as snooty as Malfoy.

"Er, right." I shifted on my stool. "Well, it's like this… I need your help with something."

The Cavalier sniffed. "Typical."

"Oh, hush up Lord Draben, or I'm telling the Wailing Widow what you said about her rear next time she visits!" snapped a young, pretty witch lingering in the back of the room. Her hair was tucked under a kerchief and the apron she wore was covered in a disturbing amount of silvery bloodstains.

The Cavalier scowled at her. "Shouldn't you be haunting the Hospital Wing, peasant?"

"Oi, lay off Krea you old wind bag!" protested the highwayman. I'd seen him riding down the halls on his horse sometimes. I knew he had a bad habit of snatching heads away from the Headless Hunt and leading them on a chase through the corridors. Thankfully, he'd left the horse behind today.

The bloodstained witch smiled. "Thank you, Turpin."

The highwayman flashed her a dashing smile. "Not at all, milady."

"Right," I said, looking between Krea and Lord Draben uncertainly. I didn't know much about them or their temperaments, so I had no way of knowing if this would be just the first of many interruptions I'd have to deal with from the two of them.

"Wait, did she call you Turpin?" I demanded of the highwayman. "As in Dick Turpin?"

He swept off his hat and bowed deeply, grinning. "At your service, milady!"

I gaped. "But… But you're famous!"

"Yeah, and old Lord High Hat over there is jealous," he whispered, nodding in the direction of Draben and his towering top hat. I snickered, still a bit dizzied by the fact that a famous thief was running around Hogwarts as a ghost.

"You called us here for a reason?"

Everyone fell dead silent as the Bloody Baron spoke in his deep, mournful voice. His chains gave a rattle as he drifted forward slightly. I flushed and cursed myself for getting distracted.

"Yeah, I did," I said apologetically. "Sorry. As you know, the Triwizard Tournament is happening here this year, and I've got to compete."

"Old news," sniffed Sir Nick. As the ghost of Gryffindor house, I was a bit surprised he'd even turned up.

"Now Nick," scolded the Fat Friar. "It won't hurt to hear the poor girl out, will it? After all, she's much too young for this competition!"

I beamed at the Hufflepuff ghost. "Thanks Friar. What I wanted to ask you all is what you know about fighting dragons?"

Silence reigned. "I beg your pardon?" said the ghost of the Quidditch player. "Why would you want to do that?"

"That's the first task," I explained. "I've got to fight a dragon, and I've got no idea how. That's not really a thing that happens nowadays, but maybe when some of you were alive?" I asked them hopefully.

Lord Draben scowled at me. "Just how old do you think I am, young lady?" he demanded irritably. I winced. There was no good way to answer that. Some of them liked to be thought of as older, some of them liked to be thought of as younger. Some of them were so attached to their own specific period of history they wouldn't hear of anything else. Thankfully, his nickname gave him away.

"Uh… three and a half centuries, give or take half a century?" I offered. The Cavalier seemed a bit mollified.

"Well, you're not wrong," he allowed. "But that sort of nonsense was dead and gone by the time I was alive. If you don't mind, I have better things to do with my time." He huffed and vanished through the wall. I scowled at the place on the wall where he'd vanished, and, unable to help myself, I flipped that bit of stone off.

Turpin moved to my side. "I agree wholeheartedly. But unfortunately, I can't help. That was before my time as well. Before most of our times, actually," he admitted. "I should go check on my horse," he said by way of a goodbye before heading out as well."

"Sorry, I play Quidditch, I don't fight dragons," shrugged the Quidditch player before fading out of sight.

"I would help," said a ghost with a long beard, speaking for the first time. "But that wasn't exactly my area of expertise."

I recognized him from one of the portraits in Dumbledore's office. I'd seen him drifting around the castle, but I'd never gotten a very good look at him before. "You're Ambrose Swott, you used to be headmaster here."

Headmaster Swott smiled, seeming pleased to be recognized. "Ah yes, so good to be remembered. I'm sure those of us who can, will help," he said, shooting some of the ghosts pointed looks. "But like Lord Draben said, not a lot of us are that old, contrary to what you might expect."

I slumped, disappointed. "I see."

"Come along Marley, stop clanking in the corner," Swott said, beckoning to the other man in chains who stood near the Bloody Baron. He drifted out of the corner with a groan and floated out of the room after the headmaster's ghost.

"Was that Jacob Marley?" I wondered aloud. "Like… Like Dickens?"

"Yes, unfortunately," said Krea, wrinkling her nose. "Rather unpleasant fellow, just drifts around and moans, occasionally spouts off random bits of advice."

I shook my head. _Hermione will die when I tell her_. "Right," I said, clearing my throat and looking at the remaining ghosts hopefully.

The Fat Friar held up his hands apologetically. "I'm a pacifist, sorry." With that he drifted out of the room, the Grey Lady following silently behind him, the Bloody Baron trailing after him.

"Ironically, the Gryffindor ghost is the only house ghost I'm left with," I mumbled to myself. I looked up at Sire Nick hopefully. "What do you say, Nick?"

He sniffed and followed the other house ghosts. I made a face at his back.

"Same to you, pal," I grumbled under my breath, thoroughly disheartened. I was down to two ghosts, Krea and the silent knight with the arrow in his face. I looked at the pair of them, not expecting much. "Can either of you give me anything?"

Krea drifted forward, smiling at me kindly. "As it happens, I can. I used to be a healer and a brewer. And the Black Knight knows a bit about dragons as well," she said, nodding to the knight who was still hovering quietly in a corner. He remained silent. Krea drifted closer. "Oh come on, knight, don't be that way."

"Can he speak?" I asked curiously. "I don't think I've ever heard you talk before."

"I can talk," the knight replied. His voice had a metallic echo from inside his helmet. I wondered briefly why he didn't raise the visor, then it clicked – he couldn't. The arrow prevented it. I winced. That must be a horrible afterlife, seeing everything through a slit in a helmet. "What you need is Sine Fraxinus."

"That's just what I was thinking!" Krea smiled.

I stared at them blankly. "I'm sorry, what? Is that a spell?"

"A potion," the Black Knight corrected. "Dragon hunters used to carry vials of it with them when they went out."

"Vials?" I repeated. "Why vials? Why not just down it beforehand. And what does it do exactly?"

"It's a one-use potion," Krea explained. "In more than one way. It will only protect you against dragon fire, so it's no use for anything else. Also, it only works for one blast. After that, you'd need to down another vial or the next time you got roasted you'd be well done!"

"Wonderful description," the Black Knight muttered darkly, and I guessed that he was scowling behind his helmet. "But unfortunately, Sine Fraxinus is very rare."

"Why's that?" I asked curiously.

"The ingredients are hard to come by," Krea scowled, and going by the look on her face this was a problem she'd faced personally when she was alive. "I myself only made about three or four batches of it in my entire life."

"But you know how to make it?" I pressed eagerly. Krea nodded cheerfully.

"Oh yes! I have a photographic memory, I just need to see a potions recipe once and I can remember it forever!" she bragged.

Immediately I dug in my bag and dragged out a parchment, quill, and ink. "Tell me?" I begged, dipping my quill in the ink and scrawling _Sine Fraxinus_ across the top.

Krea's memory was infallible, even several centuries after she'd died. She easily listed off the ingredients and instructions, explaining clearly and precisely what I needed to do. It wasn't an easy potion, but if I started within the next few days I'd be fine. It wasn't tricky in that it took a long time to make, but in the ingredients and the complicated stirring it required. Some of the things that were needed were still hard to come across even now.

"Carry more than one vial," the Black Knight cautioned as Krea scanned the parchment to make sure I'd copied everything down correctly. With that last warning, he faded out backwards through the wall. I made a quick note about that on the paper and Krea approved it.

"That's all!" she chirped. "Good luck on the first task!" She waved to me cheerily and drifted towards the door.

"Hang on, I have a question!" I called after her. Krea paused.

"Hmm? What's that?"

"Well, the Cavalier said that you haunt the Hospital Wing," I recalled. "I've never seen you there though, and I spend a _lot_ of time there."

"I don't show myself often," Krea admitted. "It puts people off, me drifting around like this." She gestured to her bloodstained apron. I wondered if, in life, she'd been a battlefield mediwitch. I suspected she had been, seeing as there was blood splashed around her hem like she'd run through it. I also wondered morbidly how she'd died, if any of the blood down her front was her own.

"Oh," I said blandly, not sure how else to reply to that. "Alright."

Krea gave me one last smile and drifted through the door. I turned back to the parchment and ran over the list of ingredients. Lacewing flies I could get from my own potions supplies and Snape would let me borrow some of the more expensive ingredients, of that I had no doubt. The only hard bit was the phoenix tears.

* * *

Two days later I got my wish. It took letting off a synchronized barrage of Dungbombs down a populated corridor to make a teacher mad enough to ship me off to Dumbledore. In fact, Sinistra was left gaping after me as I rushed off to his office. She'd barely gotten the word 'headmaster' out before I was off like a shot, yelling over my shoulder, "Dumbledore, right, gotcha!"

"Gumdrops," I said to the griffin statue that guarded his office. It gave me an unimpressed look, used to seeing me, and then leaped aside to reveal the staircase slowly grinding upwards. I hopped on, tapping my feet impatiently as I rose higher and higher. It took a full minute to get to the landing – I knew, I'd ridden the stairs often enough that I had timed it more than once.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the headmaster's office. He was sitting behind his desk, his weird little machines puffing and whirring away as usual. I half-wondered if any of them did anything or if they were just there to add to Dumbledore's somewhat dotty persona.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore greeted me, blue eyes staring at me over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "I must say it's taken you longer than normal to come to visit me."

"Well, I've had other things on my mind lately," I said pointedly. Dumbledore nodded sympathetically.

"I can imagine." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I sank down onto it and dropped my bag next to me. "Can I ask how you're doing?"

"You can," I allowed, smirking slightly. Dumbledore's eyes glinted.

"How are you doing?" he rephrased, and my smirk widened.

"Pretty well, actually sir," I admitted. "That's why I came to see you. I found a potion that I think can help me with the first task, but one of the ingredients is rather hard to come by."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "And this is why you let off Dungbombs in the Charms corridor?"

I stared. It had barely been five minutes since it had happened and he already knew? I was convinced Dumbledore had some kind of magical monitoring set up around the castle, there was no other explanation for his creepy way of knowing everything almost before it happened.

I shook my head and relaxed in the chair lazily. "Well, I figured it would be faster than making an appointment."

"Do you need assistance retrieving this mystery ingredient?" Dumbledore guessed. "I suppose a special allowance could be made to allow you a trip to Diagon Alley, if the apothecary in Hogsmeade can't meet your needs."

"Actually it's a little easier than that, sir," I explained. I nodded to Fawkes, where he rested in all his scarlet and gold plumed glory on the stand next to Dumbledore's desk. My eyes wandered jealously over his gleaming feathers – I wondered if mine would ever shine like that. Fawkes warbled a greeting.

"Phoenix tears," I said. "I was wondering if I could get some?"

Dumbledore held up his hands. "That's not up to me. You'll have to take the matter up with Fawkes." He gestured to the bird. I stood up, pulling the large vial I'd brought with me out of my pocket. I moved to the phoenix's stand and crouched slightly, holding up the vial in front of the bird's eyes.

"What do you say, Fawkes?" I asked, reaching out and stroking my hand down his back. "Can you help me out here?"

Fawkes lowered his head, and for a moment I thought that was his way of saying no, but then I saw the water start to drip down the hook of his beak. Hastily, I unstoppered the vial and held it under the tip of the gleaming gold beak. Tear and after tear rolled into the vial. I felt a bit bad, actually. The potion only called for four phoenix tears, but this might be the only chance I had to get my hands on some phoenix tears, so I'd take as much as I could get.

When the vial was almost full I pulled it away and Fawkes lifted his head to look at me, warbling again. The sound made my heart swell and I smiled at the bird, stroking his long tail feathers.

"Thank you Fawkes," I said softly.

"Hagrid is correct," Dumbledore spoke up. "You do have a way with animals, Miss Potter."

"Thank you sir," I said, stoppering the bottle and tucking it into my pocket. "Well if that's all…"

Dumbledore looked at me knowingly. "No, it's not all. You did still let off those Dungbombs, which are banned inside the castle."

I winced. "Ah yes. That. It was for a good cause?" I tried. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Nice try, but you will be serving detention with Professor Snape tonight after dinner."

I stared at him. That was no punishment and he knew it. In fact, it was almost a blessing, because it meant that hopefully I could go ahead and get started on the Sine Fraxinus tonight instead of waiting until the next day. This was good, as it would already take nearly all of the time I had remaining before the first task to get the potion finished.

"Take some lemon drops with you when you go, I just bought some the other day," Dumbledore said, nodding to a bowl of lemon drops and a pile of small drawstring bags sitting next to it. Shaking my head – our headmaster really was losing his marbles – I shoved some lemon drops into a bag, tucked it into my pocket with the phoenix tears, and headed out of the office.

I didn't return to class. I wasn't too fussed, to be honest, considering it was Divination. I could get any notes from Lily later and if Trelawney asked I could just make up something about being too distraught by the leaves in my morning tea to come to class. So long as I put in lots of bad omens, she'd eat it up easily.

Instead of going to class, I headed to the dorms, digging through my potions kit until I found the ingredients I'd need for brewing Sine Fraxinus. Cradling the bottles and jars in my arms, I headed for the apprentice's lab, giving the password to the snake before awkwardly shuffling the load around until I could open the door. I staggered inside and carefully deposited my load of ingredients on the counter. I pulled out the phoenix tears and tossed the lemon drops onto the counter as well for good measure.

Then I settled myself down with the recipe and began measuring out the amounts of ingredients I would need into individual vials so I didn't need to keep carting my stock around between potions class and the lab. I tripled the amount – I planned to make a batch in each cauldron. I'd never brewed the potion before and if I messed up I'd need backup and I didn't have time to start from scratch at this point.

I set the measured ingredients in three rows on the racks over the counter top, ready to be used, and pushed my stock aside. I grabbed another fresh vial and the one with the remaining phoenix tears. I poured a few tears into the new vial and tucked it into the pocket of my robes, in case of an accident with the basilisk fangs.

I grabbed a piece of parchment from the small stack I'd left in the lab after interviewing the ghost and grabbed a quill and bottle of ink out of my bag and started writing.

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I found a potion that will do what I need. Sine Fraxinus, have you heard of it? I got the ingredients and directions from the ghost of a healer that haunts the Hospital Wing – didn't even know she existed. Anyway, most of the ingredients are in my kit and I got phoenix tears from Fawkes... you may have heard a little bit about some Dungbombs? That's why – I needed to talk to Dumbledore. That's also why I have detention with you tonight. I was hoping that my detention could be served in the apprentice's lab? Please sir? Out of the kindness of your heart?_

 _Like I said, I have most of the ingredients, but I do need a couple from you if you don't mind…_

I followed that up with a list of what I needed from him, added that I still needed that bezoar from him, and signed with the letter with my usual LP. I rolled the parchment up into a scroll, gathered up my supplies, and left the room with the letter shoved into my bag.

I dropped off my bag and ingredients back in my dorm. Classes would be letting out in about ten minutes, I noted as I left the dorms again. This time, I was headed to the kitchens. I tickled the pear and opened the door, stepping inside.

"Tippy?" I called into the bustle. The kitchen was busier than usual with dinner preparations. House elves bustled here and there and a cloud of steam hung over the ovens from various bubbling pots of soups and sauces. The whole place smelled wonderful, like baking bread and cooking meat. I took a deep breath as Tippy appeared from the crowd and scurried over her.

"Lorena!" Tippy greeted happily. "You is coming to see Tippy a lot!"

I smiled, but it was a little forced. I was visiting the kitchens a lot, but not to see Tippy. To ask her for favors. While I knew she didn't mind – house elves were wired to be people pleasers, they couldn't help it – I did feel a bit bad about it. I made a mental note to make Tippy an extra helping of whatever my Christmas baking this year was. That had become a tradition since first year, and my sweets were always a hit.

"Tippy, I was wondering if you could help me with something," I said, crouching down so that I was on Tippy's eye level.

"Anything Lorena!" Tippy said eagerly.

"I was wondering if you could give me the pattern for some robes?" I asked her. I knew the house elves did the mending for the castle. I'd had robes that had small holes or popped stitches on them and if left out overnight they'd be repaired by the morning, waiting folded and pressed on your trunk.

"Does Lorena need new robes?" Tippy asked in confusion. I nodded.

"Yes, I need to make a very special set of robes for the tournament," I explained.

That was what I'd learned in all of my reading. Things like potions and enchanted artifacts were allowed, but they had to be made by the competitor during the time frame of the tournament and there had to be at least one witness to say confirm that the competitor had done everything on their own.

"For the tournament!" Tippy's big eyes widened. "Yes, Tippy wants to help Lorena with the tournament!" Tippy snagged the arm of a passing house elf – I recognized it as Hilly, and told her my request. Hilly vanished with a pop to go and get what I needed.

I looked at Tippy curiously, tilting my head. It was a silly, sentimental question, but it was nagging at me. I opened my mouth, closed it, made up my mind and asked, "Tippy, why are you so eager to help me with the tournament?"

Tippy looked up at me and smiled sweetly. "Tippy knows Lorena is a good girl. Lorena is good to us elfses. Tippy doesn't want Lorena to die. Lorena is house elfses friend!"

It got to me, it really did. I knew the house elves liked me, but the way Tippy said it made it sound like being a friend to them was something rare and wonderful. I got the feeling that it really was, and that crushed my heart a little bit. I knew what it was like to be treated like a servant, and it had made me bitter, I knew that. But the house elves didn't have a bitter part of them; they served happily.

They were much better than me.

"Thank you, Tippy," I said thickly. Tippy's smile widened.

"Lorena is welcome!" she chimed as Hilly reappeared. There was a packet in her hands with a stylish set of robes being modeled by a pretty witch on the front. Also, there was tracing paper, which I guessed was to help me outline the robes, a tape measure, a needle, and two spools of thread. Slytherin green and silver, I noticed in amusement. I took the pile from Hilly's hands.

"Thank you Hilly, Tippy, this is a big help," I told them earnestly. Hilly smiled at me.

"Hilly is glad to help Miss Potter! Hilly would also like to know how is Miss Potter's snake?"

"Silas?" I asked, surprised. "He's fine, Hilly, completely recovered," I assured her. After the incident in the kitchen, he'd slithered off into the walls to digest his egg. I hadn't seen him much since but I was certain he could take care of himself. If he needed anything, he'd come find me, and the kitchens were safe for him now that the house elves knew he wasn't going to bite them.

"Does Lorena want some food to take with her?" Tippy asked hopefully. I saw a couple of nearby house elves perk up at the mention of giving me food. I considered requesting a sandwich or something, then recalled where I was going after this. I was heading down to the Chamber of Secrets to skin a basilisk corpse.

It had taken some time to find a spell that would turn snakeskin from regular skin into hide that could be sewn into clothing, but after combing several books about specialty magical fabrics I found my answer. Dragon hide was my particular focus, seeing as it was the closest match and I doubted there were any spells specifically for basilisk skin, the snakes themselves being _extremely_ illegal.

The idea of heading into the Chamber and facing down whatever was left of the basilisk with much food in my stomach didn't seem like a good plan, so I declined the offer and left with just the sewing supplies.

I was capable of mending small holes and torn seams myself from years of fixing Harry and I's clothing, but real sewing? That was beyond me. I'd learned a handy spell that would do the sewing for me if cast on the threaded needle. All I had to do was lay out the fabric the way I needed it sewn and trace the path it needed to follow with my wand and the needle would do the rest. It was perfect.

I dropped the pile of sewing supplies in the apprentice's lab. It was a convenient place to store anything related to my tournament projects without people getting into it or figuring out what I was up to. I set it all on one shelf of the bookcase after flicking my wand to get rid of the coating of dust and then remembered the letter in my pocket.

Classes were over for the day, so I blended seamlessly into the flow of students as I made my way to the owlery. I gave the letter to Artemisia and told her to deliver it to Snape. She took off and I left the owlery, headed back to my dorm for the third time in an hour. I sighed as I entered. All of the running around the castle was starting to wear me out.

I wasn't done yet though. I stripped off my school robes and replaced them with grungy Muggle clothes I kept in reserve for lounging around the Common Room on weekends. A pair of jeans with holes in the knees, old trainers, and a sweatshirt that was about two sizes too big were tugged on and I pulled my hair up, covering it with a green bandanna. I dumped out my bag onto my bed. I'd need it to carry the hide and the fangs out of the Chamber. I pulled it over my shoulder and shoved my wand and the vial of phoenix tears inside. I dug into my potion's kit and pulled out the silver knife to use to cut out the fangs and slice away the skin and tucked it into the bag.

I was about to head out when I glanced back at my trunk thoughtfully. Basilisks were highly venomous, some more precautions wouldn't be out of place. I snagged my heavy dragon-hide gloves and pulled them on.

Feeling as ready as ever to face the Chamber of Secrets, I left the dormitory. I got some funny looks as I moved through the Common Room. I couldn't blame them, I looked like a homeless woman in my ratty, over-sized, mismatched clothes.

"Potter? What in Salazar's name are you doing?"

Nott, Malfoy, and Zabini were all sitting in a table in the corner. Zabini and Malfoy were playing chess and Nott seemed to be alternating between watching and reading the book open on the table in front of them. They were all staring at me incredulously now though.

I sighed and walked over, placing my hand on my hip. "Why do you ask?" I asked innocently, but my sass was nowhere near what it usually was. I was too tired, and it was starting to hit me hard.

Long nights in the library and skipping meals were usually no problem for me, but I'd been doing it consistently. Normally by this point in the year I'd be a healthy weight but I was still a couple of pounds under what I should be. Not only that, but I had some monstrous dark circles under my eyes and I was paler than usual.

"You look a fright," Zabini said bluntly. "Not nearly as attractive as you usually do."

I rolled my eyes. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Not if I want to see them again I don't," Zabini snorted. I shook my head at him.

"Please, everyone knows you go through girlfriends like a Ravenclaw goes through books," I challenged. "You'll have gone through the whole population before we graduate."

Zabini pouted. "You make me sound so heartless."

I snorted. "Some would argue that you are."

"Really Potter?" Nott asked, looking me up and down from my bandanna to my dirty trainers. "Where are you going?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you sneaking into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Dressed like this? No, I'm going to a ball," I said smartly, gesturing to myself smugly.

"Potter," Nott said warningly, "if you lose us points…"

"Relax," I soothed. "It's nothing that will get the house in trouble. I'm not even leaving the castle," I said with a mysterious smile.

"Uh huh, then why do you look like you're headed off to war?" Zabini demanded. He snatched at my bag and lifted the flap. I tugged it away from him with an indignant cry and held it protectively against his side. Zabini looked me over carefully.

"Potter, why are you carrying your wand and your potions knife?" he asked slowly, suspiciously. I sighed.

"Nowhere that will get us in trouble," I reiterated.

"Potter, you look like hippogriff shit."

I could have cheerfully backhanded the blonde. And he'd been so nice and silent up until then too. Instead I scowled and turned on him. I opened my mouth to make a scathing comment, but something made me pause. He was looking up at me with those stormy eyes of his, but instead of being mocking or disdainful like they normally were, he looked almost…. Was that concern on Malfoy's face? For me?

Either someone had replaced Malfoy or I looked worse than I thought I did.

As fast as I thought I saw it, the _whatever it was_ was gone and replaced with his usual sneer.

"I know you're no catch, Potter, but really, you've just given up, haven't you?" he smirked. I lifted the flap of my bag and stuck my hand inside.

"Do I need to remind you of what's in here?" I said shortly. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"You're not fast enough to get me with a wand or the knife," he said confidently. "I'd hex you before you could blink. Besides, you might just topple over. When was the last time you actually slept?" he asked pointedly.

I sniffed and again, I started to make a snappy comment. But just the mention of sleep had me letting out a jaw-aching yawn. I hastily covered my mouth with my hands.

"I have things to do, I don't have time for you Malfoy," I snapped, lowering my hands and turning away. I left the Common Room and headed up towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I kept mostly to lesser-used passages and the secret passageways that peppered the school. I didn't need to be held up by more people having a go at my clothes.

* * *

 **All of the ghosts are either in the story or are popular fan theories on the identity of unnamed ghosts in the books and movies. Krea, however, is my own invention. I hope she and the other ghosts make up for the lack of Silas in this chapter.**

 **Kudos to anyone who caught the Princess Diaries reference. Also since this is kind of a short chapter I'll be doing a double update today. And I've also updated my story Only Forever. Go give it a look see, please? *bats eyes***


	30. Hogsmeade

I pushed open the door to the bathroom and peered around. There were no crying or splashing sounds coming from the stalls, so I took that to mean that Moaning Myrtle wasn't in. I let out a sigh of relief – Myrtle was a pain at the best of times, and she wasn't particularly fond of me. She went out of her way to be a pest whenever she saw me, which was why I usually actively avoided her.

I approached the sinks and focused my eyes on the snake-carving on the tap. I opened my mouth.

" _Open,"_ I commanded. It sounded normal to me, but if I paid attention, then I could hear the hiss under it that everyone else heard.

The granite sink slowly ground backwards and sank down into the ground. A grate slid out of the way, leaving the gaping hole in the middle of them open for me to slide down. Already, I could smell the musty, damp scent of the pipes and it was bringing back bad memories.

I'd gone down into the Chamber with Harry, Ron, and Lockhart in our second year. Unfortunately, when the tunnel caved in, I'd been stuck on the other side with Ron and Lockhart. Not only that, but a particularly bastardous falling boulder had clipped my shoulder hard enough to dislocate it. I spent the time Harry was defeating Tom Riddle's diary sitting on the ground and cradling my arm, trying not to scream from the pain as Ron alternated between grunting as he moved rocks, trying to comfort me, and cursing Lockhart.

My shoulder throbbed. I knew if I stood there absorbed in memories any longer I'd psyche myself out too much and it would be even worse. _There's nothing to be scared of down there,_ I scolded myself. _The basilisk is dead and Riddle's gone._ I bounced on my toes a minute, getting myself ready, and then jumped, dropping down into the pipe.

It was as bad as I remembered, the jagged stone scraping along my back and rear as I slid down the pipe. I clutched my bag to my stomach, fearful of losing it in the darkness of the tunnels. My breath came faster and faster as my eyes strained for any kind of light in the blackness. My old fear of darkness began to settle over me and I could feel my heartbeat pick up as I rounded a corner in the pipe.

Blessedly, that was the end of it. I shot out and landed hard on the floor, managing to keep my footing enough to land on my feet. I staggered a few steps and then regained my balance, looking around me. Bones of all kinds still littered the floor. I could see several crushed skeletons from the last time I'd been down here.

Turning away from the bones, I dug out my wand and raised it. _"Lumos Maxima!"_ I said hastily, and I was annoyed by how nervous my voice seemed. The light burst from the tip of my wand, illuminating the dark, slimy stone walls of the tunnel. I breathed a sigh of relief now that I could see and tucked my bag closer to my stomach. I twisted around and aimed my wand, wincing when I saw the dirt and filth that covered my back.

Deciding that a _Scourgify_ on my clothes would definitely be needed in addition to a good wash once I got out of here, I headed down the tunnel, keeping my wand raised aloft and looking around. My shadow danced along the wall beside me.

I moved faster than I had two years ago. I knew what I was walking into and I moved quickly to get this over and done with instead of creeping along warily. I mentally recalled the path we'd taken back then. It was down, the pipe curved slightly to the right and then straightened out, and then…

Even though I knew it was coming, the shed skin of a basilisk still made me take a quick step back when my wand light landed on it for the first time and made the scales glint. Even though it must have been shed years and years before, the scales still shone a vivid, poisonous green. I winced – I'd never seen the thing alive, but I could just imagine how terrifying it must have been.

Again, I cursed myself for getting hurt, for being useless, for hanging back while Harry ran off to face danger on his own. That seemed like it was always the way it was. Me waiting in the wings while Harry ran out onstage. Sometimes I preferred it that way but other times I wished I had joined him out there. This was definitely one of those times.

I continued on past the snake skin. It was just past it that I found the place where the ceiling had caved in when Lockhart's memory charm backfired and exploded. The place where Harry had wriggled back through seemed smaller than I remembered. I was glad I hadn't gained as much weight as I usually did, because I had to suck in my gut and squirm to get through the hole as it was.

I popped out the other side and looked around cautiously. This was officially new territory for me. I crept warily along the tunnel, around one bend and then another, making sure my wand illuminated as much space in front of me as I could. I rounded a third bend in the tunnel and stared.

On the wall in front of me were carved two entwined serpents, their bodies coiled around each other. Rubies were set deeply into their heads where their eyes should be. They shimmered menacingly in the light. My spell caught and flickered across the edges of the carving and the snakes seemed to move and shift subtly.

I liked snakes, but these put my teeth on edge. Quickly, I barked out, "Open!"

The serpents parted as the wall cracked and ground open. The halves parted and slid smoothly out of sight. I stepped forwards and strained my arm up, lifting my wand to try and take in as much of the chamber as I could.

It was a long and dimly lit. The ceiling was so high that it was lost in darkness. Towering stone pillars rose up to support it, more serpents carved around them. They cast long black shadows through the greenish gloom. Water lined the walkway on either side. I couldn't tell how deep, and I didn't want to get close enough to find out.

I continued on towards the opposite edge of the chamber, where I knew the basilisk would be. My footsteps echoed ominously off the stone, sending up small splashes that dampened the hems of my jeans. The cold fabric clung to my ankles and made my feet feel unnervingly numb and clammy.

I had reached the last pillar and I smelled it before I saw it, the stench of death and decomposition. The basilisk was twisted, half on its stomach and half on its back, its long tail trailing into the water. It lay between the feet of a towering stone statue. I looked up the sweeping robes to the ancient, monkeyish face of the founder of my house and the long beard that trailed down his front almost to the ground.

I took a moment to gape in awe at the man who had founded my house. Rendered in stone, a hundred feet high, it was easy to imagine him as one of the greatest wizards of his age.

He wasn't why I was here though. I turned away from him and focused on the basilisk's corpse. It seemed in decent shape, better than I'd expected at least. Large portions of the skin were still intact, but some had been eaten away by mice and rats. A pool of blood and fluids was stained into the stone around the body, particularly around the hole in its head and the places the rats had gotten to it.

Gritting my teeth and trying to push away my disgust, I clenched my wand between my teeth and reached into my bag to pull out my potions knife. Shaking my head and trying my hardest not to breathe at all, I stepped towards the closest big patch of intact skin that I could find and started to cut.

It was probably a result of the decomposition, but the skin came away easily and in large chunks once I had gotten my knife between it and muscle. I carefully spread the pieces on the floor as I pulled them free. I took more than I would reasonably need, not only as a precaution in case I messed up, but also because when else was I ever going to get the chance to get my hands on basilisk skin?

In the end, I managed to disconnect my mind from what I was actually doing and just focus on the motions. Sliding my knife, peeling the skin away, carefully laying it out, stepping around a chunk of something that might have been an internal organ. I went on autopilot, cutting and peeling and spreading. By the time I pulled myself out of it, I had taken almost all of the remaining skin, but for the parts that were underneath the basilisk or the bits closest to where the rats had been.

I turned away from the skinned animal, bile rising in my throat as what I'd just been doing washed over me again. I had no problem using things like organs and eyes in potions, and I was one of the few girls who hadn't even squealed a little the first time they cut into a frog liver, but this was a little much even for me.

I peeled off my gloves and cast a quick cleaning spell on them to get rid of the gore. Then I pulled my wand out of my mouth and began to walk around to the various pieces of skin and murmur the spell I'd gotten from the book in the Library. Every piece I passed tanned and dried, shrinking slightly as it became more workable and less… _juicy._

Once they were all ready, I rolled them up into long strips and set them aside. Only the smaller pieces would fit into my bag. Then I put my wand back into my mouth and grabbed my knife up in one hand and the vial of phoenix tears in my other. I crouched down by the basilisk's skull and set the vial down within easy reach.

This was where it got really dangerous. A slip could make one of the teeth cut into my arm and I didn't fancy poisoning myself today. I worked carefully as I dug the tip of the knife into the receded gum around the easiest fang to get to. I worked it slowly around, peeling away the skin before digging the knife into the jaw, trying to pry the fang out. It came away with a wet, sucking sound and a rush of fetid air. I leaned away, wrinkling my nose, and laid the fang down next to me.

I took out half of the upper jaw before I was satisfied. I cleaned the blood and bits of gum off of the teeth and placed them into my bag. I was happy to pack up my gear and spoils into my bag, tucking the larger sections of skin under my arm. I made my way back through the tunnels quickly. I desperately wanted a shower before my detention, and the prospect of being clean and hot water made me nearly sprint out of the place.

I had to _Wingardium Leviosa_ myself back up the tunnel, which was tricky to do while balancing my load, but I managed to land safely in the girl's bathroom and took a relieved gulp of fresh air, stowing my wand in my pocket.

"What were you doing down there?"

I whipped around. Myrtle was sitting in the toilet, her arms folded on the rim and her head leaning on them casually.

"None of your business," I said shortly, before ordering the chamber to close and hustling off. Again I was careful to stay out of the public eye. I dropped off all of the skin and fangs in the apprentice's lab, but by then I was running really, really low on time. I nearly tripped a couple of times as I sprinted back to the dorms in a combination of haste and exhaustion.

"Nagaina," I panted out the password and staggered inside.

"Salazar's _spit_ Potter!"

Lily stood up sharply from the couch. The entire Common Room was staring at me in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. I glanced down at myself and cursed aloud when I realized I'd forgotten to _Scourgify_ the grime of the Chamber of Secrets off of me. I was still covered in slime and dirt and blood.

"Potter…" Even Parkinson was speechless as she gaped at me.

"Are you alright?"

Nott, Zabini, and Malfoy were still sitting at the same table where I'd left them, but chess and reading had been exchanged for homework somewhere along the way. They were all pale as they stared at me, which was a real feat for Malfoy.

"What are you staring at?" I demanded of them. "Never seen a girl fresh from the Chamber of Secrets before?"

Zabini looked like he'd seen a ghost. " _That's_ where you ran off to? Potter, what the hell-?" He struggled for words then exclaimed, "Just _what the hell?"_

"I don't want to talk about it," I said bluntly, before making a quick escape into my dorm. I did the belated _Scourgify_ on my clothes before hopping into a scalding shower. I would have dearly loved to stand under the water for about an hour and let it wash away even the memory of everything that had gotten on me, but I didn't want to be late for detention. So after a quick but thorough scrub and two rounds of shampoo, I jumped out and tugged on more casual clothes, a pair of slacks and a white button-front shirt. I cast a quick drying charm on my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail suitable for keeping it out of the way while brewing. It was waist length and I'd need to take my potions knife too it soon, whacking off the last couple of inches.

I emerged from the bathroom and quickly refilled my bag for the next day of classes. A note was resting on my bedside table. I picked it up and opened it. It was Snape's handwriting, and it simply read _lab._ I grinned. He was going to let me brew instead of doing a real detention. I could have screamed in delight.

After everything I'd been through, the idea of losing myself in the process of brewing a potion was like a vacation.

I tucked my wand up my sleeve and headed out for detention. I got several strange looks as I walked through the Common Room, and I couldn't blame them, but with me looking normal again no one seemed to care enough to press for more about what I'd been off doing. A lot of them probably didn't even believe I'd been in the Chamber of Secrets.

I entered the apprentice's lab for the second time today. Snape was already there, sitting at the counter that was spread with basilisk skin and fangs. He looked from the pile to me, slight incredulity on his face. I felt vaguely ill as I recalled the image of the skinned basilisk and shook myself off.

"Please don't ask sir," I begged. "It was disgusting and I don't really want to talk about it."

Snape looked me over, and he must have seen something that convinced him not to pry, because he nodded to me and said, "Fair enough." He gestured to the piles of basilisk parts, the organized racks of ingredients, and the sewing supplies on the shelf. "You've been busy," he observed.

"You've no idea sir," I said with a sigh as I moved to the spicket on the wall and turned the knob. Water poured out of the gargoyle's mouth and into the bucket below. The room was silent except for the sound of running water.

"Your bezoar," Snape said, pulling it out of the pocket of his robes and setting it on the countertop. I glanced back at the stone and nodded.

"Thanks sir."

"You haven't been sleeping," Snape said. I nodded, turning off the water and lifting up the bucket. My arms shook from the weight and the water sloshed alarmingly as I carried it closer to the cauldrons.

"You haven't been eating much either," Snape continued. He might have been talking about the weather, as casual as he sounded. I nodded again, flushing slightly. I could feel him watching me as I ladled water into the three cauldrons. I carried the bucket back to the spout and dumped the rest of the water out, turning the bucket itself upside down over the divot to drain.

"Potter, stop trying to pretend you can conquer basic biology. It's tiresome and not at all constructive."

Something snapped in me. I whipped around, throwing my arms up into the air. "Well _excuse me_ , sir!" I snapped at the professor. " _Excuse me_ for spending my nights researching because if I close my eyes I have these dreams about me or Harry getting eaten or burned alive. _Excuse me_ for not eating a lot because whenever I do it upsets my stomach thinking about the fact that I might not survive this damn tournament! I'm sorry I'm being _tiresome_ worrying about my _life_ sir! I know it may not be important, but I'm rather attached to it!"

My voice echoed off the stone walls, sounding at the same time furious and nearly broken. I paled as I realized exactly what I'd been shouting and, more importantly, who I'd been shouting it at. I trembled at the sight of Snape's blank expression as he stared at me. Oh sweet Salazar…

"S-Sir," I stammered weakly. "I-I'm sorry… I just…"

"Feel better, Potter?"

I gaped. "D-Do I… what?"

"Do… you… feel better?" Snape repeated slowly, like he was talking to an imbecile. "While I support self-sufficiency, you're being a dunderhead."

I recoiled. Coming from Snape, that was downright hurtful.

"You are weakening yourself to a dangerous point," Snape said coldly. "You have time. I've looked over the specifications for the potion." He held up the parchment that I'd left sitting on the counter. "You should have several days between finishing it and the first task. You needn't do everything overnight."

I slumped. He was right and, worst of all, I knew it. "I know sir. But once I run out of things to do I end up worrying or getting angry. It's not productive," I added with a weak attempt at a smirk.

Snape scoffed. "As I understand it, you have Animagus reading you could be doing instead of worrying. Aside from that, I can tell you with compete confidence that you're the only one putting this much effort into getting ready for the first task and that you are easily the most prepared candidate. If not one of the most absent-minded, apparently."

I stared. "Absent-minded?"

Snape placed the parchment back on the counter and tapped it with one finger. "With this, you have no need of that." He nodded to the stacks of basilisk skin.

I stared. Then I stared some more. He was right. The potion would keep me from getting burned, which had been the original hope of the basilisk skin before I knew about Sine Fraxinus. It was a rookie mistake, something stupid and something I shouldn't have done. I was smarter than that, I cursed myself. I think that was when it really hit me how much harm I was doing myself by not sleeping or eating normally.

And, because I was running on little food and even less sleep, I picked that moment to burst into tears. I sagged against the stone wall behind me and covered my face in my hands.

"I-I'm s-s- _sorry_ sir!" I stammered, trying to wipe away the tears and make myself stop crying. I bit down hard on my lip to stop the sobs from coming out. "I-I'm just…"

"You're over-exhausted and you're starving," Snape said shortly. "Now pull yourself together or I'm leaving." He stared down his nose disdainfully. "At this rate, you'll kill yourself before the tournament gets a chance to."

"O-okay okay." I managed to get my sobs under control. I wiped away my tears with the cuffs of my sleeves and took a deep breath. Snape raised an eyebrow at me.

"Are you done wasting my time?" he asked shortly.

To anyone else it may have seemed callous of him. To me, it was the best thing he could have done. He wasn't letting me linger on my screw-up or letting me sit and stew. He was giving me a verbal kick in the pants and telling me to get over myself and do what needed to be done.

I was proud of how steady my voice was when I said, "Yes sir." I moved to the first cauldron and jabbed my wand under it, lighting the fire. "Can you read me out the first step please?"

"Crush five rue seeds into a fine powder…"

* * *

I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the dorms. After a couple of nights of real, solid sleep, aided by just a sip of Dreamless Sleep before I went to bed, the dark circles under my eyes were almost entirely gone. My color had come back a little too, thanks to some decent meals. My housemates had been surprised to see me back to eating with them, but Lily and Tracey, at least, were supportive, sliding bits of food onto my plate when they thought I wasn't looking.

I kind of loved them for it.

It was the day of the first Hogsmeade visit and the Sine Fraxinus was coming along well. All three of the batches had come out, thought it was a near thing at one point. Snape barely caught me before I messed up one of the more complex stirring patterns, actually catching my hand and completing the set himself. All that was left was to let them simmer for another day and then add the phoenix tears, and I should be golden.

I'd asked Krea to come to the apprentice's lab tomorrow night. Not only did I want her to take a look at the potion and make sure it looked right, but I also wanted to ask her a couple of other questions, see what other kinds of 'lost' potions she might know the recipes to.

For now, though, I locked any and all concerns about the tournament up in a box in my mind and chucked away the key. I was determined to enjoy myself. I'd even dressed up for the occasion, in a mid-thigh length emerald green sweater dress, cream-colored tights, and a pair of brown leather riding boots. This was without a doubt the nicest outfit I owned, and it had been one of the first things I ever did with my income from Amity's. I added a slick of bright red lipstick, grey eye shadow, and the snake earrings I had gotten from Daphne first year.

Aunt Petunia had pitched a fit when I came home from my second year with my ears pierced. I'd gotten it done in Diagon Alley by a giddy witch with multiple nose piercings who didn't seem to care that I didn't have a parent or guardian there to approve. When on Privet Drive I usually wore cheap studs and covered my ears with my hair so as not to push Aunt Petunia too far. That first summer she'd all but ripped my studs out of my ears in the hopes that my holes would close, but I just unbent paperclips and poked them through my ears. Thankfully, like the one about Harry's hair, Aunt Petunia had eventually accepted defeat on that one.

I wrapped a cream-colored scarf around my neck, one Mrs. Weasley had taught me how to make. It was a simple stitch and all I could do, but I could manage a scarf, and that was good enough for me. Giving my reflection one last look over, I grabbed the pouch of money and a list of the books I wanted from my trunk, tucked them into my boot, stuck my wand down the other one, and headed out.

Filch gave me a highly suspicious look as I checked out of the castle. I couldn't blame him – it was a rare Hogsmeade trip when I came back without something from Zonko's. Fortunately for him, I wasn't planning to hit up the joke shop this trip. I was after books and butterbeer… and alright, _maybe_ some more Dungbombs to replace the ones I'd used in the Charms corridor.

The walk down to the village was chilly. A cool wind had whipped up in the past couple days, and I was grateful for the thick knit of my dress as I hurried down to the village, my hair whipping in long strands around me. I passed several other students on my way down, even a couple of knots of Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons. They got the day off too, apparently.

My favorite book shop in Hogsmeade was a tiny little second-hand place called Tomes and Scrolls jammed between the potion shop and a greengrocer's. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, smiling at the smell of old books. I pulled my book list out of my boot and scanned over it.

"Hello Lorena!"

Mr. Simonson was a tiny old man who ran the shop. He had glasses like Trelawney, with big lenses that magnified his eyes. He was completely bald except for a shock of hair behind his ears that usually stuck out and made him look like he'd just stuck his finger in a light socket.

I was regular in Tomes and Scrolls, and Mr. Simonson was used to seeing me. I'd even venture so far as to say he liked me, probably as much for the amount of money I'd spent in his shop as because of my fondness for books.

"Looking for something specific, I see." He nodded to the list in my hands. "May I?"

I approached the counter and passed over the list. Mr. Simonson took it and let out a low whistle when he saw the topics covered.

"Animagus transformations, the Patronus charm, and advanced Mediwizardry?" He shook his head. "I know you're a capable witch, Lorena, but this is a little much, don't you think?"

"Just curious," I explained smoothly. "Do you have any of them?"

"We have most of them," Mr. Simonson said, nodding thoughtfully. "The only ones I'm not sure about are these last two Animagus books. They should all be up there, in advanced topics," he said, pointing to the upper floor.

"Thank you," I said, and took my list back. The ancient, skinny staircase creaked under my weight as I made my way up. I reached the landing and moved among the stacks, trying to hurry. Tracey and Lily wanted to meet at the Three Broomsticks at noon, which gave me a little under an hour to find everything, pay, and get over there.

Thankfully, Mr. Simonson was nearly obsessive-compulsive about organizing his stock. Once I found the books on Animagi, I could be certain that that was all the store had on the topic, and if they had the books I needed, they'd be there. I felt a bit bad as I cleaned off nearly a whole shelf, loading the books into my arms and staggering around the corner towards where the Defense books were.

 _Whack!_

My books hit the ground in a series of thumps and I staggered backwards, barely managing to catch myself. I shook myself and blinked, trying to figure out who I'd run into.

"Sorry, I-" The apology died on my lips as I caught sight of blonde hair. "Oh, never mind then."

Malfoy sneered at me. "I see you're finally emerged from the Library. Or no, you haven't really, have you?" He stared around at the shelves full of books pointedly. "I'm starting to get the feeling you get off on reading, Potter."

I rolled my eyes. "Better than getting off on being an ass," I snapped back, bending down to pick up my books. I pulled five of them into my arms and cast around for the sixth one. It couldn't have gotten far.

" _Animagi Transformations in History."_ My head snapped up. Malfoy stood over me, reading off the title of my missing book. He smirked down his nose at me. "Well, look at that, you finally figured out where you belong, Potter."

I was crouched at his feet. I glared up at him, tossing my hair as I stood. "Give me that back," I snarled, making a swipe for the book. Malfoy held it up over his head. Damn him and his height. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching me leap for it. Instead I stood and death-glared at him.

"Malfoy, I don't have time for you," I snapped. "Hand it over, ferret!"

Stormy grey eyes swirled like a hurricane as Malfoy's smirk dropped. "Watch yourself, Potter," he growled. "I told you, that never happened."

"What's the matter, Mal-ferret?" I sang. "Embarrassed that you made a better ferret than a person?"

Again, my mind was cast back to hearing the same thing said in the Shrieking Shack about Peter Pettigrew. I winced. It almost made me want to take it back. Malfoy was a prick, but he was no Pettigrew. Thankfully, that kind of evil was relatively rare in this world. It took a special type of twisted to sell out your friends.

"Looks like you're wanting to be something other than a person as well," Malfoy said, wiggling the book pointedly. "Hoping you can get rid of that thing on your face if you're not human?"

That hurt a lot more than it should have. My hand wanted to instinctively fly up to cover my cheek, an ingrained response after years of having passers-by stare and my aunt and uncle comment on it callously. But it I did that, Malfoy would know he'd gotten to me. I gripped the spine of one of the books so tightly my knuckles went white and glared.

"That's not how Animagi work," I said coldly. "Every mark on me would still be on an animal form."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking startled. "Wait, you… you mean you're actually trying to _become one?"_

"You thought I was just lugging all of these books around to keep in shape?" I huffed, shifting the weight onto my hip. Malfoy looked down at the other books, realizing they were all about Animagi. His eyes widened.

" _Merlin_ , I figured you were just being a bore as usual, but you're actually going to try it!" he realized, looking between the books and me in disbelief. "Potter, are you mad? You've got bigger things going on that turning into a gecko or something!"

I scowled. "I would _not_ be a gecko," I huffed. "And I'm just researching right now, it's not like I'm about to try and transform right here." I narrowed my eyes at him. That weird expression that might have been concern was back on his face. "And why do you care, Malfoy?" I asked silkily.

"I don't," he said immediately and firmly. I shook my head.

"What, you think my brother won't last ten minutes but you think I _will?_ You're worried I'll be too distracted to pull myself through?"

Malfoy sneered. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter."

"Am I wrong?" I countered. "Otherwise why would you have said I was crazy to try?"

"Transfiguration isn't exactly your forte," Malfoy snapped. "It's not like you've got much of a chance of becoming an Animagus. I just thought maybe you'd be more focused on keeping yourself alive than a vanity project you've got no hope of doing."

"For your information, Malfoy," I growled, "I've got a very _good_ chance of becoming an Animagus." The image of the phoenix in McGonagall's mirror burned even clearer in my mind and I was more determined than ever to make it a reality. "And I'm as prepared for the first task as I could ever be, don't you worry about me."

I gave one leap and managed to snatch the book away from him, rounding the corner into the Defense section. To my surprise, Malfoy actually followed me, dogging my heels as I moved down the aisle looking for the book about the Patronus charm. I did my best to ignore him, and it was even easy to pretend he was just another random shopper.

But then he opened his mouth.

"I already told you I wasn't worried, Potter," Malfoy drawled. I gritted my teeth and ignored him, still scanning the shelves. I found the book I wanted and reached for it, but with a Seeker's reflexes, Malfoy reached out and snatched it first.

"Answer me this, Potter," he said, casually depositing the book on a shelf above my head. I glared at the book and then at him.

"And why would I do that?" I snapped.

"Answer it and you can have your precious book," Malfoy taunted. "Are you going to actually try in the tournament or are you going to let your brother win?"

I blinked. I'd expected him to ask something nasty, like did I really think I could pull of magic like that, was I ready to start sprouting fur… Instead he asks me something like… that?

But it was something I hadn't considered. If it came down to Harry and me in the tournament, would I surrender and let him win or would I try my best to beat him and steal the win for myself? The answer presented itself easily – I would try to win. Of course I would. Because much as I hadn't wanted to be in this tournament in the first place, I didn't want Harry to win.

More specifically, I didn't want him to beat me.

I was so sick of Harry beating me at Quidditch. I was sick of being left behind while he ran head first into danger. I was sick of him being the most popular, the most well-liked. And I knew I'd never be well-liked - I wasn't strictly speaking a likeable person - but I still wanted it nonetheless. If I could do this, if I could just beat Harry at something that mattered more than a Potions grade or the number of detentions we had, then maybe I could stand next to Harry for once.

I closed my eyes and remembered the Mirror of Erised and the image it had shown me. Myself standing in front of our parents with Harry as the afterthought, with Harry as the background. The image still made my gut churn with self-loathing, but after all these years I had accepted that selfishness was part of my nature. There were worse flaws to have, right?

"I'm a Slytherin, aren't I?" I said dully. Malfoy shook his head.

"Not good enough, Potter, because you're the _least Slytherin_ Slytherin I've ever met."

I gaped at him, offended. I could be just as big of a jerk as he could, just as prideful, just as arrogant, and he was saying I was a bad Slytherin.

"You care too much," Malfoy explained simply.

I smirked. He thought I cared too much? I thought I didn't care enough. Maybe I was hovering nicely in the middle then, and I wasn't quite as messed up as I thought I was.

"I'd take the win for myself," I replied bluntly. I dug my hand into my boot and pulled out my wand. "Accio book!" Malfoy had to duck as the book soared off the shelf and nearly clipped him in the head on its way to my arms. I tucked it onto the pile and turned away, heading around the corner and into another aisle. This time, he didn't follow. I stood, frozen, in the middle of the aisle, waiting for Malfoy to either come after me or leave.

"Going to get herself killed," he finally muttered, and I heard the stairs squeak and groan as he stomped down them. I sighed in relief and sagged back against a shelf, closing my eyes. Behind my lids, a ghostly version of myself lifted aloft the Triwizard Cup to cheers from the rest of the school. I could see Harry's face in the crowd, but I couldn't quite figure out what expression he should be wearing. Would he be proud of me?

Or would he feel betrayed? Much as Harry said he didn't like the attention, he did expect it. He expected people to know who he was and to recognize him for defeating Voldemort. He was used to being in the spotlight, and much as he said it was too hot, I didn't see him stepping offstage and ushering me on.

I shook myself out of my thoughts – I was supposed to be happy and normal and not worrying today – and I quickly found the medwizardry book Pomfrey had recommended. Like Mr. Simonson had said, the shop was only lacking two of the books on my list.

"I can order them for you," he offered as he gave me the price. I accepted the offer as I passed over the Galleons for my purchases. He bagged up my books and waved me off with a smile. I promised to come back next Hogsmeade weekend to get the books and headed down the street.

I didn't have very long to get to the Three Broomsticks, but Zonko's was on the way, and I knew exactly where the Dungbombs were… I could probably map the entire shop in my sleep at this point. I nipped in quickly and grabbed two boxes of Dungbombs, snagged a package of Sugar Quills for myself and a bar of Frog Spawn Soap for Parkinson, and was out the door in under five minutes.

The Three Broomsticks was blessedly warm inside and jam-packed. A couple of Hufflepuffs were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at one table and Cho Chang was surrounded by her usual gaggle of Ravenclaws at another table. Ron, Fred, and George were at another table and Moody and Hagrid were there as well, the pair of them being given a wide berth.

"Potter!"

Tracey and Lily had managed to snag a quiet booth in a corner. They were both waving me over. I grinned and made my way over, carefully maneuvering my bag so that I didn't bang it into anyone. I waved and Fred and George as I passed their table, scowled at Ron, called out a cheery greeting to Hagrid, and finally dropped into the empty seat next to Tracey. They already had a butterbeer waiting for me.

"Bless you," I told them gratefully, taking a swig and reveling in the sweet taste.

"Are you trying to start your own Library?" Lily demanded, peering at my bulging shopping bag. I shook my head.

"Some of it's from Zonko's," I explained. "Needed to get some more Dungbombs."

"Right, we heard about that," Tracey giggled. "I heard it took a couple of Hufflepuffs about three showers just to get the smell off – they were right next to one."

We all shared chuckle at the idea of little Hufflepuffs frantically scrubbing off the smell.

"Why'd you do it though?" Lily asked curiously. "Just hadn't made much mischief yet this year?" she added pointedly.

I shook my head. "Nah, I needed to talk to Dumbledore."

"About what?" Tracey asked curiously. "What could Dumbledore possibly do for you?"

"Well, you see we've been having a secret love affair," I said casually, hesitating just long enough for Lily to take a sip of her own butterbeer. She sputtered and choked as Tracey and I grinned. Lily gave me a dark look.

"Not funny," she rasped, dabbing the butterbeer off of her lips.

"Disagree!" I chirped. "No, I needed phoenix tears from him for something."

"Ooh, a potion?" Tracey asked eagerly. I nodded. "Something for the tournament?" she pressed further.

"Yeah. It'll be ready tomorrow, too, and it's looking good," I explained. Tomorrow would be the real yay-or-nay, when Krea told me if I'd done it right or not. And then after that, I'd be betting my life on it.


	31. First Task

**Okay guys, I'm going to get a little personal here. I've been one of the smartest people in the room my whole life. Quantifiably, I am a genius. That's not bragging, that's telling the truth. I've had my IQ tested. Not saying what it is, but I am a genius. I've never had difficulty in school. I have put in minimal effort and consistently made As and Bs.**

 **This is why it is incredibly distressing to me when I can't understand something. I have cried exactly three times in my entire school career over not understanding my homework. Two of them were in elementary school. One of them was tonight. I was sobbing for nearly two hours trying to do an assignment that I only managed to get a low C on.**

 **I was really down and really upset with myself and my abilities. However I went and read the reviews you guys have posted on my stories for today and on chapters past and I felt so much better about myself. It really means a lot to me to hear how much you like my stuff and I hope you all know that.**

* * *

"I fail to see the purpose of this," Snape said, staring down his hooked nose as me as I cut out the last sleeve from the basilisk skin spread on the floor.

"Well, I've got the pattern, I've got the skin, it's magic-resistant, I might as well," I said with a shrug. "There's no telling if these might come in handy later in the tournament or not, and if it's already made, then that's less for me to worry about."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you are capable of sewing robes?" he asked skeptically. I looked up at him, blowing a chunk of hair out of my face.

"I can darn a sock or fix a seam. Sewing robes by hand? No. By magic? Yeah, I think I can manage. And it's not like I don't have extra," I added, nodding to the rolled skin in the corner of the room.

Snape nodded thoughtfully as I arranged the pieces of the garment on the ground, lining up edges and making sure everything was straight and even. Then I picked up the silvery needle and threaded it with a bit of the emerald green color Hilly had given me. I tapped the needle with my wand and muttered, "Consuideni Mecum!"

The needle lifted itself into the air, poised and ready. Carefully, I began dragging my wand down all the seams, gingerly separating the layers of fabric to do hems. The needle followed the trail my wand made, sewing nearly as fast as a sewing machine. The robes were nearly half done when Krea finally drifted through the door with a smile on her face.

The needle kept stitching as directed when I stood up and greeted her. "Krea!"

"Hello," Krea said kindly, nodding to me and then to Professor Snape. "Potions Master," she greeted respectfully.

"Thank you for coming," I said politely, and gestured to the three bubbling cauldrons. The phoenix tears had been added about an hour ago, and if Krea gave the okay, I would be able to pull them off the fire and start bottling.

Krea drifted closer to the cauldrons and peered inside, observing the color. "It looks to be the right shade of red," she said. I sighed in relief. "Could you ladle some out and pour it back in so I can see the consistency?"

Snape obliged, plucking up a ladle from the counter and approaching one of the cauldrons. He walked down the line, pulling out a little and letting it fall back in. Krea observed all of this closely, crouching down and leaning half-into the cauldron to get a good look. She smiled brightly.

"Looks to be the right consistency!" she encouraged. "Now, what does it smell like, would you say?"

"Nutmeg and old socks," I said bluntly. Krea winced.

"Ah, yes, unfortunately it tastes about the same. I think you've done it though!" she added bracingly. If Snape hadn't been there, I might have pranced around the lab in delight. As it was, I contented myself with grinning like an idiot.

"Well done," Snape approved. He flicked his wands and doused the fires under the cauldrons. "You may survive the first task."

"Good luck!" Krea encouraged. "I'm thinking of going. I'll be rooting for you!"

I grinned and waved a goodbye to her as she drifted off through the door. I'd try to track her down later and asked her my questions. For now, I had a ridiculous amount of bottling to do. Snape and I sat down at the counter. By the time we were done, I had about four racks full of vials that just contained Sine Fraxinus.

"I may or may not have overdone it," I said with a wince.

"Better too much than too little," Snape countered, holding up a pair of bottles to the light. "Do you mind if I take a few vials for study?"

I nodded. "Sure, go ahead, I don't really need three cauldrons full of the stuff." I pulled down about four vials of Sine Fraxinus and lined them up on the counter. Next to them, I set the bezoar Snape had given me weeks ago. Now when it was time for the first task, all I'd have to do was nip down, grab what I needed, and I'd be off.

I glanced to the side and saw that while Snape and I had been bottling, the needle had finished its work. It had stabbed itself into the spool of thread and the completed robes lay on the ground. I gathered them up, brushed off any dust, and flipped them right-sire out. I shrugged them on over my clothes and turned to face Snape.

"Do I look menacing sir?" I smirked. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Menacing is not the word I would use." He turned away to examine the vials of potion again and I stuck my tongue out at his back. "Potter." I quickly sucked my tongue back in.

"Nothing sir!"

* * *

The day of the first task, classes ended at midday. Thankfully, it spared me Divination. I had Transfiguration though, so I told McGonagall about my shopping trip and explained that the last two books were on order. She seemed pleased with the progress I'd made and asked me a few questions to see how I was comprehending what I'd read so far before ushering me off to lunch.

Instead of heading straight to lunch, I headed to the apprentice's lab to grab my potions and bezoar. I tucked them into the pockets of my robes along with my wand and left my bag in the dorms before heading off to lunch.

"Nervous?" Lily asked as I sat down and spooned some potatoes onto my plate.

"I'll send flowers to your funeral," Parkinson sneered. I rolled my eyes and took a hefty bite. Krum was sitting to my right, as usual, and he looked a little stressed. I swallowed my mouthful and clapped him on the back encouragingly. He jerked in surprise. Clearly, he had been lost in his own head.

"Good luck," I told him smoothly before taking another bite.

"Ah. Thank you," Krum said awkwardly, looking down at his lap. Iliya smiled at me across from the table. He reached out and placed a hand over my free one.

"Good luck to you as well," he said to me, his voice going low and intense in that way that made my stomach flip. I bit my lip and blushed in reply as Parkinson gaped.

"Potter, maybe you should focus less on flirting and more on keeping yourself alive," Malfoy said loudly. Embarrassed, I tugged my hand away from Iliya and glared at him.

"Don't you worry about me Malfoy. Someone's gotta be around to keep your head from getting so big you don't fit into the Common Room anymore," I snapped at him.

"The only one with a big head around here is your brother," Malfoy said shortly.

I glanced across the hall. Harry was sitting with Hermione at the Gryffindor table, looking like he was lost in his food. He was pushing around peas on his plate absently and didn't look like he'd actually taken a bite. My face scrunched up in worry.

He knew, and I was still angry at him for knowing and not telling me. But what _I_ knew was that there was no way Harry was going into this task as well prepared as he could be. My hand slipped to my pocket. I shouldn't need that many vials. What if one of them just _happened_ to spill into Harry's goblet?

I was half-way through rising when McGonagall approached Harry and spoke to him. He dropped his fork with a clatter.

"Miss Potter, Mr. Krum." I looked around and found Snape standing behind me. His eyes flicked between the pair of us. "The champions are to report to the grounds to prepare for the first task."

I nodded grimly and stood up, patting my pocket to reassure myself. Krum rose as well, looking even grimmer and more serious than usual, which was quite a feat. Snape took off, black robes flapping around him, and we both followed.

"Are you prepared, Potter?" he asked me bluntly as we crossed the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. I patted my pocket. Snape's eyes followed the motion and he nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

We edged around the forest until we got to a large striped test. I guessed it was covering the view the champions might have had of the dragons. Didn't want to spoil the surprise, after all. I glanced to the side. I wondered if Krum and Fleur knew? Did Cedric? Yeah, Harry probably would have told him.

Cedric and Fleur were the only champions in the tent yet. They looked up when Krum and I entered. Fleur wasn't looking quite so haughty as usual, which I was pleased to see. Cedric looked faintly green, and I knew he'd been told about the dragons.

I turned around to say something to Snape, but he was already gone, heading back up the castle.

"Miss Potter, Mr. Krum, wonderful!" Bagman said brightly. He and Crouch looked like they'd been in the midst of a conversation, but Bagman completely abandoned Crouch to approach us. "You'll need to change your robes."

I looked down at my school robes. "Er, into what?" I asked uncertainly, eyeing Fleur and Cedric. Cedric gave me a weak smile and plucked at the front of his house-colored shirt. Fleur was wearing a powder blue tracksuit and what looked like an expensive silver dueling vest, a powder blue robe resting across her knees.

"You can change back there," Bagman said, gesturing to the back of the tent which had been filled with curtained-off cubicles, each with a name pinned to it. I noticed Potter written twice, once in green and one in red. I headed towards the green one and ducked inside, wondering what on earth they were about to put me in.

It wasn't bad, all told. Dark pants and a pair of trainers, a green and black shirt with POTTER written across the back, and a baggy green and black hooded sweatshirt with POTTER written on it again. There was also a pair of fingerless gloves.

I was relieved that I couldn't be deprived of pockets, at least. I quickly changed and slipped my wand up my sleeve, tucking the bezoar and vials into the pockets on the hoodie. I swept my hair up into a tight ponytail and left my cubicle, glancing around. Crouch and Bagman had gone somewhere, it seemed.

There were a few chairs scattered around, as well as a jug of water and several cups resting on a table. I got myself a glass of water and sat down, staring at my reflection in the liquid. I looked skinny and pale and scared. I watched as I shifted my features into something harder, more determined, and was pleased when I was glaring back at myself from the water.

Water… Wouldn't that be the perfect way to get Harry with the potion?

Smiling slightly to myself, I looked up. McGonagall ushered Harry into the tent, looking concerned. Harry himself was pale and looked like he'd had a sleepless night. I'd taken some Dreamless Sleep to prevent just that from happening.

"Harry," I said, standing up and going over to him. McGonagall nodded to me. I took Harry by the arm and guided him towards his cubicle.

"Get changed," I urged him quietly. Harry nodded wordlessly and stepped through the curtains. I returned to my chair and sat down, still staring at the jug of water. If I was caught, I'd definitely be in trouble, not to mention it would be embarrassing and Harry would be angry that I didn't trust him to handle the task himself.

I'd rather have him irritated than incinerated.

Mind made up, I waited for Harry to emerge. He saw me at the table and moved over, taking a seat. He reached for the jug of water, more for something to do with his hands than because he was thirsty, it seemed.

"Let me do it," I said hastily, snatching the jug from him. One hand dove into my pocket and uncorked the vial as I poured the water into an empty cup. I set the jug aside and used my other hand to pass the cup over. The vial was tucked between my pinky and ring fingers, tilting and pouring into the water as I passed it over. Harry took the water and raised it to his lips without paying attention. His eyes widened as he tasted it – nutmeg and old socks – and he met my eyes across the top of the cup.

I stared him down. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to dump the cup out and spit out what he'd already drank. I narrowed my eyes, daring him to do it, trying to tell him that this was for his own good. I squeezed his knee under the table, and Harry relented, chugging the whole cup of water down.

"What was that?" he hissed as he passed the cup back to me. I did a subtle Scourgify to remove any traces of the potion.

I shook my head at him. "Just trust me," I breathed back. "It'll help."

Harry still looked a little uncertain, but I guess something on my face kept him from protesting what I'd done, because he stood up and started pacing the tent. I remained seated, taking periodic sips of my own untainted water and wondering just what was about to happen. I could hear hundreds of feet moving past the tent and I knew that things had to be starting soon.

I looked up, squinting in surprise as I saw Harry with his ear pressed to the side of the tent, a dim outline of another person on the other side. I rose and moved closer, standing in front of Harry so he didn't look quite so suspicious. I peered through the gap in the panels of fabric that made up the tent, recognizing a familiar head of curly hair.

"Hermione."

"Lorena!" Hermione greeted me, looking stressed. "Do you have a plan?"

I nodded. Hermione's head bobbed up and down distractedly. "Good, good. Just… just concentrate. After that you just have to…"

"Battle a dragon," Harry filled in grimly. Green eyes locked across the short distance between us before a flurry of canvas blocked my view. Hermione flew through the fabric and enveloped Harry in what looked like a back-breaking hug.

There was a brilliant flash from over my shoulder. I whipped around and Hermione removed herself from Harry. Rita Skeeter was beaming, her cameraman standing next to her. She looked just as hideously colorful as the last time I'd seen her.

"Young love!" she beamed. "How… stirring." Her quill, floating in the air next to her, scribbled something on a notepad. "If everything goes… unfortunately today, you two may even make the front page!" Rita smiled saccharinely at Harry and Hermione before her eyes turned to me. I saw a bit of a bite in her smile. "What about you, Miss Potter? Any thoughts on this couple?"

"They're not a couple?" I suggested coolly.

"You haf no business here!" Krum stalked over, looking delightfully intimidating with that surly expression on his face. "This tent is for champions. And friends," he added, eyes lingering on Hermione, who blushed slightly.

Rita raised an eyebrow and grasped her quill out of the air. "No matter. We've got what we wanted." She trailed the feathered tip of the acid-green quill across Krum's jaw before moving off.

"Thanks Viktor," I murmured as the camera flashed again. He shook his head, blinking away stars from the picture.

"No problem," he replied thickly.

"Good day, champions!" Bagman announced grandly, making his way into the tent. Crouch and the headmasters all followed him into the tent. It was starting to get a little crowded. I noticed Rita didn't leave, just slipped off to the side and kept quiet, watching interestedly.

"You've waited, you've wondered, and now the moment is at hand!" Bagman crowed, gesturing for us to circle around him. Karkaroff stood behind Krum, Maxime behind Fleur, and Dumbledore stood behind Harry, Cedric and I.

"Miss Granger?" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, er," Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry." She hastily made her escape and I saw Rita smirk in the corner, her quill off and writing again.

"I understand one of you has prepared a potion they wish to use during the task?" Crouch asked. I nodded, reaching into the pocket of my robe and pulling out a vial of the Sine Fraxinus. "You prepared it yourself?" he asked sternly. I nodded. "And you have a witness?"

"Professor Snape." I saw Karkaroff sneer at the mention of Snape and wondered what his problem was. "He watched me brew it."

"Very well," Crouch nodded approvingly. "But you must take it now. I nodded, opened the vial and downed the potion, wincing at the taste.

"Barty, the bag!" Bagman announced grandly, seeming not to mind that Hermione had snuck in. Crouch jostled forward to stand in the center of our circle. He pulled a large purple velvet drawstring bag from inside his robes and loosened the top. A plume of smoke drifted out unnervingly.

"Miss Delacour," he said, offering the bag to Fleur first. She pulled out by its tail a highly-annoyed looking green dragon and dropped it into her palm. It had a small number 2 tied around its neck. "The Welsh Green!" Crouch announced as Fleur looked up at Maxime uncertainly. Her headmaster patted her shoulder supportively.

"Mr. Krum?" Krum reached in the bag and pulled a dragon out without flinching. It had a 3. I recognized the distinctive spiky face even before Crouch spoke. "The Chinese Fireball. Ooh!" Karkaroff seemed pleased with the choice. I guessed he knew as well – at least Krum hadn't gotten the Horntail.

Cedric was next. He reached in and pulled out the dragon with a 1 around its neck. "The Swedish Short-snout!" Crouch announced. I could have cheerfully punched Cedric in the face. Why couldn't he have picked out the Horntail? Then at least Harry and I wouldn't have had to worry about it!

Crouch offered the bag to Harry, who gave me a nervous glance as he reached inside. He knew what was still in there too. He winced and recoiled slightly before dragging out and placing in his hand, "The Hungarian Horntail!"

"Damn," I said softly. Harry's had a number 4 around it's neck, which meant that I was going last. I didn't know how I felt about that. On one hand, I didn't have to run straight out into the fray. On the other hand, I got to sit there and worry about how everyone else was doing before I headed out.

I reached my hand in and drew out the Norwegian Ridgeback, a five around its neck.

Crouch spoke again. "The Nor-"

"I know what it is," I said shortly, staring at the tiny dragon in my palm. It looked up at me and let out a small cry before blowing a thin stream of fire. I smiled slightly. That tiny dragon noise reminded me so much of Norbert and I absently wondered how he was doing.

Crouch pulled the empty bag away, looking mildly annoyed.

"These represent four very real dragons, each of which has been given a golden egg to protect," Bagman explained. "Your objective is simple – collect the egg! Inside is a clue to the second task. Any questions?"

I didn't have a question. I had a complaint. Female Ridgebacks were more aggressive than males, and if there were eggs involved that would be even truer.

The tent was silent. Dumbledore stepped forward. "Very well. Mr. Diggory, at the sound of the cannon you may-"

 _Bang!_

The tent swayed unnervingly as the cannon fired. Everyone stared up at Filch, who was positioned by the cannon on a platform on the main post. He shrugged helplessly.

"Alright then," Dumbledore said, motioning Cedric forward. He stood at the mouth of the tent, taking deep breaths as the crowd in the distance chanted _"Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!"_

It was terrible, sitting in the tent and listening to Bagman's commentary as the only idea of what was going on out there. He wasn't very descriptive. The crowd's groans, screams, and cheers set my teeth on edge. I retreated to one corner, my wand folded between my hands as I waited. Krum went, then Fleur, and then it was Harry's turn.

I grabbed his hand as he walked past me towards the opening. "Good luck," I said, squeezing his hand tightly. He looked down at me and gave me a weak but fond grin.

"You too."

"You die and I'll kill you," I warned him. Harry's grin strengthened a little.

"I know."

With that he walked out of the tent. I purposefully blocked out the noises then. I knew if I got caught up in the crowd's screaming I'd end up tearing my hair out in frustration.

"And now, our final competitor. From Slytherin house, Miss Lorena Potter!" Bagman roared. I surged to my feet and left the tent, stepping out into the enclosure.

I could see the pale faces of the crowd around me, they were raised up high above the ring, for safety reasons probably. Some held posters supporting different champions. A few more equality-minded people had just painted things like the Hogwarts crest or 'Go Team Hogwarts!' The arena itself was a rocky wasteland, random jags of stone shooting up out of the ground.

I couldn't see the nest. That wasn't surprising. Things would of course have to be as difficult as possible, meaning that the nest would be on the opposite side of the arena.

"Accio golden egg!" I cried, pointing my wand. The golden egg didn't come soaring at me. I wasn't surprised. If it was that simple this wouldn't be much of a test.

Dimly, like it was coming through a badly tuned radio, I could hear Bagman narrating, "Potter tried a Summoning charm on the egg – good opening tactic, but we can't make it that easy, eh?"

A huge roar went up from the crowd and I heard someone bellow, "Potter, behind you!" I whipped around as a shadow loomed over me. Standing on a rocky ledge over me was the Norwegian Ridgeback, its wings flared. I knew that posture. _Oh dear Merlin…_

I dove to the side desperately, but I couldn't escape it. Heat like I'd never felt before enveloped me for a second. It didn't hurt thanks to the Sine Fraxinus, but that didn't take away from the fact that I'd basically just been tossed into a pit of lava.

I came out of the fire and people screamed in fear and disbelief as I emerged unscathed.

"Great Scott, I thought it got her! But no, Miss Potter seems unharmed, thank goodness!"

Bagman was still narrating. I fumbled in my pocket for another bottle as I scrambled to my feet, ripping out the cork and downing it. I tossed the vial aside and heard it shatter against the rock and I dove behind a boulder for protection panting wildly, my heart racing. At least I knew my potion worked.

I listened and heard rocky crunching as the dragon shifted, its weight and claws tearing into the stone under it. I could see its shadow and watched as it spread its wings and stretched its neck. A gigantic pair of lungs breathed in. It was looking for me, trying to find me. Apparently the fire had been enough of a distraction that it hadn't noticed me dart behind the boulder.

The dragon let out a triumphant bugle and I saw its shadow surged forwards. I pressed back against the boulder, staring up in horror as the ground shook under me. A head half as large as my whole body poked over the edge, smoke drifting out from the nostrils. I could see mixed glints of green and red on the teeth – blood and venom. Yellow eyes burned down at me.

Well, I'd joked about it before, but maybe it wasn't a bad idea.

I stabbed my wand at the dragon and shouted the spell I'd used on Malfoy on the train. Several strings of fireworks shot out of the tip of my wand and exploded inches from the dragon's face. The surprised burst of fire and noise made it rear back, but it would only distract it for so long. Now it would be even angrier.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, I took off sprinting across the arena, trying to cover as much ground as I could before the Ridgeback got itself together. Unfortunately, she seemed to be used to smoke and fire and loud noises, being a dragon and all. The firecrackers barely slowed her down and then she was on me again.

I heard a loud inhale and guessed she was about to breathe fire again. I lunged to the side, rolling and letting out a cry as a random jag in the stone tore into my shoulder. I smacked into another boulder and quickly scrambled behind it, panting as fire bloomed only a few feet away. The dragon swung its head around and the stream of fire shifted. It wrapped around the edge of the rock and surged around me.

Again came the horrible, scalding feeling of being dunked in lava, but my skin didn't bubble or peel and I wasn't reduced to ash. I didn't know how long the potion would hold out against a sustained burst of fire though, so I kicked off the rock and lunged to my feet, staggering away from the rock. My hand dropped to my pocket. I'd given one vial to Harry and taken two myself… Two to go. I couldn't do this much longer.

"Now I know I saw it! Miss Potter was hit by the dragon's fire, but she seems completely unharmed! Is this the result of the potion she drank before the task?"

I raised a vial to my lips, ripped the cork out with my teeth, and down the potion, tossing the vial aside like I had before. The ground shook under me as the dragon followed, its footsteps sounding as loud as thunder it was so close. Thankfully, the Ridgeback couldn't just let off shot after shot of fire. After a sustained burst like that, it would take it at least a minute or two to work up another.

I jumped, trying to get a burst of distance between us during that time. Hot breath and the fetid smell of dragon breath wrapped around me. I glanced back and screamed aloud as I saw the dragon was right there, close enough to touch, anger raging in its eyes. Its bared teeth glinted in the sun and gnashed shut. Pain exploded up my leg as one fang dragged a bloody line down my calf.

I hit the ground hard on my back, terrified out of my mind but trying to stay calm. The more panicked I was, the faster my heart would beat, and the faster the poison would spread. I remembered it had taken a night for Ron's hand to swell up and turn green, but that was when he was bitten by a baby Norwegian Ridgeback. A fully grown one? I probably only had a couple of minutes before I wasn't in any shape to manage getting a bezoar down my throat.

My good leg scrambled at the rock, trying to push me away from the dragon's mouth as my hand scrambled in my pocket for the bezoar. A single vial of Sine Fraxinus was left, but if I didn't do something about my leg then that vial wouldn't do me much good.

My hand closed around the gnarled bezoar. I tried not to think about the fact that what I was eating had come out of the stomach of a goat as I crammed it past my lips and swallowed, gagging and choking slightly at the size of it and the taste. My eyes watered as my throat and my leg burned.

 _Boom. Boom._

Through teary eyes, I looked up. The dragon had taken two steps closer and now loomed over me. From my vantage point, the thing looked as large as the whole castle. My vision bent and twisted, or maybe that was the poison. The bezoar didn't seem to have kicked in yet.

From my periphery I could see dragon handlers poised at the edges of the arena, their wands raised. But they seemed frozen, staring at the dragon. Something was surprising them…

Something was surprising me too. I was still alive. I hadn't been gulped down a dragon throat or roasted like vegetable in the Hogwarts kitchen. I looked back up at the dragon, who was just standing there, looking down at me. It made a soft sound, almost questioning, and bent its head down. Its nose lowered towards me. I was reminded of my words to Snape. 'That's the bit above the teeth and fire.'

Those teeth were now so close I could have reached out and touched them. The dragon breathed in deeply once, and then out, the force of its breath blowing my hair back from my face and making my eyes water from the smell. I resisted the urge to cough and just watched the dragon. I couldn't exactly slip off now, not with a foot planted on either side of me and a mouth within reach.

The dragon looked at me, and I was able to actually watch as the anger faded from its eyes. It made a warbling sound, a sound that a baby dragon might make. It reminded me with a pang of Norbert. I wondered if he was okay? We hadn't heard anything since we handed him over to Charlie's friends…

Charlie's friends. Charlie Weasley, who I could see out of the corner of my eye looking awed. He was a Hogwarts graduate, one who now worked with dragons. And why wouldn't Hogwarts, when in need of dragons, turn to a Hogwarts graduate? Norbert had been too young to display any obvious signs of gender and we had taken Hagrid's word that he was a boy.

What if…?

I looked up at the dragon, hesitantly stretching out a hand towards it. The arena was silent, the crowd holding its breath. I whispered, unable to believe it was possible, "Is that you, my lovely?" The dragon didn't understand me, of course, but I'd called Norbert 'my lovely' enough that he knew I was addressing him when I said that.

In answer, the dragon stretched out its head, not towards me, but over me. I found myself staring up at a wide swath of brown-black scales. I was under the dragon's chin, just where I used to scratch Norbert. That answered my question for me – I doubted every Norwegian Ridgeback grew up on a steady diet of chin scratches.

I reached up and dug in my fingers. Norbert's – Norberta's? – scales were much harder than they'd been as a child and I was awed by the shine they possessed now. The dragon made that same warbling sound it had made before and then let out a sound that could only be described as a purr.

I heard Bagman whisper out an awed, "Sweet Merlin."

My heart melted and I was torn between laughing in disbelief or crying in relief as I added my other hand to the scratching. I could hear the crowd murmuring in awe. That reminded me – this wasn't a private reunion. I was here for a reason. I was being timed. I had to get the golden egg, and I had to do it soon. Norbert(a) remembered me apparently, but that was no guarantee she'd let me near her eggs. And I had to get over there first.

I stood up and Norbert – Norberta? Screw it, she was forever and always Norbert to me – lifted her head obligingly. I took a few steps back, limping on my injured leg. Norbert made a small sound of protest – she apparently didn't get many chin scratches these days – and shuffled forward a bit to keep my hand on her preferred spot for scratching. Grinning slightly, I took a couple more steps. With an indignant huff, Norbert shuffled along after me.

 _I'm walking a dragon with chin scratches,_ I thought dizzily as I clambered over a boulder towards the opposite side of the arena, Norbert following me as I continued to rub and love on her. I crawled up a spike of rock and slid down the other side, and there it was – the nest.

It looked like a bird's nest for the biggest bird to ever live, made of sticks and twigs. In the middle of it rested a clutch of coal black eggs that were each easily the size of my head. And, I knew from experience, they were ridiculously heavy as well. In the center of the pile, shinning innocently in the sunlight like it belonged there, was the golden egg.

Norbert balked when she saw that we were back at her nest. Like I'd expected, she trusted me, but I was still coming around her kids and instinct was telling her to barbecue me and have me for lunch.

"It's okay my lovely," I cooed to her, trying to keep her calm. "Remember, I love dragons. I'm nice, my lovely, I won't hurt your babies. Come on, why don't you show them to me? Let's go see them, huh? It'll be fine, all fine, my lovely, no one's going to get hurt."

It didn't matter what I said, it was the way I said it. I kept my voice low and soothing, just like I used to talk to her when she was a baby. I peppered my speech liberally with 'my lovely' to try and keep Norbert calm.

Continuing my scratching I took a few steps forward. Norbert came with me. The purr in her chest was leaning more towards a growl, but she let me stroll right up to the edge of her nest. I dropped to my knees beside it and Norbert seemed to relax slightly at the gesture – now I wasn't towering over her babies.

I reached out my free hand towards the nest. The purr changed fully to a growl then and I could see the glimmer of venomous teeth as Norbert's lips pulled back slightly.

"I know, I know, my lovely, but one of these isn't yours," I cooed to her. "It's not yours, it's an outsider. I don't know what it is, it might hurt your babies, my lovely, so I'm going to take it away, okay? I'm going to keep your babies safe."

Moving painfully slowly, sweat trickling down my face, I stretched out my hand towards the golden egg. The growl picked up in volume, but I just kept reaching. I touched it, the golden exterior of the egg warm from basking in the sun for who knew how long. I gripped it by the latch at the top and pulled it free of the nest.

Then, turning around, I offered it to Norbert. She sniffed the egg and drew back, blinking in surprise.

"I know, my lovely, I know. It's not your egg. They tricked you, didn't they, those mean old judges?" I whispered. "But I'm going to take it away now, okay? You won't need to worry about it anymore."

Slowly I rose and began to back towards the entrance to the arena, the egg cradled in my arms.

"Miss Potter has done it!" Bagman announced, and like someone had lifted a silencing charm, the crowd exploded into roars and cheers. Dragon handlers surged forward to keep Norbert calm in the sudden burst of noise.

Charlie Weasley paused beside me. "Nicely done, Potter," he muttered. "You ever considered a career with dragons?"

I grinned. Not that it didn't sound exciting and dangerous, but I liked the idea of a career with a long life expectancy, my Slytherin self-preservation rearing its head. Besides, I doubted I would have done nearly as well had I not known this particular dragon beforehand.

I headed back to the opening of the enclosure. Hagrid and Snape were waiting there. Hagrid was beckoning me over and beaming widely. Snape stood there with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face, but he was looking even smugger than usual. I knew he was proud as well.

"Well done, L'rena!" Hagrid cried, clapping me on the back so hard that my injured leg crumpled. Snape quickly caught and righted me before I could take a nosedive. "I was hopin' yeh'd get the Ridgeback." Hagrid leaned closer and gave what was, by his approximation, a conspiratorial whisper. "I knew he'd remember yeh."

"She," I corrected with a snort and Hagrid's grin widened.

"Well done Potter," Snape congratulated me. "Your potion performed admirably."

I was glowing, outright shaking in relief – and possibly weariness, my leg and shoulder were throbbing worse than ever.

"To the medical tent," Snape said decisively, looking down at my leg. He clamped a hand on my shoulder – partially to guide me and practically to keep me upright, I guessed – and steered me out of the arena. Madam Pomfrey was standing in the opening of a second tent looking more furious than I'd ever seen her.

"Dragons!" she shouted as she snatched me away from Snape and dragged me into the tent. "Dragons, dementors, what's next? Turning a batch of lethifolds loose in the dungeons? Releasing some quintapeds on the grounds?"

The tent was divided into five separate cubicles by curtains – one for each of the champions, I guessed. Harry was just leaving one as we passed. Her eyes widened as he saw my charred clothes and bleeding leg and shoulder.

"Rena," he breathed. "You… are you okay?"

I grinned at him brightly and shifted my egg so that he could see it. "No problems," I said proudly.

"Miss Potter, you've been bitten by a venomous dragon, please sit down," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, pointing inside the cubicle next to Harry's. Harry's eyes went wide and he grabbed my uninjured shoulder desperately.

"You got bitten? Are you okay? Merlin Rena, you need to sit down, you need to…"

"Calm down, I've already downed a bezoar," I assured him, brushing his hand off my shoulder. That one might not be bruised but it was still sore from the spectacular amount of falling I'd done. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey patched me right up," Harry said, giving the mediwitch a glowing look.

"And she'd like to do the same to your sister," Madam Pomfrey said tartly. I slipped away from Harry and sat down on the bed inside my cubicle. Madam Pomfrey all but dove on my leg, running her wand over it several times and whispering spells before confirming that the bezoar had done its job.

"You're lucky you thought to bring one," Madam Pomfrey said as she dabbed a thick, purple potion that burned and smoked onto my leg and shoulder. I winced at the smell the potion let off but recognized it as something to clean out the wound and prevent infection. Madam Pomfrey cleared away the disinfectant and healed the cuts with her wand. When I reached up to feel my shoulder, the skin was smooth and unblemished.

I glanced down at my shin. A wavy, uneven line about a foot in length ran down my calf. I sighed. "Magical creature? Can't heal it any better?" I guessed. Madam Pomfrey winced. I knew she felt bad about every single scar she'd been forced to leave on my body over the years.

"I'm sorry, Miss Potter, but…"

"Don't worry, I'm used to it," I said dully, hopping off of the table. "I'm gonna go get my scores now, thanks for your help."

Whoever was trying to get me and Harry killed had picked a genius way to pull it off – they didn't even need to get their hands dirty. They could just sit back and watch as the tournament did their work for them. In one task I'd nearly had my leg ripped off and gotten poisoned. This first attempt had failed, but they still had two more, and they would most likely be even more dangerous than fighting dragons.

"You can go see your score," Madam Pomfrey offered. I nodded. That sounded good. It'd be nice to see how I did. I wasn't anticipating a high score considering how long I'd taken, but I'd accept beating Fleur.

I left the tent and ventured back towards the arena. Harry was waiting there with Ron and Hermione, eyes fixed on the judges.

"How'd the others do?" I asked.

"Lorena!" Hermione cried, whipping around. She took in my bedraggled appearance. "You're okay! I thought when that dragon fire hit you, I _really_ thought you were-"

"Dead?" I filled in bluntly. "No, just hot as hell."

"You got hit by dragon fire," Harry repeated blankly. I looked at him and nodded. " _How_ are you alive?" I reached into the pocket of my robes and smugly held up the last vial of Sine Fraxinus. Harry's eyes widened in understanding.

"That's what you gave me," he hissed. "That's what it does?"

"Makes you imperious to dragon fire. Just once though," I clarified.

Hermione looked horrified. "You dosed Harry? But any potions the champions take they have to make themselves. If you'd been caught-"

"I'd be in trouble but I'd have a fire-retardant twin," I said shortly. "You're not going to make me feel bad about it Hermione, so don't try." I whirled on Ron, who was standing sheepishly in the back. "And why are you here?" I snapped. "Don't you have someone to dog my brother with?"

Ron winced. "Right, well…"

"It's alright," Harry said hastily, grabbing my shoulder. "We made up Rena, we're friends again."

Ron cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically. "Sorry Rena. I reckon whoever put your name in there… they want you dead."

"I'd noticed that, oddly enough," I said shortly. Harry raised an eyebrow at me, frustration creeping over his face.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" he demanded. I sighed and shifted the torn-up leg of my pants away, revealing the long scar down my leg. It wasn't that bad, just a wide, faintly purple line tracing down my calf. But it was still one more scar that I didn't need.

Harry winced. "Sorry Rena."

"Can't Madam Pomfrey get rid of it?" Hermione asked sympathetically. I shook my head.

"Wounds made by the claws and teeth of magical creatures will almost always scar even if you've got a professional Healer standing in the wings. Their natural magic counteracts spells to some degree and makes it almost impossible to completely heal the injury."

"Well here's something that should brighten your day," Ron said, pointing to the judges. "They're ready for scores."

"Where do they stand?" I asked.

"Harry and Krum have forty, Cedric has thirty-five, and Fleur has thirty-two," Hermione rattled off. I grinned. Fleur was in last place.

"What happened to Delacour?" I asked.

"She got set on fire," Ron said bluntly. I threw my head back and laughed.

I watched as Madam Maxime, the first judge, pointed her wand. A long silver ribbon launched itself into the air and twisted into a six. Ron made a sound of annoyance.

"That's what she gave Fleur," he noted in disgust. "Guess she wasn't impressed you made it through the flames."

"I doubt they'll all be so nice about it," I said shortly as Crouch waved his wand and shot a seven into the air.

"Lorena, you brewed a potion that helped you survive dragon fire and you had a bezoar on hand when you got bitten," Hermione chided. I looked at her sideway and smirked.

"Saw me down that, huh?"

"Of course," she replied immediately. "Even Madam Maxime and High Master Karkaroff have to recognize that."

Dumbledore gave me an seven as well, which I still thought was a little generous as apparently I'd taken the longest of any of the champions. Then again, he was my headmaster, so I guess he was playing favorites a little. I glanced to the side. _I wonder what he gave Harry?_ Definitely more than an eight.

Bagman fired a ten into the air. I wasn't entirely surprised. He seemed like the type that would appreciate the show more than the magic that was actually done. I could have been out there conjuring pansies and so long as I made it exciting I'd have probably gotten a ten.

Karkaroff looked grudging, but he raised his wand into the air and gave me a

" _Five!"_ Harry roared indignantly. "But you did way better than that!"

"What'd he give you?" I asked curiously. "He's probably just trying to get his champion a win."

Harry looked a little sulky as he admitted, "Four." I snorted softly. So, at least one judge had scored me higher than he had Harry. That was nice to know.

Then again, it was Karkaroff, which was a little odd. Maybe it was because his Durmstrangs were on the best terms with us Slytherins? Or maybe Iliya or Krum had put in a good word. Then again, Iliya had said Karkaroff hated Snape, so why would he give one of Snape's students more points? Unless it wasn't necessarily hatred Karkaroff felt for my Head of House. Maybe it was more like… fear? He wouldn't be the first person that Severus Snape had terrified, now would he be the last.

But that begged the question of why? Why would Karkaroff be afraid of Snape?

"You're third!" Hermione cheered. I did some quick mental math and realized with a dizzy spin of my head that she was right. I guessed things like taking up a little extra time didn't matter when I walked through dragon fire and tamed the dragon who breathed it. I grinned smugly. I'd beaten Fleur. Now my next target was Harry.

"You're tied in first place, Harry! You and Krum!" said Charlie Weasley, hurrying to meet us as we set off back toward the school. "And Lorena, you're third! Listen, I've got to run, I've got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I'd tell her what happened - but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah - and they told me to tell you you've got to hang around for a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word, back in the champions' tent."

Hermione wanted to send her parents an owl about the first task, so she headed back up to the castle. Ron offered to wait outside though as Harry and I entered the tent. I settled down on one of the more comfortable chairs, much more relaxed than I had been before the task. I crossed my leg, scarred one on top, and twirled my wand around my fingers thoughtfully.

Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. One side of Cedric's face was covered in a thick orange paste. I wrinkled my nose. There were better potions than that for burns. Cedric grinned at Harry when he saw him.

"Good one, Harry."

"And you," said Harry, grinning back. Cedric's eyes flicked past him to me. I smirked at him from my chair.

"Not your best look, Diggory," I said mockingly. Cedric winced, gently touching the paste on his face.

"I know," he admitted sheepishly. "But Madam Pomfrey told me to wear this through the night and then scrape it off in the morning."

I rolled my eyes. "I've got something better, I'll get you some."

"Do you really?" Cedric asked in surprise, his one visible eye widening. He smiled at me genuinely and his eyes went soft in a way that made my stomach flip slightly. _Bad Rena,_ I scolded myself. _Don't get sucked in by the pretty boy!_ "Thanks Potter, that's really nice of you."

"It's no trouble," I said bluntly, trying not to look as twitterpated as I was. "I got some for myself and I just _happen_ to have extra."

Cedric opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off.

"Well done, all of you!" said Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open... see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!"


	32. Hufflepuffs and Humiliation

**From now on I'll be updating on Wednesdays. Usually the chapter will be up before noon, but I got caught up after classes today and it took me a while to get to it. So, you can look forward to an actual schedule!**

* * *

I tucked my egg under my arm and left the tent with a spring in my step, Harry on my heels. I grinned when I saw Nott, Lily, and Tracey standing outside waiting for me. Tracey darted forward and enveloped me in a hug.

"That was amazing!" she yelled in my ear. "You were amazing! How did you do that?"

"Potions and preparation, as usual," I said smugly, separating myself from Tracey.

"So is that it?" Nott asked, nodding to the egg in my arms as we started up to the castle. "Your clue to the next task?"

"Have you opened it up yet?" Lily asked curiously. "Do you know what it says?"

I shook my head. "Nope, I'm not thinking about the second task until tomorrow," I swore to them and to myself. "For right now I'm going to ride the high."

"You've earned it," Nott agreed with me. "You came in third."

Tracey sniffed. "If you ask me, you should have come in first. Krum blinded his dragon. It staggered around and smashed some of its eggs." I winced at the idea of baby dragons getting killed. "And your brother just Summoned his broom and flew circles around the dragon."

I rolled my eyes. Why was I not surprised? Actually, that was a lie. I wouldn't have pegged Harry for thinking up something like that, because it was sort of clever. He wasn't the youngest Seeker in the century for nothing. The plan definitely played to his strengths, but I knew for a fact that a week ago Harry couldn't even cast an Accio. Something was up. Someone had helped him out.

"I bet you're ready for dinner, huh?" Tracey asked as we stepped into the castle. I nodded, my stomach rumbling aloud.

"You all go ahead, I want to put this away and get some proper clothes on first," I said, gesturing to the egg and my singed clothes. I could smell the faint scent of burning hanging in the air around me.

"Alright," Lily said, waving as they all entered the Great Hall. I hustled down to the apprentice's lab and set the egg on the counter – the lab had quickly become my base of operations for anything tournament-related. I used the parchment and scrawled out my account of the first task for Sirius, including Karkaroff's odd bit of favoritism towards me and the strangeness of Harry using a broomstick. I assured him that I was probably being paranoid, but I figured he'd like to know.

I stuffed the note in my pocket to mail later along with a vial containing a few phoenix tears and went to the Common Room. I dodged a few congratulatory pats on the back, citing a desire for a shower and some food, and made my way to the dorm. I managed a quick shower, used a charm to dry my hair, ignored makeup and dressed in slacks and a button-front as usual.

Feeling much more refreshed, I left the Common Room and headed for the Great Hall. That seemed to be where most of my year mates had congregated. A lot of the Slytherin table burst into cheers when I approached. I smirked at the –for once – positive attention and slid into the empty seat between Krum and Zabini.

"Well done!" Zabini crowed, slapping me on the back.

"You really are a genius with potions, Potter," Daphne said politely, but she was grinning widely and I knew she was glad that the Slytherin champion was doing so well. She tossed her cornsilk hair and glanced over at Krum. "Nicely done to you as well, Viktor," she purred.

Krum shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you," he said uncomfortably, and proceeded to bury himself in his steak.

I nodded to him sympathetically. "Pity about those eggs, but conjunctivitis wasn't a bad idea. I'm guessing that's what you used?" Viktor grunted noncommittally, which I took as a yes. "Better than what I did to try and distract it."

Krum looked up curiously. He hadn't seen my performance, evidently. "Vat did you do?"

"She let off a load of fireworks in its face," drawled a familiar voice. I rolled my eyes and glared over my shoulder as Malfoy continued, "Not exactly special, but as much as she could manage, I guess."

"Oh stuff if Dragon Breath," I huffed, recalling with a mental smirk just how bad dragon breath actually was and making a mental note to call Malfoy that more often. "You're just jealous I'm a better brewer."

"And a dragon tamer," Lily added. "Really Potter, how'd you do it?"

"Jealous of _you?_ " sneered Malfoy. "Not _even_ in your dreams, Potter. But I'm curious too – how'd you convince the dragon not to eat you?"

I smirked widely and leaned around Zabini to look Malfoy in the eye. "You seem oddly _surprised_ that I knew how to handle a Norwegian Ridgeback," I purred. " _You_ of all people should know that I'm good with animals. _Dragons_ in particular."

Malfoy looked confused for a split second and then his eyes widened in disbelief as he recalled our first year. Him catching us with Norbert was the reason we had to send the dragon away.

"It wasn't…" Malfoy breathed. "There's _no way_ -"

"Oh but it was," I cooed. "It _really_ was."

Zabini looked between the two of us blankly. "What in Merlin's name are you both on about?"

"Ancient history," I said simply and turned back to my meal. But Malfoy wasn't done.

"If that's true, Potter, then you cheated!" he said smugly. "All I've got to do is go and tell the judges…"

"Tell them what?" I countered. "No one believed you then and no one will believe you now. Give it up Malfoy, I've got you this time."

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't get cocky just because you made it through one task, Potter. You just scraped by on the skin of your teeth. I bet the next task will do you in!" he said certainly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?" I asked slyly. "You bet, do you? And just what do you bet? Another twenty Galleons?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Let's make it thirty, eh? I bet you will come out of the second task with at least another scar for your troubles," he said, nodding to the one on my face. I scowled, annoyed at him for mentioning new scars when I'd already gotten one from this tournament.

"And I bet you I won't," I countered, reaching over Zabini to shake on it. Malfoy's hand clasped mine. I was caught off guard by the fact that his hand was warm, not cold and slimy like I always imagined. Not a hot and sticky kind of heat either, but a soft, pleasant warmth. His long fingers wrapped nearly all the way around my bony hand and made me feel smaller than ever.

"Deal," Malfoy said, and shook my hand up and down before pulling his hand away. I quickly whipped my own hand back. Malfoy carefully wiped his hands on his robes. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't listen to him," Iliya said, leaning across the table and putting his hand over mine like he had several times before. This time, instead of being caught off guard by the warmth of the hand, I was comforted by it – it was familiar. "You did wonderful. You really are an amazing brewer, coming up with a potion like that."

I smiled at Iliya and shifted in my seat. The vial of phoenix tears poked my hip and the parchment crinkled aloud. I scanned the Hufflepuff table and realized Diggory wasn't there. He must have been down in the Hufflepuff Common Room already.

"Thank you," I told him hastily, "but I've just remembered, I've got something to do."

"Potter?" Daphne said in surprise as I stood up hastily.

"Don't worry about it," I said quickly. "Just something I wanted to check."

I hustled out of the Great Hall and down the corridor that led to the kitchens. Instead of pausing at the bowl of fruit, I moved down the hallway towards a pile of barrels in a niche on the right hand side. In spite of what one might expect, the Hufflepuff Basement was actually one of the more difficult ones to get into. You had to tap the barrel two from the bottom, second in the middle row, with your wand in the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff. If you got the rhythm or the barrel wrong, you got doused in vinegar.

I tapped the barrel and leaped back, just in case I'd done it wrong. The lid to the barrel lifted and revealed a passageway into the Hufflepuff Basement.

The Common Room always surprised me. It felt perpetually sunny with light let in through round windows that looked out onto grass and dandelions. Copper lamps hung from the ceiling. The furniture was, of course, upholstered in yellow and black.

I didn't like it. A little bit of it was probably house loyalty, but I had always preferred the Slytherin Common Room, with its slightly dim, greenish lighting and the darker colors and colder temperatures. All of that combined with the lapping of the lake made for an incredibly relaxing sort of room. The Hufflepuff Basement was bright and cheerful and happy and it made me feel like I was a black cloud walking in. It exhausted me.

The Hufflepuffs looked horrified when they realized the person who had just come in was not only not a Hufflepuff, but was a Slytherin.

"H-Hey!" I looked around and saw a tiny first year standing up from a table full of his fellows, trying to look threatening. "Y-You shouldn't be here! How'd you get in?"

"Relax, if I was here to do damage I'd have come at night and been a little sneakier about it," I said shortly, addressing the entirety of the room. "I'm here for Diggory, is he in?"

One of the Hufflepuff prefects stood up and addressed me. "And why do you want him, Potter?" he asked calmly. I rolled my eyes.

"That's not really your concern, is it?" I replied, letting my wand slide from my sleeve and into my hand as I crossed my arm. My wand tapped against my bicep pointedly.

"Cedric is resting," the prefect said coolly. "I'm not going to bother him unless you tell me why you need him."

I sighed and shook my head. "Thankfully, I don't really need you to figure out where he is."

I'd never actually been as far as the dorms, but I assumed that like the other Common Rooms the boys were on the left and the girls were on the right. I knew I'd guessed correctly when I approached the door on the left and the prefect moved to block me.

"Potter, you're not getting in," he said shortly. "Not until I'm sure you're not going to curse him or something."

"Yes, because Slytherins are known for our bold recklessness when we take out our enemies," I said sarcastically. "It's not like we're known for poisons and subtle poisons… oh wait." I pretended to ponder that for a moment. "Move it, prefect, Diggory knows I'm coming anyway."

The prefect snorted. "Right. I completely believe you."

I sighed and turned as if to leave, then darted around the prefect and opened the door, slipping inside. I shut it behind me and flicked my wand. The next person to come through would get a pie in the face. I started down the hall just as the door snapped open behind me. Sure enough, a key lime pie flew into the prefect's face. I laughed mockingly as I strolled to the seventh year dorms and opened the door.

The Hufflepuff boy's dorms were a little cleaner than the Slytherin guys, and nearly pristine sompared to Gryffindor, I knew that for a fact. The patchwork quilts covering the beds were all neatly made and the copper lamps and bed warmers on the walls were burnished to a bright glow.

Cedric was easy to find. His was the only bed that was occupied. He was apparently more worn out than I'd thought, because he seemed to be passed out under the covers, the clean side of his face resting on the pillow.

I shut the door behind me with a click and cast the same spell on the door again. Then I calmly strolled over to Diggory's bed and gave the mattress a good, hearty kick. He came awake with a jolt, casting around blearily.

"Whazzit, what's… Potter?" He gaped at me, sitting up sharply. His quilt fell down, revealing a bare and well-toned chest. I smirked and gave him a quick once over. He flushed and quickly gathered the sheets up to his chin.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, staring at me in disbelief. "The password-"

"-is ridiculously overcomplicated and annoying, but not difficult once you know it," I replied simply. Diggory raised an eyebrow at me skeptically.

"And no one stopped you from coming back here?"

I smirked as I heard footsteps pounding down the hall outside. "Not quite."

The door burst open. _"Pott-!" SPLAT!_ Another pie, this time banana cream, hit the prefect in the face. He staggered back, letting out a shout of frustration, and frantically wiped whipped cream off of his face. He was scrubbing his eyes and cursing as he staggered into the room. I looked at him sympathetically. That key lime probably stung a little.

"They _tried_ to stop me," I corrected. "It didn't work."

The prefect spit out a mouthful of banana cream, finally managed to clear his eyes, and stormed forward. "Potter!" he raged. "I swear, you're going to lose so many points-"

"Don't think you'll feel that way here in a second," I disagreed, digging in my pocket. I offered the vial of phoenix tears to Cedric. The prefect blinked in surprise as Diggory took it without question.

"Thanks for this," he said, nodding to the vial. He held it up to the light, squinting at the little bit of clear liquid. "What is it, anyway?"

"Phoenix tears," I said like it was no big deal, leaning my hip against Diggory's nightstand. His Swedish Short-snout was curled up in a ball on it, snoring and letting out tiny curls of smoke from its nostrils.

Diggory jolted. "Ph- _phoenix tears?_ You're serious?" he confirmed. I nodded.

"What, you think potions that make you invulnerable to dragon fire come cheap? I had to take a trip to Dumbledore and get some phoenix tears for the potion. And since I was there, I got a bit extra," I added with a careless shrug. "Came in handy, apparently. Now would you please get that orange nonsense off your face? It's annoying me."

"What's your problem with Madam Pomfrey's potions?" the prefect demanded belligerently. "She's a trained mediwitch after all, and you're just a fourth year-"

"Who's the best potions student in the castle," I said shortly. "I'm guessing that burn salve was not part of the batch Snape brewed up, because the color's a couple shades off. It would have done the job," I admitted to Diggory, "but the side of your face would probably have been tender for the next week. Eating and talking would have been a pain."

"You're going to trust her?" the prefect warned as Diggory raised a hand to wipe off the orange paste. Diggory hesitated and glanced at me. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow, giving off an intense aura of 'I don't care.' In reality, I knew I'd be a little stung if he didn't trust me. It was smarter not to, of course, but in this particular instance I was being nice.

"Yeah, I am," Diggory said decisively, vanishing the paste from his face. I winced at the burns as he poured the tears out onto his fingers. He winced as well as he rubbed the tears onto the burns, but the moment the liquid touched the injury it started to heal at a visible rate, burned skin sloughing away and being replaced with new, unblemished skin.

Diggory reached up, touching his face. He prodded carefully under his eye and along his jaw, and looked up at me appreciatively. "Thanks Potter," he said gratefully. "That's loads better."

"Don't mention it."

"No really, I-"

"Seriously, don't," I said shortly. "I can't have my house thinking I've gone soft. But to be blunt, If I can't win the tournament you're my next choice."

"I am?" Diggory asked, bewildered. I nodded.

"I've got to at least beat Harry for the sake of sibling rivalry, and I _really_ don't like Fleur, so she's going down if I have to hex her myself. Frankly I've got nothing against Krum but I don't like his headmaster, so he can't win either. That leaves you, which is still a Hogwarts victory, so I'm satisfied. Don't get cocky though, I'm not just going to hand you the win," I said sharply. Diggory smiled.

"Course not." He lifted the empty vial. "Thanks again for this, Lorena, it really means a lot. You, er, might want to go though," he added, glancing in amusement at the thunderstruck and pie-covered prefect standing next to me. "Maybe fewer pies next time you drop by?" he suggested.

I smirked. "No promises," I snickered before turning and taking my leave. I strolled casually out of the dorms, sidestepping the remains of the pie, and walked down the hallway. I gave a leap over the remains of the key lime pie as well and stared around at the befuddled Hufflepuffs.

"Your precious Seeker is unharmed," I said as I made my way towards the exit. That table of first years was still there. I paused by the door, leaned over, and shouted, _"Boo!"_ They toppled over themselves to get away from me. Laughing uproariously, I left the Hufflepuff Basement.

* * *

 _During the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, the illegal fifth entrant, twelve-year-old Lorena Potter, displayed an alarming amount of control over the dragon she was supposed to get past. Many more optimistic souls are hailing young Miss Potter as a 'dragon tamer' and one of the great magical creature handlers of our time. Other, more skeptical parties, suspect something amiss._

 _One of the dragon handlers who was held on site during the first task, who wished to remain nameless, had this to say. "I've been doing this for twenty years, and the guy who trained me had been doing it for forty more. I've never heard of anything like that happening. It's more than just impressive, it's impossible."_

 _Some are curious if Lorena Potter's control of the dragon relates to her talents as a Parseltongue. She was reportedly able to understand the basilisk during its attacks on Hogwarts during her second year. Is it that far of a stretch to understanding a dragon? Many crowd members reported seeing Miss Potter whispering to the dragon at multiple times throughout the task. Telling it to stay calm, perhaps? Or, even more sinister, working some sort of Dark spell on the creature?_

I tossed aside the article in disgust. Rita Skeeter was at it again, trying to paint me as some kind of Dark witch. I wasn't particularly surprised she was trying to get revenge, considering how short I'd been when I spoke to her. On the other hand, I was amused by how bad her hack job was. She still hadn't figured out the correct usage of Parseltongue and saying I could use it to control a dragon? Yes, because snakes and lizards were exactly the same thing.

I sat in the apprentice's lab, staring at my egg. It had been two days since the first task ended and I had yet to open the thing. Honestly I was putting it off. _I had plenty of time,_ the lazy part of my brain whispered. _The task wasn't until February._ The paranoid and rational parts of my brain had finally teamed up and bitch-slapped the lazy part into submission and now it was time.

Reaching up, I twisted the latch at the top of the egg and let the sides fall open. Inside was what looked like a teardrop-shaped crystal structure, with shining bubbles swirling in it. I briefly registered how gorgeous it was before an ear-piercing shriek roared out of the egg, like nails being dragged on a chalkboard and a cat being strangled, but about a thousand times worse.

Lunging at the egg, I snapped it shut and rubbed my temples as the stone walls echoed with the remnants of the god-awful sound.

"That sounded like a bloody banshee!"

I whipped around. Krea had drifted through the door and was floating just inside with her hands clapped over her ears. She lowered her palms and smiled at me.

"Hello!" she greeted cheerfully. "You said you wanted to talk. The Baron said he saw you coming in here and I wondered if this would be a good time?"

"Right, right," I said, completely content to set the egg aside for a while until my ears stopped ringing. I dragged a stack of parchment towards me along with a quill and ink. "Well here's what I was wondering. You've been around a while-"

"Seven centuries," Krea supplied helpfully. I opened my mouth to reply and then what she'd said clicked in my head.

"Seriously?" Krea nodded cheerfully. I shook myself, trying not to get lost in the idea of what it would be like to hang around that long. "Right, well, I was thinking that since you've been around that long, Sine Fraxinus might not be the only potion you know of that's been lost. Something else that might help me with the tournament maybe?" I asked hopefully.

Krea drifted over to the counter thoughtfully and settled herself down on the stool Snape usually occupied. "Perhaps," she admitted. "Although most of the potions from my day have been improved upon since then. The potions you're familiar with would be better than mine."

"What about things for dealing with magical creatures?" I asked, casting a glance at the golden egg. "Banshees, maybe?"

Krea made a face. "Sorry, once you hear a banshee's cry it's all over. I can't believe it's a banshee though," she tried to comfort me. "There are plenty of professionals who can't take a banshee, they shouldn't expect kids your age to handle it."

"They shouldn't expect kids our age to handle dragons either," I grumbled, reaching down and rubbing a hand along my calf.

"Well, it does definitely sound like some kind of creature," Krea insisted. "So maybe… hm, have you heard of the Stone Skin potion?"

I frowned and shook my head.

"I'm not surprised," Krea admitted. "It was more in vogue back when your average wizard carried and wand and a sword. Anyway, it'll keep you from being cut by anything but the strongest of magical creatures."

"How do you make it?" I asked eagerly, readying my quill. Krea outlined instructions and I was off and writing.

We worked for nearly an hour, and by the end of it I had written down the instructions for two other potions. One would let me turn invisible and the other was an advanced healing potion for ruptured organs – I really hoped I'd never use that one. I set the two pieces of parchment aside with the paper on Sine Fraxinus. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of starting a journal of all of my tweaked potions and the new ones I'd learned from Krea, but that sounded like a good project for next year during breaks on working on my Patronus and my Animagus reading.

People had developed a nasty habit of seeking me out in the Library to try and find out what the clue in the egg was, how was I doing, had I figured it out yet, did I have a plan… It got so annoying, particularly now that was getting into the trickier texts on Animagi, that I completely retreated from the Library and took my reading down to the apprentice's lab most days.

I'd been practicing my corporeal Patronus about once a week as well, and I was finally getting close. My random misty shield-shape was starting to coalesce into something winged. Not distinct, but definitely bird-like, and I was excited. I kept trying new memories, trying to get the sentiment powerful enough, but nothing was working.

I'd taken Sirius's advice. I stopped focusing on big memories – finding out Sirius wasn't a traitor, the day I got my first job, my first Quidditch game, the day I got my Hogwarts letter. The problem was that so many of my memories held at least a little bit of bitterness or anger. My Hogwarts letter? I was angry at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. My first Quidditch game? It was Harry's second year playing, it was only my first.

I started trying small things – the contentment that washed over me when I got one of the squishy armchairs by the fire of the Slytherin Common Room and I could relax and just sit for a while, knitting absently. The warmth of cuddling up with Harry in cold winter months when the cupboard under the stairs was so cold we could see our breath. It was at this point that I started to see some progress.

I'd gotten through nearly half of my Animagus books and I was chugging right along. Animagi transformations involved a complex understanding of Transfiguration that I didn't quite possess yet, but with a little bit of supplemental research I was usually able to grasp the concepts pretty quickly. I was hoping that the progress I had made would allow McGonagall to help me try a real transformation in my fifth year.

Then there was the second task. I spent hours on the clue, even once downing a headache draught and then lying on my back on the floor of the apprentice's lab and letting the egg scream for a solid half hour, trying to discern something from it. The only thing I'd noticed was that it wasn't a solid scream; it dipped and fluctuated randomly. Not exactly ground-breaking progress.

All in all though, I was satisfied with my various projects as they year progressed. I made sure not to let my grades in my regular classes slip though. I would not let Malfoy get better grades than me, life-threatening tournament or no. I was still sleeping less than I would in a normal year, but I remembered Snape's warning and made sure I got at least a solid eight hours a night.

I didn't eat meals in the Great Hall much, but I was eating. I had Tippy send small plates of sandwiches up to the Library or stopped by and grabbed a picnic lunch to take down to the apprentice's lab. I was eating well again, and it was starting to show. My ribs weren't plainly visible anymore and my cheeks had filled out enough that I didn't look ill anymore.

And then came the announcement.

The Slytherin third years and older were gathered in a room off the Great Hall. It was lined with tiered seats along the length of the room. Girls were pointed to one side, boys to the other. In the middle of the room, Professor Snape stood next to Filch, who was fiddling with an oversized record player.

Lily leaned over and hissed, "Snape looks like he's contemplating homicide!"

"More than usual!" I agreed, and we shared a laugh. Tracey bent down from her seat above us.

"It's exciting though, isn't it?" she pressed. "A ball!"

I winced. I knew about the traditional Yule Ball from my reading on the tournament as a whole. Apparently it was a centuries-old tradition. Personally, I thought it was a tradition that should have been done away with. I was decidedly not a ball person. I wasn't a social butterfly like the other girls in my house and I'd never danced a step in my life.

It did explain one thing though – why Mrs. Weasley had gotten me dress robes. She'd done the shopping for all of us while we were at the World Cup. I'd been surprised to come back and find a flat white box on my bed with a shoe box beside it. Both of them had fancy letters swirled around the top in silver. There was even a jewelry box with a note from Mrs. Weasley saying that it held a Potter family heirloom that she'd thought would match my dress perfectly.

I hadn't been able to bring myself to look in any of the boxes. I knew Mrs. Weasley had enough taste that I wouldn't look hideous, but then I'd never thought of myself as particularly attractive to begin with. Not ugly, just not something to write home about. I wasn't looking forward to seeing all the girls in my house wearing expensive dresses and looking like porcelain dolls while my skinny self stumbled around in heels that were way too high for me.

"Quiet," Snape said softly. He didn't have to yell. We all shut up the moment he opened his mouth. He stared around at us imperiously. "As many of you are well aware, the school will be holding a Yule Ball on Christmas evening. As students of the host school, attendance is mandatory."

I saw a few of the guys across the way groan or look disheartened. Crabbe and Goyle actually looked eager, which confused me for a minute until I realized. I tapped Tracey's leg. She leaned down and Lily leaned over.

"Look and Crabbe and Goyle. They're ready for the buffet," I chuckled. They looked across the way and had to smother their own laughter at the sight of the two apeish boys rubbing their stomachs and looking hopeful.

"In an attempt to prevent anyone from embarrassing the school in general," Snape continued, "our headmaster has graciously provided time for the Heads of House to hold what is, in essence, a dance lesson." Snape's mouth was twisted into a sour scowl. I tried to picture Snape dancing but it just didn't work. He swooped and stalked, he didn't dance.

"I wonder if Dumbledore knew how close he was to death when he told Snape he had to lead this," Daphne hissed loud enough for all the girls for several feet in either direction to hear. We all smothered laughter and Snape gave our section of the seats a dark look.

"I am aware that many of Slytherin house have had previous dancing instruction." Not surprising. You couldn't spit in the Slytherin Common Room without hitting someone who was the equivalent of pureblooded royalty. "However, this does not excuse you. You may think of this time as a refresher."

"I want to dance with Draco," Parkinson said eagerly. "Do you think he'll ask me to the ball?" she asked Bulstrode.

"No, he's at least got some taste," I said, just loud enough for her to hear. Parkinson whipped around to scowl at me.

"Like you'll even get a date, Potter," she sneered. I shrugged.

"Oh no, I'll go stag and spend the night talking to people I actually like instead of stuck to some random guy. The nightmare," I said sarcastically.

"We will have a volunteer pair to demonstrate," Snape announced. "Potter, Malfoy on your feet."

I sat up sharply. Across the way, Malfoy was standing up with a smirk and moving towards Snape.

"Sorry sir," I called. "I think you mispronounced Parkinson. She's the one who wants to dance with ferret face."

"Watch your mouth Potter," Snape warned, narrowing his eyes. "I did not misspeak. On your feet," he said, his voice rising ever so slightly and gaining enough authority that it echoed around the room despite being only slightly louder than a normal speaking voice. Snape meant business.

Wincing, I stood up and shuffled over to Malfoy and stood across from him. Malfoy smirked down at me and I scowled up at him.

"Have you any dancing experience?" Snape asked, mostly for the benefit of the students watching.

Malfoy smirked. "I've taken lessons since I was four."

I grunted, "I've never danced a step in my life."

"Thankfully, Potter, it will not fall to you to lead," Snape said dismissively. "Take Mr. Malfoy's hand. Mr. Malfoy, take her waist."

Malfoy reached for me and I took a large step back.

"Don't be difficult," Malfoy hissed, stepping after me. He grabbed my hands and smacked one down on his shoulder, holding the other in a tight but graceful grip. His free hand landed on my waist. I made a face. Someone behind me wolf-whistled – I was about ninety-eight percent sure it was Zabini. I whipped my head around to snap something at him, but Malfoy's free hand seized my chin and yanked me back around to face him.

"We will begin with a basic box step," Snape said. He nodded to Filch, who started the record player. Tinny waltz music came out of it. I was acutely conscious of the eyes on me. Most of my housemates could probably waltz and tango and foxtrot in their sleep. They knew what they were doing, and they were watching for any tiny mistake I made.

Malfoy made a sharp step back and dragged me along after him. He stepped to the side and I ended up staggering into some kind of half-turn. Malfoy dragged me back in front of him and stepped forward. Hastily, I scrambled backwards and he hauled me sideways again.

"You really haven't danced," Malfoy observed, raising en eyebrow and looking down his nose at me.

"I wasn't lying," I snapped at him, staring down at our feet and trying to make mine follow his. "Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

I stepped on Malfoy's foot. For once it wasn't on purpose, but it was actually an accident. I winced and tried to back away off of his foot. Malfoy tugged me in a different direction and I ended up thrown off balance. I stumbled after him, trying to keep time.

"One two three, one two three," Snape drawled. I staggered again and tried to step forward just as Malfoy did the same. I smacked my nose into his chest and let go of him, hustling backwards and clutching my nose. It wasn't broken or even bleeding but it still stung.

"Really graceful Potter!" Parkinson called mockingly. I stuck one hand behind my back and flipped her off out of Snape's view.

"Sir, can I try something?" Malfoy requested. Snape nodded.

"Please do, or we'll never get a decent example out of Potter."

"I'd be glad to go sit down and send Parkinson up here," I offered hopefully. "Greengrass maybe? I'd even sell Moon out at this point, I don't really care."

"Oi!" Lily protested from behind me as chuckles ran through the hall.

"Come here, Potter," Malfoy said, seizing me around the waist. I let out an indignant screech and tried to kick him in the shin as he picked me up and settled me on his feet. I gave a little bounce and was gratified to see a wince flicker across Malfoy's face.

"Hey, I'm starting to enjoy this!" I announced. Malfoy positioned our hands again. "And there it went," I sighed. Malfoy started waltzing, keeping my balanced on his shoes. I scowled, not at all pleased about being hauled around the room like some three year old who couldn't be trusted to stay upright on her own. My shoulders slumped and I scowled at Malfoy's chin, which was directly in front of my face.

"One two three, one two three," Malfoy continued to count quietly. Now that I could feel my feet moving properly, I figured out what I was supposed to be doing with them. Instead of just getting yanked around in seemingly-random directions, I felt like I was actually dancing. It was even kind of… fun.

"Now if only I had a decent partner."

Malfoy dumped me off his feet, trying to trip me up. I smirked as I managed to keep my balance and keep up with his steps. To be honest, I was proud I'd picked up on it that fast. Then again, it was only a couple of steps repeated over and over. Now if someone tried to twirl me…

I could see it on Malfoy's face right before he did it. My eyes widened. "Don't you dare-"

Malfoy spun me out. I staggered away from him. He dragged me back by our connected hands and then pulled me into a dip. The world spun dizzily around me and I ended up bent backwards with one foot in the air in a frantic attempt to keep myself balanced. My hair was coiled on the floor beneath me and I was staring at Snape's upside-down knees.

Malfoy yanked me back up and I staggered away from him. "Think I'm gonna be sick," I muttered.

Thankfully, that was the end of the 'demonstration.' A more apt name would be 'humiliation of Lorena Potter.' Snape called for everyone to rise and find a partner to practice the box step. In the shuffle to find someone you didn't absolutely hate, I slipped away from Malfoy and sniggered as Parkinson cheerfully took my place. Malfoy actually looked rather disappointed. Then again, he was dancing with Puginson.

I made my way through the crowd, dodged Nott's attempt to seize me as a partner, and slipped out the door to freedom.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures had dissolved into anarchy.

Again.

The Blast-Ended Skrewts, it seemed, were deeply against the idea of hibernation and did not at all appreciate being put into pillow-lined crates. The smoking remains of the crates covered the lawn in front of Hagrid's cabin. Most of the class had barricaded themselves inside. I was the only Slytherin to remain behind with a couple of brave Gryffindors, trying to wrangle the animals.

One blasted off and hit another one. Like it had hit a ramp, the skrewt shot into the air and landed on its back. Its underbelly wasn't armored like its top was, so I hit that one with a Stunner and floated it into one of the only remaining crates.

One skrewt came at me, stinger bared. I quickly sidestepped and cried, "Incarcerus!" The skrewt ended up tangled in a couple of thin ropes. It thrashed and flailed its stinger angrily as I levitated it into the crate with its stunned friend.

I turned around. The rest of the class had handled most of the skrewts, but one was still loose.

"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an' slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won' hurt any o' the others!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.

"Well, well, well... this does look like fun."

Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

"Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.

"She's not," I said shortly, scowling at the reporter. My consistent complaints about the bitch were part of the reason she was banned.

Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.

"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.

"Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before... where do they come from?"

That… was actually a very good question.

Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they. Harry?"

"What? Oh yeah... ouch... interesting," said Harry as she stepped on his foot.

"Ah, you're here. Harry!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. "So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

"Yes," said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him.

"Lovely," said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid.

I noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.

"This is on'y me second year," said Hagrid.

"Lovely... I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots."

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid corrected eagerly. "Er - yeah, why not?"

I had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so I had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson.

"Well, good-bye, Harry, Lorena!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to us. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!"

"He's screwed," I moaned aloud.


	33. Yule Ball Part 1

As it turned out, Hagrid and the skrewts were the least of my problems. Somehow I had become popular, and I wasn't a fan. It meant that suddenly people who had never spoken to me were coming up to me. Mostly, they were guys trying to get me to go to the Yule Ball with them. Some came bearing gifts, too, like flowers or chocolates. The chocolates were trashed for fear of potions and the bouquets were separated and secretly stuffed into girls' bags with notes _From Your Secret Admirer._

I caused thirteen squeals when the flowers were discovered, four pileups in the hallway as the girls theorized with their friends, got three people dates to Hogsmeade when the girls confronted the guys they thought gave them the flowers, and ended a Hufflepuff relationship. I was quite proud.

Some guys who had spoken to me before were smart enough to come bearing things a bit more my speed, like books or more expensive potions ingredients. I shamelessly took the books and ingredients and then turned the boys down flat. One particularly ballsy Ravenclaw sixth year came up and opened with, "When should I pick you up for the Yule Ball?"

My response was a biting "never," and a curse that turned his knees backwards.

All in all, I'd been very successful at keeping my prospective dates at bay, and I hadn't even been causing much trouble this year. Which was why it came as a surprise to me when Snape told me to stay after class.

"Something wrong sir?" I asked as I approached. "Lily?" I offered him a bouquet of the flowers. They were the overwhelming majority of the ones I'd received from people trying to be cute by giving me the flower I had for a middle name. Lily Moon's nightstand had vanished two days ago under a heap of lilies. It hadn't been heard from since.

"I'm flattered, Potter, but no," Snape said shortly. I shrugged. "Suit yourself sir," I said and set them on his desk anyway. I dug in my bag and pulled out the most recent box of chocolate, chucking it into the bin by his desk. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"You have something against dark chocolate?" he asked, observing the ribbon on the box.

"I don't have anything against dark chocolate. I have _serious_ things against chocolate from dubious sources that may or may not be dosed with Amortentia."

Snape nodded approvingly. "Very wise, Potter. But you know that you will eventually have to accept someone's invitation."

I stared at him blankly. "I will?"

"You will." Snape nodded firmly. "It is traditional that the champions and their partners open the dance. If only for the first song, you will have to have a partner."

"Damn," I muttered.

"Language Potter."

"I've been fending them off for two weeks!" I protested. "You couldn't have told me earlier that I'd have to put up with one of them?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I assumed you were waiting for a particular person to ask you. However, with the ball in only a week, I began to wonder. Apparently, that was warranted."

I threw up my hands. "Sir, do you know how annoying it's going to be to find someone to go to the dance with me?"

"I'm sure you will take your punishment and suffer in silence, Potter."

I stared at Snape incredulously. "Honestly, sir, have you met me?"

* * *

"-from Milan. Mother had them specially made from the finest silk and the color is just perfect for my skin tone-"

If Parkinson didn't _shut up_ about her _bloody dress robes_ I was going to throttle her. With my bare hands. After beating her over the head with the jug of pumpkin juice. I might also drown her in the soup, I was still debating on that one.

"Why so glum, Potter?" Zabini asked, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Aren't all you girls supposed to be giggling about the Ball?"

I glared at him darkly. "Move. Your. Hand. Or. Die."

Zabini whipped his hand back so quickly I might have spat venom in his face. Then again, metaphorically, I had.

"She _is_ pissed," Zabini grumbled. Parkinson cackled.

"Potter's just mad she doesn't have a date to the ball. What's the matter, no one wants to go with a scarred blood traitor?"

"Oh no, a ton of people want to go with me," I replied saccharinely. "The problem is, I have to _let_ one of them."

Lily stared at me incredulously. " _How_ is this a problem?" she asked uncertainly. It was only two days ago that a fifth year Hufflepuff had worked up the nerve to ask her, confessing he'd liked her for over a year. He came bearing her favorite flowers, so Lily accepted him.

"Apparently, me and my date have to open the dance," I grumbled. "Meaning I have to have one. I had planned to just spike the punch and sit back and watch, maybe set loose a couple spiders," I pouted. "Now I'll have someone hanging on my shoulder all night."

"I'm avoiding you the whole night," Daphne said bluntly. I nodded.

"Probably wise, Greengrass, probably wise."

"Bet you regret turning down that Ravenclaw now, huh?" Lily asked, nudging my foot with hers under the table. He was attractive enough, and a seventh year. He'd even come bearing a really interesting book on mediwizardry, which showed he cared enough to do some research and find out a little about me.

"Yeah, he'd have been decent. What was his name again?" I tried to recall. "Maybe he's still available…"

Iliya cleared his throat. I looked up at him. "You know the Ravenclaw?" I asked hopefully. Iliya shook his head, looking mildly annoyed.

"No. Lorena, I would like to ask you to the Yule Ball," he explained. I grinned widely as Parkinson gaped.

"Yes, great!" I beamed. "Thanks Iliya, that's a huge help. You won't try to stop me from spiking the punch?" I confirmed. He shook his head, laughing slightly.

"I would never."

I nodded. "Then this could actually end up being a decent evening!" I said happily, rubbing my hands together.

"Do you even have robes, Potter?" Parkinson sneered.

I smirked. Parkinson used to routinely dig through my stuff, stealing quills and parchment and ink, sometimes even my textbooks. It wasn't until I doused the whole thing in Itching Powder and casually mentioned getting a bit of jewelry from a secret admirer that she finally stopped doing it constantly after spending three days scratching her hands raw. She'd tried a couple of times since then, but the Bubotuber pus I used the next time broke her of the habit completely.

"I do," I replied with a shrug, spearing a forkful of salad and biting into it.

"Who designed them?" Parkinson shot off. "What color are they? What are they made of?"

I shrugged again. "No idea."

"How can you not know?" Daphne asked incredulously.

"I had someone else do my shopping for the year while I was at the World Cup," I explained. "I have the robes and shoes, but I haven't looked at them."

"Why not?" Lily demanded. "You don't want to know what you're wearing?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather be surprised. Besides, I don't imagine I'll be the belle of the ball anyway, so I'm not too fussed about what I look like."

"You've got that right," Parkinson sniped, straightening her back and peering down her nose at me disdainfully.

"Wipe that look of your face Parkinson – you won't be either."

"Oh yeah?" Parkinson shot back. "Then who will be?"

I was smug as I replied, "Hermione Granger."

As one of the only female friends Hermione had, I was the only person she'd told she was going with Viktor Krum. Giddily, she'd shown me her robes for the night and explained how she'd planned to do her makeup and hair. From what I could tell, this was the last night anyone would think of Hermione Granger as 'that Gryffindor girl who hangs out with Potter.' She was going to look _good._

Parkinson howled with laughter. "The _Mud-?!"_ I'd been expecting the insult. Parkinson didn't even get the word all the way out before her soup exploded on her.

When would she learn?

* * *

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, they were the most stunning I had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase. The usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

"Rena! Oi, Rena!"

I turned and saw Harry hustling up the hall after me. I raised an eyebrow and paused, leaning against the wall next to a suit of armor that was halfway through "Silent Night."

"What can I help you with, brother dear?" I asked as Harry came to a stop. He looked red-faced and a bit disappointed.

"Will you dance the opening dance with me?" he blurted out, looking horribly embarrassed. I stared. While yeah, I would prefer going to the ball with Harry than nine-tenths of the guys who had asked, it was a bit pathetic.

"Why?" I asked, startled. Harry scowled.

"I asked Cho Chang-"

I blinked. "She's going with Cedric Diggory though…"

Harry gaped at me. "What… _how_ did you know that? Why didn't you _tell me_?" he whined. I shook my head.

"Well how was _I_ supposed to know you were going to ask her?" I demanded. Harry shook his head helplessly.

"She said no, of course," he said glumly, then paused. "Wait… Really, how _did_ you know that?"

I shrugged. "I was in the Library the other day. Some Hufflepuff came up and asked me to the dance. I turned him down. Cedric was there, we started talking about the ball…" I shrugged. "I dunno, he just mentioned it."

Harry swelled up with brotherly indignation. "What Hufflepuff? What's his name? How old is he?"

This was the first time I'd seen Harry in protective big brother mode. It was the first time he'd really need to be though – I normally wasn't nearly this popular with guys, as my track record of zero dates could attest. It was actually kind of hilarious to watch Harry get all puffed up and indignant on my behalf.

"You've got a lot of people to go after," I chuckled. "I've been turning people down for weeks!"

Harry stared at me in disbelief. "What? People have been asking you?"

My smile dropped instantly and Harry paled, taking a quick step back. He held up his hands innocently. "I didn't mean it like that!" he protested.

"Then how did you mean it, brother mine?" I growled. Harry winced.

"Just… you know, girls get asked. Guys have to do the asking," he explained. Slightly mollified, my glare lessened.

"Yeah, I can see how that could be awkward," I admitted. "So you still need someone to open the ball with?"

Harry nodded earnestly. "I know it's not ideal, but I figured since we both need dates-"

I raised an eyebrow. "When did I say I needed a date?"

Harry froze, staring. "Y-You said… you said you'd been turning them all down."

"And I had," I agreed. "Until Snape told me about the opening dance," I grumbled. "Then I knew I needed a date. I mentioned it at dinner one night and Iliya offered to go with me. I accepted."

Harry scowled. "Who is Iliya?" he demanded. I might have announced I was going with Malfoy for as unhappy as Harry seemed. I rolled my eyes.

"Krum's friend, the one with the black curly hair? Tall and skinny?"

Harry bristled. "You're going with a Durmstrang?" he yelled loudly. A couple of people shot us curious looks. I sent them all rude gestures and turned back to Harry.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, he's Krum's friend! He's probably trying to see where you are on the egg, get information," Harry said, a protective glint in his eyes. I snorted.

"He's not," I said confidently.

"How do you _know?"_

"Because he already tried before the first task and he's crap at it."

"That's what he _wants_ you to think-"

I huffed. "Look, Harry, I've talked to Iliya several times before – he's a decent guy. He asked me, I needed a date, so I said yes. End of story."

Harry looked me up and down suspiciously. "So you don't like him?" he confirmed.

That wasn't entirely true. Maybe it was just the first time I'd ever had a guy show some kind of real interest in me, but I did like Iliya. We'd talked a couple more times in the Library since the first time and I always enjoyed it. He didn't press, just made a coy comment or placed his hand over mine every now and then. I didn't exactly sea future for us, he being older and from another country being only the most obvious of reasons why. Still, it was nice to feel wanted.

But I knew that's not the answer Harry wanted. "No," I lied and Harry nodded, appeased.

"Alright then." He paused, the groaned. "That means I still need to find someone."

"Eloise Midgen?" I suggested innocently. Harry gave me a dark look.

"No."

"Alright alright, no need to be testy!"

* * *

Christmas Day dawned bright and early, and I was woken up by Dobby appearing by my bed. I let out a yip and jerked in surprise.

"Dobby is very sorry, Lorena Potter!" Dobby squeaked apologetically. "Dobby didn't mean to startle Lorena Potter!"

"S'fine Dobby," I said, swatting at my nightstand until my hand hit my glasses. I shoved them on and Dobby turned from a blob into himself. "What's going on?"

"Dobby wanted to give Lorena Potter her Christmas present!" Dobby said happily, holding out a wrapped package.

" _Seriously_ Potter?" Parkinson was awake. Joy. "You're getting a present from a house elf?"

"Yeah I am," I said shortly, and snatched the present from Dobby. I tore it open, revealing a pair of knee socks. The left one had snakes on it and the right one had wooden spoons and measuring cups. Just to stick it to Parkinson a little more, I immediately tugged the socks on. I wiggled my toes. They were warm, and they were kind of cute.

"Thank you Dobby," I said genuinely, leaning down and kissing the top of his bald head. I'd never seen Dobby smile brighter. "Did you like your Christmas fudge?"

"Yes, very much!" Dobby grinned. "Lorena Potter is very kind to us elfses! Dobby has to go and help in the kitchens now," he apologized. "But he is glad Lorena Potter likes her gift!"

With a crack, he vanished. Lily looked at me in shock, her own tin of fudge already open between her knees. "You bake for the house elves too?" she asked incredulously. I shrugged.

"I use the kitchens to make it, so I usually make extra and give it to the house elves. That's why they do me favors when I ask," I explained. I caught sight of Parkinson eyeing Lily's tin jealously and smirked. The girls in my dorm always raved over my sweets and jealously guarded them. Parkinson had never so much as gotten her hands on a crumb, and neither had Bulstrode.

"Mm, you've really outdone yourself this year," Tracey agreed, taking a piece of fudge from her own tin.

Aside from Dobby's socks, Tracey had gotten me a nice leather-bound journal. Malfoy must have mentioned seeing me with the Animagus books, because Nott gave me a book on the topic. Lily had continued tradition and gave me a silky nightgown and Tracey had gotten me a slab of Honeydukes chocolate. As usual, Daphne had gotten a piece of jewelry for each girl in the dorm. This year, it was a ring in the shape of a snake. Its tail wrapped around the finger and its head rested on the first knuckle. Sirius had sent me a journal as well with a note slipped inside wishing me a Merry Christmas and luck on the tournament. From Harry I got a book on advanced potions, one of two I got, the other presumably from Snape. There was the usual Weasley package and Zonko's products from the twins, with the addition of some of their Canary creams. Hagrid had sent his rock cakes.

Then, as usual, there was the bouquet of white tulips. I smiled and plucked one free, sniffing it.

"Have you ever found out who sends those?" Lily asked curiously. My dorm mates were well aware of my mystery flowers. Lily, Tracey, and Daphne thought it terribly romantic, someone admiring me from afar. Parkinson maintained, with Bulstrode's support, that I sent the flowers to myself in a desperate attempt to seem more popular than I was.

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. I tapped the flower with my wand and it dried instantly. I slid off my bed and added it to the wooden box inside of my trunk.

The rest of my Christmas was spent in the typical way – breakfast with the Weasleys, a snow war on the grounds, lunch, and a game or two of chess by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. By five o'clock though, I was heading back to the Slytherin Common Room to get ready, to Harry and Ron's disbelief.

I stepped into the dorm and found that it was already a riot of activity. Daphne stood by her bed, an elegant silver dress draped across it and rollers in her hair. She was randomly pulling out bits of jewelry from her trunk and arranging them around the dress, looking for the best fit. Parkinson was already in her much-vaunted robes – they were an ungodly pink color and horribly frilly – and Lily and Tracey were calmly painting their toenails.

I hopped in a quick shower and scrubbed myself off, drying my hair with my wand before emerging in a towel. I dug around in my trunk, pulling out the untouched dress and shoe boxes, as well as the jewelry case.

"Go on then Potter, let's see those mysterious dress robes," Parkinson sneered, standing up and looking vindicated, like she could already see me whipping out some frilly monstrosity to rival her own.

I set the boxes out on my bed and opened the shoes first. They were a simple pair of strappy black sandals with four inch heels. No easy feat to manage, but not a complete impossibility either. I was satisfied.

Next, I opened up the box. Inside rested a collar made of diamond-encrusted filigree, a flowery design blooming at the front. It would drape down to cover a portion of my décolletage. The floral design was repeated over and over on the diamond cuff also in the box and it dangled from the earrings.

"That's a Potter family heirloom, isn't it?" Lily asked jealously as she applied another coat of clear nail polish to her toes. I nodded, stunned speechless. I knew we had jewelry in our vault – most of it was presumably in my vault now, me being the daughter of the family – but I didn't know we had stuff like this sitting around. Mentally, I made a note to pay attention to the actual numbers next time I went to Gringotts.

Finally we had reached the dress. I opened the box and peeled away the tissue paper. The gown was emerald green, of course, and made of some fabric that seemed to shimmer in the light. Taffeta, I think it was called. I lifted the dress up and out of the box, stepping back so I could see the whole thing. It was strapless with the fabric gathered at my left hip and beside my left breast, creating interesting folds that caught the light. It looked like it would fit snugly until a small but obvious train trailed back at my knees. A pair of black opera-length gloves rested on the bottom of the box.

"You're going to look gorgeous!" Lily squealed.

"Iliya won't know what hit him," Daphne agreed a bit grudgingly. She finally seemed satisfied with her jewelry selection for the evening.

I didn't know about that, but I figured I'd at least have a dress I could be proud of it. I pulled the garment on – I was right, it fit snugly and was held up with magic, so I wouldn't have to worry about it drooping at the top. The fabric swished and rustled delightfully when I moved. I followed that up with the gloves and the jewelry set, having a moment of mental panic when I wondered how many thousands of Galleons I was wearing at that moment. I popped in the contacts I'd gotten for the occasion after only a few minutes struggle.

Thank god Lily had agreed to do my makeup, she being the expert. While her own hair was setting in curls – apparently it stayed better if you curled it the Muggle way and held it with magic, who knew? – she sat me down and broke out her extensive array of makeup, using way more products than I did on a normal day, some of which I hadn't even heard of. When she was done, I felt like I was wearing a mask.

I didn't want much trouble with my hair, so after a couple of stolen minutes discussion with the girls about how it would look snagged in the back of a Transfiguration lesson, I had decided just to comb it all back into a ponytail set high on the crown of my head, my hair spilling in a pin-straight line down my back. Lily fixed any final wisps, straightened my collar for me, and shoved me towards the bathroom to check my reflection and see if I was satisfied. She herself tugged her dress on and got to work on her own face.

I sat down ungracefully on my bed and yanked up the long skirt of my dress to my knees. It took a couple of minutes frustrated fumbling with the straps to get my shoes on. I stood up, tottering slightly at first, but the heels were easier than expected to manage. My dress kept me from taking large steps anyway.

Ready, I made my way into the bathroom to make use of the full-length mirror. Shutting the door behind me for a little privacy, I turned to face the mirror and assess the damage.

I stared. Then I blinked. My reflection blinked too. Huh. That was _me._

I looked… I'd even venture so far as to say I looked hot. Sure, I still looked slightly too skinny, but the dress was gorgeous and fit me like a glove, showing off what few curves I had. The folding on the chest helped hide my lack in that department too, which I was grateful for. I was taller than usual in the heels, which was good, otherwise I'd have been stepping on my hem all night. My hair spilling in a smooth line down my back and the train of the dress created an interesting profile.

Any my face. I had no idea what magic Lily had worked. I looked several years older, like I could easily be a seventh year. She'd turned my slightly-sunken cheeks into sharp, elegant angles. My eyes were smoky and mysterious, my lips a smear of bold, seductive red. With my hair pulled back, my face looked angular, sharper. For once, my scar, which could not be hidden, looked like it belonged on my fiercer face.

I looked mature, refined, sophisticated. I looked like the sort of woman – woman, not girl – who could handle herself, who could wear that kind of jewelry with confidence. I could be beautiful… It was a dizzying realization, one that made me pause and take a moment. Tears shone in my eyes, making the green seem to burn with intensity.

Hastily, trying not to ruin my makeup, I tipped my head back, closing my eyes and forcing the tears down.

For the first time in my life… _I felt beautiful._

There was a loud knock on the door. "Hurry up, Potter!" Daphne urged. "The ball starts in half an hour, we have to go meet our dates."

We'd agreed to go out as a dorm. Those of us with Slytherin dates would be greeting them in the Common Room before the lot of us headed toward the Entrance Hall where the rest of us would meet our dates. Me in green, Lily in champagne, Tracey in a deep blue, Daphne in silver, Parkinson in pink, and Bulstrode in a drab, deep grey left the dorm.

Waiting in the Common Room were Nott, who was escorting Daphne, Goyle, who was taking Bulstrode, and Malfoy, who to no one's surprise, was taking Parkinson. Crabbe was also there, but dateless and looking very disheartened. Zabini had a date with a pretty older Hufflepuff, and he'd presumably already headed out to meet her.

"You all look lovely," Nott said politely before presenting Daphne with an ice-encrusted corsage that matched her dress nicely. She happily allowed him to slide it onto her wrist. Parkinson turned to Malfoy hopefully, but his hands were empty. Her face fell slightly.

"Where's Potter?" Malfoy sneered. His black velvet robes had a high collar that made him look like a vicar. "Not showing her face tonight?"

Bulstrode had been blocking his view of me. She shifted to go and greet Goyle. Scowling, I stalked past him, smacking him in the back of the head as I passed.

"Right here, Mal-ferret," I snapped. Malfoy whipped around and I was gratified to see his eyes blow wide and absolute shock cover his face.

" _Potter?_ Holy Helga, is that you? You look…" Parkinson coughed pointedly, looking an inch away from stamping her foot. Malfoy recovered from his shock and plastered a sneer on his face. "You look presentable for once. My compliments to whatever glamour you're using."

I smirked. "You seem to have forgotten your clerical collar, Dragon Dick," I shot back. "Come on, I've got a date to find."

Moving as a pack, we left the Common Room and headed up to the Entrance Hall. Our group split, the girls off to find their dates and the rest of them off to mingle. I stood on my toes and peered around, trying to see if the Durmstrangs were there yet.

"Need a hand?"

I gave a startled yelp as large hands gripped my waist and lifted me into the air. Almost immediately I whipped around, laughing when I saw Fred standing there with Angelina Johnson on his arm, George with Katie Bell next to him.

"You clean up good Potter," George said with a wink.

"You boys do too," I replied, grinning widely. "I love your dress Katie, and your necklace is lovely Angelina," I added politely.

"Thanks, it was a Christmas gift from my parents," Angelina said, reaching up to touch the pendant. Katie looked pointedly at the empty space next to me.

"Do you not have an escort?" she asked innocently. Katie had never quite liked me, thanks to an incident on the Quidditch pitch involving a Quaffle and her head that I was responsible for.

"Just waiting for him," I replied coolly, turning to look as the doors opened. I saw the Durmstrangs filtering in. Krum was immediately behind Karkaroff, a nearly-unrecognizable Hermione on his arm in periwinkle. Iliya was right behind them. I hustled over, waving to a startled-looking Harry as I passed. Iliya smiled when he saw me coming and offered his arm.

"You look stunning," he said, grinning broadly. He took my gloved hand and kissed it charmingly. I flushed.

"Thanks Iliya, you're looking nice yourself. Hermione, you look gorgeous," I assured the girl in front of me.

"Yes, she does," Krum agreed, looking very proud to have her on his arm. Hermione blushed deeply and let out a most un-Hermione giggle.

"Viktor, I believe we've managed to find the most beautiful girls in the school for the evening," Iliya announced, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. I smiled up at him. The atmosphere was infectious, all around the Entrance Hall people were buzzing with excitement. Even I was starting to get in the dancing mood.

Viktor opened his mouth, probably to voice his agreement – or at least, that better be what he was about to say – when McGonagall cut him off.

"Champions, over here please!" she called, her voice cutting over the din. Around the hall, the champions and their dates began to move over to the Great Hall doors, where McGonagall waited to line us up. Once everyone else was in, we would make our big entrance.

She put Fleur Delacour in front, on the arm of a dizzy-looking Roger Davies, the captain of the Ravenclaw team. Krum and Hermione were positioned behind them, then Cedric and Cho, who was wearing a set of gorgeous silver robes. McGonagall placed Iliya and I behind them, and then Harry behind me with Parvati Patil.

"Rena!" Harry hissed. "Rena!"

"What?" I whispered back, turning to look over my shoulder. Harry was glaring at my exposed shoulders and upper back.

"What are you wearing?" he demanded.

"A dress," I replied shortly. "You date seems to have found one too, I notice."

"Harry, leave it," Parvati hissed, looking embarrassed. She tugged at Harry's arm, trying to distract him.

"You gonna yell at Hermione about her fashion choices?" I asked, tipping my head towards Hermione. She heard her name and turned around, smiling brightly when she saw Harry and I. I watched Harry's jaw drop and shock cover his expression. He hadn't realized who was on Krum's arm.

"Hi Harry!" She waved. "Hi Parvati!" Hermione was glowing. It was adorable.

The doors were opened and the rest of the schools began to filter into the Great Hall. Malfoy walked past with Parkinson. They ignored me, but I saw Parkinson outright gaping at Hermione. Even Malfoy didn't have anything nasty to say. Ron, like Harry, didn't seem to recognize Hermione, because he strolled right past her.

McGonagall beckoned us forward them. I held my head high and jutted my chin out, straightening my spine.

"Ready?" Iliya whispered as Fleur started walking. I smirked up at him.

"Of course."

Everyone in the Great Hall applauded as we entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall where the judges were sitting. I stared around, impressed. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished. Instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron's as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer, and then looked outright annoyed when he saw me with Iliya. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students. Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding us politely. Mr. Crouch was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.

When we champions and our partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry looked at me hopefully, silently begging me to take the seat. I gave him an incredulous look and shook my head, sitting down smartly to Hermione's right in the chair Iliya had pulled out for me. No way was I sitting through dinner listening to a speech about cauldron bottoms.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. I picked mine up uncertainly and looked around - there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"

We all took his cue and began to comb the menus, telling our plates our selections.

"What looks good?" Iliya asked curiously. Some of the dishes were French, I noticed, going off the wasted vowels in the words. Other were presumably from the same region as Durmstrang.

"Steak, well done, and a baked potato with butter and salt," I pronounced to my plate. Instantly, the requested meal appeared. I smiled slightly when I noticed that my steak was completely free of fat – I hated the texture and got every scrap I could off of my meat. The house elves were looking out for me once again.

Iliya ordered something called, "Supa ot kopriva." A bowl of greenish soup appeared on his plate, a handful of crushed walnuts rested on top, sprinkled artistically.

"What is that?" I asked curiously as I began to cut up my steak.

Ilia had to think a moment to find the right word before replying, "Nettle soup."

"I've never tried anything like that before." I was curious. "May I?"

Iliya obligingly dipped his spoon in and held it out to me, his other hand hovering under it to catch any drips. I leaned forward, blushing a little when I saw Harry glaring at me from across the table. I closed my mouth around the spoon and swallowed, contemplating the taste.

"What do you think?" Iliya asked curiously. I shook my head.

"Not a fan," I admitted. Iliya chuckled.

"That's alright. It's a bit of an acquired taste. I hated when my mother made it as a child, but now I enjoy it."

"Your mother cooks a lot?" I asked curiously. I wondered what it would be like, sitting at the kitchen table while my mom drifted around and made dinner. I wondered if Lily Potter even cooked, or was she more of a baker like me? Did dad do most of the cooking? Did he dart here and there around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, or did he set them all out beforehand? Did she hum as she stirred ingredients together?

"Constantly," Iliya said with a chuckle. "Neither my father nor I can boil water, so without her we would surely starve. Do you cook?" he asked curiously, sipping his soup.

I finished my bite of meat – the house elves had really outdone themselves, it was delicious – and started mixing the butter and salt into my potato.

"I cook a lot at home," I replied honestly. "My aunt insists on me knowing how. I prefer baking though," I admitted.

"I should like to try some of your baking sometime," Iliya said. He was doing it again. Looking at me all intensely, voice layered with flirtatious intent. It made me blush the first time he did it, and it still worked. I felt my cheeks heat and quickly took a bite of steak to give myself time to recover. I saw Iliya smile slightly out of the corner of my eye and got the feeling he knew what I was doing.

I swallowed and decided to try and turn the game around. I let my eyes become hooded and said back lowly, "Maybe before you leave I'll have to bake something for you _specially._ "

I was pleased to see Iliya's eyes widen slightly, looking surprised but pleased. I smirked proudly. This flirting thing wasn't so hard after all. It was a lot like what I usually did, just with an undertone that was more coy, less mocking.

"Now, now, Viktor!" said Karkaroff loudly, with a laugh that didn't reach his cold eyes, "don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us! You too, Iliya."

Iliya inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, high master."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Igor, all this secrecy, one would almost think you didn't want visitors."

"Well, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, "we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school's secrets, and right to protect them?"

"Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor," said Dumbledore amicably. "Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon - or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."

Harry snorted into his plate of goulash. I snickered and quickly took a bite of my potato to cover it.

"You really don't ever know what you're going to find in here," I agreed with the headmaster. "You may or may not, for example, run across a dangerous three-headed dog on the third floor corridor."

Dumbledore coughed uncomfortably. "That was one time, Miss Potter, and the students were warned…"

"You had a three-headed dog?" Iliya asked in disbelief. I nodded.

"His name was Fluffy and he got sleepy when you played music."

From there, conversation spiraled off into discussions about our respective schools and homes – Iliya contributed a lot more on that topic than I did – and how the tournament was going so far. Iliya didn't try to press for information, just asked how I was doing with it. I told him I was doing fine, had a couple of ideas, and he left it at that. I appreciated it.

* * *

 **This was only the beginning of the Yule Ball. It got so long I ended up splitting it into two chapters. And guess what? I'm going to give both of them to you today! Yeah, it felt weird juts posting half of what was originally one long chapter. Once I do some last-minute edits on it, I'll have the second half up!**


	34. Yule Ball Part 2

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause. They were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, getting ready to play.

"Ready?" Iliya asked, standing and offering me his hand in a half-bow. I took it and allowed him to pull me to my feet and guide me down to the dance floor. We champions spaced ourselves out so that no one was in danger of waltzing into each other. I placed my hand on Iliya's shoulder and he placed his on my waist, keeping it respectfully high.

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune and the dancing began. It was easy, now that I knew the steps and had a partner who wasn't actively trying to trip me. Iliya looked down at me as we danced. I glanced up and saw the same mischievous gleam I'd seen in Malfoy's eyes during the dance lesson. I narrowed mine in reply.

"Don't you-"

Iliya twirled me out, but unlike with Malfoy, the motion was smoother and much gentler. I managed to complete the spin and turn back into our previous position with relative ease. I grinned proudly.

"I knew you could do it," Iliya said, bowing his head slightly so that his breath ghosted across the top of mine. "You're more graceful than you think."

I scoffed. "Maybe I should have brought my glasses for you."

Iliya laughed and I glanced around at the other couples filtering onto the dance floor. I could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet. Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

The waltz came to a close with a long note from the bagpipe and the band struck up something faster. I froze in fear. Waltzing I could do. I knew the steps now, and it was pretty easy. This kind of music I had no idea what to do with.

My face must have been terrified because Iliya reached up with his free hand and grabbed mine off of his shoulder. "Don't worry, just move," he encouraged me, urging me into a shoulder shimmy by pulling on my arms. I took up the motion a little hesitantly. Iliya smiled approvingly and nodded to Bulstrode and Goyle, who were doing some kind of limb-flailing thing that looked less like dancing and more like physical combat. "You can't be worse than them," he said pointedly.

I laughed at that and added a little shake of my hips to the shimmy, trying to mimic some of the motions I saw the girls around me doing. Iliya raised one of my hands. I spun around one way and then the other direction before moving back into the same sort of sway-shimmy I'd gotten into the rhythm of.

A crooning love song was next. Iliya pulled me closer than he had for the last two dances, so that I was nearly chest-to-chest with him. Together we swayed in gentle circles. I relaxed, letting myself enjoy the night instead of worrying about what I looked like. It was a nice, romantic moment. I couldn't deny the mood, even if I didn't really feel anything like that for Iliya. He was fun, simply put. A great conversation and this teasing, flirty banter we had was fun too.

I chuckled slightly as Iliya turned me. I could see Harry and Ron sitting glumly at one of the tables, Ron casting dirty looks at Hermione and Harry glaring at Iliya's hand on my waist. The Patil twins sat on the opposite side of the table, arms crossed, identical expressions of annoyance and disappointment.

I laughed, pressing my face into Iliya's shoulder so that Harry wouldn't see me.

"What?" Iliya asked, amused. I nodded in the direction of my brother and pulled him into a half-turn so that he could see them too. Iliya chuckled slightly and dipped his head closer, whispering in my ear, "Your brother is mouthing death threats at me."

"Oh Merlin," I groaned, tilting my head back in embarrassment. "Ignore him, he makes terrible death threats. No idea how to properly terrify someone." Iliya laughed at that. I did feel a bit bad for the Patils. They'd gotten all dressed up, expecting a night of fun and dancing, and what did they get? Stuck with a couple of wall flowers who weren't so much as looking at them.

"I don't suppose you could rustle up some Durmstrangs for the Patils?" I asked hopefully.

Iliya raised one eyebrow and asked archly, "Is this your way of trying to get away from me?" He feigned offense.

I shook my head and chuckled. "No no, I am having a lovely time. I would like to talk to some of my friends though," I admitted.

"Is it time for me to turn you loose to spike the punch and release the rats?" Iliya asked knowingly. I smirked.

"Maybe not that specifically, but… _would_ you mind separating for a while?" I asked. I didn't actually plan to do anything to the dance, but I did have a few people I'd like to talk to. I needed to save an exhausted and pained-looked Ginny from Neville for a few minutes, trip Parkinson, whack my brother around the head for being a terrible date, maybe grab a dance with the Weasley twins…

"I shall hunt for dance partners for your brother's unfortunate date," Iliya said."There are a few people I would like to say hello to as well."

"Great," I said, relieved. Iliya raised an eyebrow again, and this time the offense was a little more genuine. "Oh, er, no," I explained hastily. "I just didn't know if you intended to stick with me all night or not."

Iliya shook his head. "I wouldn't want to be blamed for the rats. I will meet you in about an hour by the buffet table?" he offered. I nodded agreeably.

"Sounds great, see you then." Iliya stepped back and kissed the back of my hand again before melting into the crowd. I saw the top of his curly head making its way towards a knot of the red fur-trimmed robes the Durmstrang boys were wearing.

I moved out of the center of the crowd and began skirting the edges, pulling out my wand. I shot a Trip Jinx at Parkinson as I passed. As an added bonus, she nearly dragged Malfoy down with her, but he dropped her and let her fall onto her butt. She cast around furiously for the perpetrator, but I was already gone into the crowd.

I tapped Neville on the shoulder. He turned around. I bowed to Ginny and smiled. "May I have this dance?" I asked in a deep voice. Neville laughed and ushered Ginny towards me. I took Ginny's hand and waist, continuing the charade, and we started to waltz dramatically through the crowd.

"Rena, I didn't know you felt that way," Ginny snickered.

"Well you know, the heart wants what the heart wants," I said with a dramatic sigh. "Seriously though, I figured your feet could use a rest."

Ginny winced and glanced down at her feet. I could see that the toes of her shoes were scuffed from Neville's clumsiness. "It is a bit ridiculous," she admitted sheepishly. "If I'd known that I was in for a night of getting stepped on, I would have turned him down." Her expression turned mournful. "Especially since Harry asked me later on. I just figured… well, I'm not old enough to come, otherwise."

"Well you're in luck," I said as I watched Iliya urge two Durmstrang boys over to the Patil sisters. They offered their hands to the girls, who eagerly accepted. Harry and Ron didn't even seem to notice as their dates were dragged off. Iliya caught my eye and gave me a thumbs up. I laughed and returned the gesture.

"Harry's recently been freed up," I said, spinning her so that she could see Harry and Ron sitting, disheartened, at the empty table. "Go ask him for a dance."

Ginny colored and shook her head. "No way! He's got a date, it wouldn't be-"

"So does George, but he seems to have commandeered a Ravenclaw for this dance," I said, nodding as her brother whizzed past in a blur of black and ginger, dragging an enthusiastic Ravenclaw in circles. "Go on, the worst he does is turn you down, then you just go back to Neville."

Ginny bit her lip, but nodded determinedly. I gave her an encouraging push towards my brother and stood back, crossing my arms and nodding approvingly as Harry looked up to see Ginny. Feeling a bit like some kind of Yule Ball fairy godmother, I moved into the trail George and his Ravenclaw had blazed through the crowd. Unsurprisingly, I found both of them at the end, the Ravenclaw staggering off dizzily towards a chair.

"Why Rena!" they cried in sync when they saw me.

"Did your date abandon you?" Fred asked me sternly.

"Do we need to go hex him?" George added, pulling out his wand with alarming readiness. I shook my head instantly.

"No, no, I sent him off to try and help the Patil twins out. Our brothers are being horrible, horrible dates."

Fred sniggered. "Oh yeah, we saw Ickle Ronnikens holding up the wall earlier."

"Well, he's moved on to holding down a chair now, and the Patils were looking less than pleased."

"Well aren't you sweet, looking out for them," George cooed. "Now very Sytheriny at all."

I snorted. "Just call me the fairy Yule-mother," I smirked, crossing my arms. "I came to save that Ravenclaw from vertigo too, but she seems to have escaped your evil clutches," I added to George, who grinned mischievously.

"Yes, but now I've got you in my evil clutches," George said. I was already expecting it as he swooped on me and dragged me off into the many, many, many turns he'd put the Ravenclaw through. It was childish but fun. I could feel my hair and my train swishing around me and I threw my head back and laughed loudly.

George let me go and I spun dizzily to smack into Fred's chest. He pulled me into a waltz. Blessedly, one without turns. We still cut quite a swatch through the crowd though, making large steps and sweeping around melodramatically. It was just as ridiculous as George's spins, and also just as fun.

They turned me off to reclaim their dates from a pair of Hufflepuffs who'd borrowed them for a few dances and I moved around the edges of the crowd again. It was still several minutes until I had to meet Iliya, but maybe I could go ahead and head to the buffet table, scarf down some bonbons, and perhaps coax Diggory into a dance or something.

I paused, catching sight of my reflection out of the corner of my eye. My hair had slipped and my ponytail wasn't quite as high as before. Little wisps of hair were starting to come free and a fine sheen of sweat covered my forehead. My eyes were glowing with happiness though, something I could never recall seeing before. I was having the time of my life.

"And to think I thought this would be boring," I muttered, shaking my head at myself as I squeezed past a pair of slow-dancing couples towards the buffet table.

"Look, poor Potter's all on her own! Did your date finally wise up and dump you?"

I spun around and found Parkinson standing by the punch bowl, Daphne and Bulstrode flanking her. Nott lingered a short distance away and Goyle was busily scarfing down finger sandwiches. I rolled my eyes, noticing the obvious lack of a particular ferret.

"No, we agreed to talk to our own friends and meet back here later," I replied shortly. "But, huh, what's that? I don't see the magnificent bouncing ferret anywhere?" I noted innocently. I planted my chin in my hand, one finger tapping my chin thoughtfully. "He too embarrassed to dance with you after you fell on your ass? Or has he dropped you for his own safety?"

Parkinson's face went red, clashing horribly with her pink dress. "I knew it was you!" she howled, thrusting a finger at me accusingly. "You're the one who tripped me earlier! Say whatever you want, Potter. I bet that Durmstrang took one look at you and ran! Who would want to spend the evening with a scarred, ugly, blood traitor?"

"Pansy," Daphne said warningly, but my wand was already out. No way was Parkinson ruining tonight for me, not when I was enjoying myself, not when I actually felt good about how I looked.

Parkinson's eyes widened in fear and I knew she hadn't thought to stick her wand somewhere in her dress. I was just about to do something – probably tip the punch bowl over onto her – when a dark-skinned hand grabbed the wrist of my wand hand and spun me into a chest.

"Zabini," I growled out as he forcefully danced me away from Parkinson. One hand was on my waist but the other held my wrist tightly.

"Just trying to keep you from getting detention," Zabini said smoothly. I looked up. Blaise Zabini was a gorgeous, gorgeous man, but he was even better-looking all dolled up in dress robes, even I had to admit. Too bad I was well aware of his strict dating-and-dumping cycle, or I might have tried to take advantage of the moment.

"I wasn't going to do anything bad," I grumbled, slumping in annoyance.

"Oh yeah?" Zabini challenged, looking down his nose at me knowingly. He nodded to my wand. "Then why was that out?"

"I was just going to dump the punch on her," I whined, my lower lip jutting out into a pout. Zabini shook his head and cast his eyes heavenward as if asking for the patience to deal with me.

"Wand away, Potter," he chided. "It's a dance, not a duel."

"Why can't it be both?" I countered, but I put my wand back into my dress when he released my wrist.

"Now, I need you to promise me that your wand will stay where it is for the next, oh, ten minutes or so," Zabini said. I blinked.

"Why's that?" I asked in confusion.

"So you don't hex me for what I'm about to do." Zabini looked at something over my head and nodded. Instantly, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What are you about to-"

I could have cheerfully slapped the womanizer, who yanked me into a violent turn and sent me spinning off in a seemingly random direction. For the second time that night, I smacked into someone's chest. Warm hands rested on my hips. I looked up, torn between apologizing or hexing whoever was getting handsy with me, and scowled mightily when I saw platinum hair.

"Ferret," I greeted coolly. Malfoy's hands swept up my own, dragging them into the appropriate position for dancing. Instinctively I fell in rhythm with him.

"Potter," he retorted, his voice just as chilly. He pretended to look around before looking down at me sympathetically, "What, did that Durmstrang twat abandon you?"

"His name is Iliya," I said hotly. "And no, we each had people we wanted to talk to so we split for a while. I don't see Pansy draped off your shoulder, did she abandon you?" I shot back. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"As if," he said smugly. "Who would ditch a catch like me?"

"Anyone with any sense?" I replied sweetly. Malfoy scowled.

"If you must know, Pansy made a fool of herself by falling down. She was annoyed about it and kept ranting, so I left her. She was irritating."

I snorted in disbelief. "Wow, yeah, real catch you are. You're a trooper, aren't you?"

Malfoy sniffed. "Oh, don't try and play the moral high card with me, Potter. Like you would have hung around if your precious _Iliya_ was doing the same," he sneered. I shook my head.

"Wouldn't be a problem, because unlike you, I don't date trolls like Puginson," I said confidently. "She's by the buffet table, if you wondered. _Not_ dripping in punch, because Zabini's an interfering bastard like that." I scowled.

"Is that why your wand was out earlier?" Malfoy wondered. "You were going to dump the punch on Pansy?"

I shrugged. "She was being a bitch," I said, as if that explained everything. For me, it did. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, Potter, it's a wonder you're ever _not_ in detention the way you behave."

"You mean my fun and mischievous personality?" I chirped. Malfoy shrugged carelessly, eyes glinting in amusement.

"If that's what you call being immature and childish."

I narrowed my eyes. "Right, because I'm that one that hides when trouble comes knocking wearing skull masks."

Malfoy's eyes immediately shuttered, rage flashing across his features. His hand squeezed my own and I wondered if he would leave bruises on my hip. "That's a whole different situation," he hissed darkly.

"Maybe," I admitted. "But at least I'm enough of an adult to deal with my problems instead of running from them. Can you say the same, Malfoy?" I challenged. It was Malfoy's turn to narrow his eyes.

"You don't know _anything_ about me, Lorena, _nothing-_ " he snarled.

"Is there a problem?"

"Iliya!" Gratefully, I pried myself free of Malfoy's painful grip and moved to Iliya's side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder protectively. Malfoy glared at the pair of us, looking furious.

"No, just Potter being the annoyance she usually is," he replied, his voice low. Iliya's eyes darkened.

"I think you owe her an apology for that comment."

Malfoy sneered. "And what would you know about it? Pretend all you like, but at the end of the year you're leaving and she'll never see you again. I'll say whatever I like to Potter, and you won't stop me, because you won't be here long enough to matter."

" _Malfoy!"_ I said sharply. _"Watch it!"_

Malfoy smirked. "What Potter, does the truth hurt? The only guy who's ever bothered to give you a second look, and you're just a _fling_ -"

 _Smack!_

Those around us stared as I stood there panting, my hand still raised from the slap. Malfoy's head was turned sideways, his hand pressed to his reddened cheek. He stared at me in disbelief from behind platinum strands knocked loose by the force of the hit.

"Potter-"

"You're wrong, Malfoy," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I know a lot about you. I know that no matter what you like to think about Slytherin self-preservation, that's _not_ what you have. You're a _coward_ , a _bully_ , who hides behind his name and his reputation. You're _nothing."_

I turned away from him, wrath on my face. "Come on Iliya." Iliya's eyes lingered on me, his reaction to my outburst indecipherable. I was worried he was going to tell me I'd gone too far or been too cruel. But when I drew level with him, he coiled his arm around my waist and guided me away towards one of the empty tables.

I flung myself down into a chair. Iliya pulled out another chair and sat down across from me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," I said shortly. "Just Malfoy being Malfoy. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Just when I think he can't get any more arrogant, there he goes, reaching new, big-headed heights."

Iliya smiled slightly. "Perhaps he's trying to impress you," he offered. "Maybe he didn't like me butting in?"

I scoffed. "Rubbish way to go about it. And why would Malfoy care about you or try to impress anyway?" Iliya gave me a knowing look and I realized where he was going. My eyes blew wide and I leaned forward. "No. Oh _Merlin_ no. _No,_ Malfoy does not like me in any way, shape, or form."

Iliya nodded. "Just a theory. Let's not let him ruin the night, though?"

He was smiling at me gently. I gave a small smile back. This was really great, just someone I could talk to. And maybe it was because he was going to leave at the end of the year and I'd probably never see him again that I felt like I could talk to him without having to worry about what I said being used against me. Whatever it was, it felt good to open up and I knew I'd miss him when he left if only for that.

"Sounds like a plan," I said. Iliya offered me his hand and helped me to my feet.

"Another dance?" he suggested. I nodded gratefully and we joined the press of the dance floor. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Padma Patil looking blissful in the arms of a muscular Durmstrang. She saw me looking, recognized who I was dancing with, and mouthed a delighted, "Thanks!" in my direction. I gave her a thumbs up in reply and leaned my head on Iliya's shoulder, swaying to the quiet music.

As the night began to wind down, so did the music, going from the faster-paced songs that had dominated the beginning of the dance to slower, quieter ballads, many without vocals. Iliya pulled me closer and I draped my arms over his shoulders, lacing my fingers behind his back, and he let his hands rest on my hips. The pair of us swayed in companionable silence, occasionally commenting on something random that had occurred to us. We danced like that for nearly an hour solid.

By that point, many couples had filtered off to the gardens or back to their dorms. The after-dance wreckage was starting to become visible – napkins that had fallen off their tables, bits of streamers that had been pulled down by accident or on purpose. I saw a starry-eyed and slightly drunken Hagrid dancing with Madam Maxime. Snape, to my astonishment, was also on the dance floor, but seemingly not of his own volition. Trelawney had him in a death-grip and was not letting go, her frizzy head snuggled into his chest. Snape looked like he would have dearly loved to hex her off of him.

My Potions Master caught sight of me staring from across the hall. Teasingly, I grinned and flashed him a thumbs up from behind Iliya's neck. Snape death-glared at me and very carefully mouthed, "Detention." I winced and he smirked in response. Trelawney stumbled over one of her dragging shawls then, and in a movement so deft I'd think he made a habit of escaping sherry-sodden old frauds, Snape twisted out of her grip and strode smartly out of the Great Hall.

"I should get back to the ship," Iliya said quietly, his head hanging with his mouth close to my ear. I nodded in understanding. We separated, but he kept an arm around my shoulders as we made our way through the last love-struck couples mooning over each other. A few couples lingered in the Entrance Hall, saying their goodbyes before heading to separate dorms. One girl was sitting on the stairs crying, two friends hovering around her comfortingly.

"He's using you!"

"What, how dare you? Besides, I can take care of myself!"

"Doubt it, he's way too old for you!"

"What?! What, that's what you think?!"

"Yeah, that's what I think!"

I tugged Iliya out of the way of the door as Ron came striding out, face stormy and hands thrust in his pocket. Hermione was staggering along next to him, her eyes red like she was about to burst into tears.

"Well you know the solution then!" Hermione said, taking a couple of quick steps to get in front of Ron and stop his sulky march toward the stairs. "Next time there's a ball, pluck up the courage to ask me before someone else does and not as a last resort!"

"Ooh, Merlin," I breathed, watching them. At my side, Iliya's grip on my shoulders tightened.

"He likes her, this redhead?"

"Ron Weasley," I replied. "And yeah, I'm pretty sure he does."

"Well that's… that's just completely off the point!" Ron spluttered. Harry left the Great Hall then, looking confused about something. "Harry!"

Hermione whipped around, tears in her eyes. "There you are!" she shouted at Harry, who gaped at her in surprise. "Where have you been?" Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione cut him off. "Never mind, off to bed, both of you!" Harry opened his mouth again, this time probably to protest, but again Hermione cut him off. "Go on, go!"

Knowing better than to linger and defy an angry Hermione, Harry hustled over to Ron, hissing, "What did you do?"

"They get scary as they get older!" Ron called down as he and Harry mounted the stairs. Hermione scrubbed at her eyes as the tears finally began to fall.

"Ron you spoiled everything!" she shouted after him. "Everything!" Ron and Harry vanished up to the landing and Hermione spun around, sinking heavily down to sit on the stairs. She sobbed and reached down, tugging one of her shoes off. I was no girly girl, but even I knew that was a bad sign.

I turned back to Iliya. "I should probably…" I gestured awkwardly to the crying Hermione. Iliya nodded in understanding.

"See to your friend."

"She's not really my friend…" Hermione was honestly the friend of Harry's that I got along with the least. She was a know-it-all, and she got on my nerves fairly often. But her insistence on knowing everything was part of the reason Harry had made it through some of his adventures as well as he had, so I did have a soft spot for her.

Iliya seemed to know it too. His eyes glittered disbelievingly as he looked down at me. "Right," he said skeptically. "It was a wonderful evening. I will bid you goodnight."

"I had a great time," I admitted as Iliya bowed and kissed the back of my hand. In a surprise twist on his usual chivalry, he gave my hand a gentle tug. I took an unwitting step forward as he straightened up. My eyes widened in surprise as Iliya dropped a kiss onto my brow. It was not a romantic gesture, but a friendly one, almost a familial one.

I grinned widely. Thank god, he wasn't reading too much into tonight and trying to turn it into something romantic. I had no idea how to handle romance. The prospect scared me, in all honesty.

"Until next time," Iliya said, waving his hand and waving goodbye as he turned to head back to the Durmstrang ship. I watched him go for a moment, rubbing my arms. Outside of the heat of the Great Hall it was starting to get a little chilly.

Shaking the last of the warm feeling in my stomach away I turned around and got down to business. Hermione was still on the stairs, her shoes lying haphazardly two steps down from her and her face buried in her knee.

I headed forward, but was stopped by a cry of _"Potter."_

I turned around and saw Diggory hustling over to me, a weary-looking Cho leaning against the wall behind him. Diggory's cheeks were flushed and his hair mussed from dancing, and he looked even better for it.

"Diggory," I greeted coolly. "What's up?"

"Have you figured out your egg?" he asked curiously. I blinked at him.

"And why would I tell you even if I had?" I asked slowly, like I was speaking to an exceptionally dull-witted child. One corner of Diggory's lips quirked up.

"I'm going to guess that means no."

I stared. "And why would you think that?"

"If you had, you'd be bragging about it," Diggory guessed. He smiled drily. "I'm starting to figure out how you operate, Potter."

I scoffed. "Keep telling yourself that."

Diggory shook himself, getting back to whatever he came over for. "That's not important. Just… maybe take the egg and have a bath, alright?"

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him disdainfully. "Just what have you been smoking, Diggory? What do you Hufflepuffs grow in that Basement of yours?"

"Just trust me," Diggory insisted. He opened his mouth, like he was going to say more, but Cho called out his name. He glanced over his shoulder and waved at her in acknowledgement. "Trust me," he insisted, before returning to Cho.

I stared after him. Take a bath? What did he mean by that? What was he playing at? If he weren't a Hufflepuff, I'd have said he was trying to steer me off course and make me waste time by giving me a purposely vague and mysterious hint, but that was a Slytherin tactic.

Whatever, that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, I had Hermione to deal with.

I sat down to her, the rustle of my dress making her look up.

"Oh, Lorena," she greeted thickly, trying to scrub the tears off her face. "I was just-"

"Being upset about Ron being a prat?" I suggested. Hermione nodded weakly, her tears starting again. She buried her face into her knee again, her shoulders shaking. I sighed, sliding down a step so I sat next to her. I wrapped my arms around her.

"L-Lorena?" Hermione asked uncertainly as I dragged her closer, letting her lean her head on my shoulder.

"Shh, it's alright," I cooed, rubbing her back supportively. "Ron's an idiot, we all know that, shouldn't let it get us down. He's just jealous he didn't get a date as gorgeous as you. He'll regret it soon enough and I'm going to hex him in the morning to make sure of it, okay?"

"Are you," Hermione hiccupped, "trying to comfort me?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "How'm I doing?"

Hermione gave a watery chuckle. "Not bad," she approved, and let her head rest on my shoulder. I felt tears trickle down my arm but didn't protest. "I just don't understand why he couldn't let me have this," she said softly. I sighed.

"He's a guy. He doesn't get what it's like to finally dress up and be pretty when you've been told most of your life you're not. Even when you know you're not necessarily _ugly_ , you hear it enough, it starts to sink in, like it's always been true, like the sky being blue."

Hermione sobbed. "How did you-?"

"You think you're the only one?" I asked wryly. "For you, it's your bushy hair and your teeth – though I noticed you've gotten those fixed." Hermione flushed and smiled secretively. "For me, it's my scars."

"I-It's not that noticeable, really," Hermione sniffled, trying to comfort me now. I snorted.

"I've got a big-ass S on my face, Granger, it can't be anything but noticeable. But it doesn't really matter, because you've got your brain, and when all these pretty girls without two thoughts to rub together get out of school and realize that looks won't get them everywhere, you'll already be standing where they want to be."

Hermione was still crying, but her sobs were starting to subside into a steady stream of tears, and even that was starting to slack off. I looked up, staring around the Entrance Hall. The couples had mostly gone, and the last few people were starting to filter out of the Great Hall as curfew approached.

Ungodly pink robes exited and I saw Pansy stumble out tiredly on the arm of Malfoy. Pansy looked like she was incapable of seeing anything but her bed at that point, but Malfoy glanced up. We locked eyes. His shone with something as he looked at me, then they flicked to Granger. I hugged her tighter protectively and turned to carefully stroke her hair, making sure not to catch my fingers in any of the pins holding up her hairstyle. When I looked up again, Malfoy and Parkinson were gone.

"Go on, get some sleep," I urged Hermione as she gave one last sniff, her tears stopping. "Have a hot bath first or something," I suggested. "Ron may be an idiot, but I guarantee there were some parts of tonight that weren't bad, right? I saw you getting twirled by a certain muscular Quidditch player."

Hermione flushed vividly. "Yeah, that was… that was nice."

"That's it," I urged, standing up and tugging Hermione to her feet. I reached down and snagged her shoes, passing them over. Hermione hung the strappy heels off two fingers. "Focus on that."

Hermione stared at me. Her makeup was smudged and her hair was falling down, but she was smiling slightly. "You know," she said softly, "sometimes I really do wonder why you're a Slytherin. You're not like the rest of them."

I smirked. "You forget my charming personality traits, like my unceasing sarcasm and insults."

Hermione shook her head. "I think, sometimes, that you're not nearly as bad as you make out to be."

She started up the stairs, leaving me staring after her, mind spinning. I wasn't as bad as I made out to be? Well that was true. But the mask I wore to keep my housemates out was so comfortable to me that I could wear it for months on end, could slip it on without even noticing. It was my armor. It was almost easier for me to handle than moments like I'd just had, moments where I was nice and caring. It was becoming who I was.

And, alarmingly enough, I was sort of okay with that. It was safe, it was familiar, it was comforting.

I was too tired for deep, introspective thoughts. I shook Hermione's words out of my head and reached down, tugging off my shoes. I hung the straps over my fingers like Hermione had and headed down into the dungeons. The stone was icy on my bare feet, but it actually kind of felt good on my sore heels.

"Emeralds," I said tiredly, and entered the Slytherin Common Room. A couple of people were still up – a pair of snogging seventh years in a chair by the fire, a cluster of sixth year girls still in their dresses, and a couple of guys who seemed to have simply passed out at a table in the corner.

In my dorm, things were much the same. Lily was sitting on the end of her bed in her pajamas, carefully taking down her hair around face-stretching yawns. Bulstrode was already asleep, the curtains drawn around her bed and snores drifting out of it. Tracey was passed out face-down on her bed, still in her dress. Daphne and Pansy seemed to be the only ones still up, talking in hushed voices about the best moments of the ball.

"And Nott was an absolute gentleman… bit _too_ much of a gentleman really, I wouldn't have minded his hands wandering a bit…"

"Draco looked stunning in his robes, don't you think? So handsome…"

I scoffed quietly as I dumped my shoes and snatched my Christmas pajamas from my trunk, headed for the bathroom. It took vigorous scrubbing to get the makeup off my face. My scalp tingled in relief when I let it out of its strict ponytail and pulled it into a much looser braid for bed. My contacts came out and were traded for glasses. I preferred lenses, really, they didn't irritate my eyes. I stripped off my dress and folded it neatly, taking off my jewelry and setting it on top.

I left the bathroom and returned to my bed, packing the dress, jewelry, and shoes back into their boxes and setting them back in my trunk. I wondered idly if they'd ever see the light of day again. Probably not, I didn't see me getting invited to many balls.

I drew my curtains around my bed and prepared for a lie in the next morning. My glasses were tugged off and set on the nightstand, my wand tucked under my pillow, and within moments of my head hitting the pillow, I was asleep. My last thoughts before I went to bed?

 _Try taking a bath…_


	35. Bath Time

_The romantic drama continues with the Potters, but this time the focus is not on Harry Potter, whose love Hermione Granger continues to toy with his emotions while at the same time stringing along famous Quidditch player Viktor Krum. Instead, Lorena Potter had found herself in her own romantic entanglement._

 _The younger Potter was seen at the Yule Ball on the arm of Durmstrang student Iliya Dimitrov, who is residing at Hogwarts Castle for the duration of the Triwizard Tournament. Many sources inside the castle report having seen Potter and Dimitrov cozying up in the Library or sitting together outside. "It's sweet," said one anonymous source. "Potter's normally so harsh, but she's been a bit better with Iliya around."_

 _By all rights, the Yule Ball should have been a glowing, romantic evening for young Potter and her new beau. She was even seen sampling her date's soup before the dancing began (see picture above.) They danced together, and sources report that the couple seemed content. But, oddly, only an hour into the dancing Potter was seen without Dimitrov at her side. The result of a lover's spat, perhaps? An argument that separated the happy couple?_

 _In swooped none other than Draco Malfoy, a fellow Slytherin at Hogwarts and the heir to the prestigious Malfoy name. Abandoning his own date, Malfoy was seen dancing closely with Miss Potter, who seemed to be enjoying herself. (see picture below.) But things quickly changed, and when Dimitrov made an appearance, the boys nearly came to blows._

 _One needn't look far to find the source of their disagreement – Miss Lorena Potter. Shortly afterward, she physically struck Mr. Malfoy and left with her Bulgarian beau. What could Mr. Malfoy have done to so anger the couple? Made a pass at Miss Potter, perhaps? Confessed his deeper feelings for her and been rejected?_

 _Several students inside the castle seem to believe it's possible. One had this to say: "Potter and Malfoy have been at each other's throats since day one, but they used to be at least civil. I remember they used to play chess in the evenings, but then something happened and it was like they declared war on each other. The only time they're civil these days is on the Quidditch field. It would be great to see them work it all out."_

 _Others seemed to find the prospect completely impossible. "Potter is a blood traitor and Malfoy is practically royalty. No way would he lower himself to date some filth like Potter."_

 _What will unfold in the future for Lorena Potter? Will she stand beside her new boy-toy or return to the arms of her ex-chess partner? Only time will tell, and some must wonder just what both boys are thinking, pursuing a witch like Lorena Potter, well known Parseltongue and Dark Arts practitioner._

I think the pictures were what pissed me off the most this time. I had no idea how in hell Skeeter had gotten them, but the first one was of me and Iliya sitting at the judge's table. He was leaning over with the soup spoon. I was turned into him, my mouth around the spoon, a faint smile on my lips. My picture drew back and swallowed, then wrinkled her nose and shook her head cutely. We looked - there was no other word for it – adorable. Like a new couple deep in the mushy throes of a budding relationship.

The one of Malfoy was a miracle, actually, caught at the exact moment to support Skeeter's story. Any other time, one of us would have been sneering or scowling. But instead we were dancing around. My smirk was only just beginning, and looked like a small smile. Malfoy's sneer was just fading, and he looked much softer than he normally did with it on full-force.

I tossed the paper aside in disgust. "I'm going to be sick," I said shortly.

Thankfully, Malfoy wasn't at breakfast or a brawl might have happened. I could have cheerfully throttled the bastard for giving Rita Skeeter more fodder on me to use for her stories. Not only her, but whoever had spilled that bit about how I used to play chess with Malfoy in first year, making it wound like we were best buddies braiding each others' hair. I hadn't so much as gone near a chess set and Malfoy at the same time since first year.

"It's alright," Iliya said supportively, reaching across the table to place his hand over mine in that familiar gesture. "It's all garbage."

"Yeah, but Parkinson's gonna be a nightmare," I grunted.

My prediction was right. It took her until just after lunch to track me down in an area that wasn't full of witnesses, but she managed to corner me in a fourth-floor corridor.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Parkinson spat. "Throwing yourself at _my_ Draco like that?"

I scoffed. "I don't _throw myself_ at people, Parkinson, I'm not _you."_

She sneered. "You think you're so perfect, don't you? Wonderful Potter, Snape's favorite, Quidditch player, champion? You know most of us can't stand you, right?"

"Feeling's mutual," I replied instantly.

"You'd better be careful," Parkinson warned. "Draco and I have been betrothed since _birth_ – if you _ever_ make a play at him again, I'll _end_ you. Do you understand?"

"I understand Malfoy is perhaps the most unlucky bastard there ever was," I replied with a chuckle.

"You think you're better than me?" Parkinson laughed. "You, the blood traitor? You may have the name and the money of a pureblood, but you're no better than a Mudblood. Draco would never dishonor himself or his family name by touching you."

"I'd prefer if he didn't," I said blithely, then added, "Watch your language."

"See?" Parkinson sneered. "You're defending filth – that makes you no better. You're nothing, you're trash, you're just some bitchy orphan whose parents no one will miss, who no one even cares about."

I narrowed my eyes. The orphan comments I didn't mind - they were a simple fact. But Parkinson was directly talking about my parents now. She was crossing a line, bringing James and Lily Potter into this. My parents were heroes – someone like Parkinson didn't even deserve to know their names.

"Careful, Parkinson," I warned, keeping my voice low and threatening as I let my sleeve shift, my wand falling into my hand. I kept it concealed in the folds of my robes. "Be very careful."

"What, it hurts being reminded of your garbage mother?" Parkinson asked, eyes flashing with triumph at her perceived hit. "Are you trying to do what she did – crawl out of the muck by marrying up? Nice plan, really, but you're reaching too far if you think Draco would ever want you. The Potters may have been blood traitors, but at least they were pure. Then your mother came along. Now they're dirt. You're dirt, dirt under the shoes of people like me and Draco, just like your mother-"

I didn't use my wand. Not at first, at least. I lunged at Parkinson. She went for her wand, but I grabbed her wrist. She outweighed my skinny frame, but I managed to slam her to the wall, her wrist in my hand and my forearm pressing her throat against the stone. Parkinson's eyes were wide with shock and rage.

"How _dare-"_

" _Silencio."_

My wand was between us in my free hand, the tip pointed at Parkinson. She went slightly cross-eyed trying to see it, mouthing at me furiously.

"Shut that mouth of yours, it won't do you any good," I snapped. Parkinson didn't shut her mouth, but it went slack in disbelief, which was good enough. "Now listen very carefully to what I'm about to say – If you ever so much as mention my mother or father again, you will feel pain the likes of which you have never felt."

Parkinson's eyes sparking in disbelief and she smirked confidently. She didn't think I would do it.

"You're skeptical," I acknowledged. "But consider this – Rita Skeeter's stories, portraying me as a Dark witch... They're rubbish, but not entirely. Because I _have_ felt the rage and hatred you need to cast an Unforgiveable. More serious, I have even considered using them." Memories of Pettigrew sniveling in the Shrieking Shack flashed behind my eyes. "What protection do you have? A name? It means nothing to me. Your wand? You and I both know I'm a better dueler. Power? I'm stronger than you magically.

"So think about this next time you try to say a word against my parents. There is literally _nothing_ stopping me from hurting you. I am not my brother, I'm not as forgiving as he. I will tear you apart piece by piece and I will smile while I do it because we both know that there is nothing you could do that would stop me."

Parkinson's eyes were wide with fear. I was shocked at myself. The mask I'd worn for years suddenly felt smothering. I'd sunken too far into the act, gotten swept away by the performance, and hadn't realized how stifling it was under the façade and the stage lights.

I stepped back, releasing Parkinson, who was still looking at me in fear.

"I'm not my brother," I repeated, and it struck me then that it wasn't something I should be proud of in this instance. "I hate you, Parkinson, I truly do. And morals won't stop me if you push me too far. So next time you want to say something about my parents, remember this moment. _Finite Incantatem."_

With a flick of my wand I removed the silencing spell, turned around, and walked away, my head swimming.

Where had that come from? That bitter, wrathful portion of me that I always kept buried had reared its head and made its presence known. It shoved itself in my face and didn't let me deny it anymore. It was stronger than I'd thought it was too, frighteningly strong.

Even now I could feel myself wanting to smile, wanting to enjoy the fear on Parkinson's face the way she'd enjoyed the anger and hurt on my face for so many years, the way Dudley had enjoyed the pain written in my eyes. It made me sick to my stomach, but the urge was still there. I felt torn in two.

Part of me wanted to scream and deny that part of me, even though I knew deep down that it was part of who I was just as much as my red hair or green eyes. I wanted to be the shining golden child that Harry was, a beacon of morality, someone that people liked and would follow.

The other part wanted to sink fully into it, to wear the anger as armor and hatred as a shield and dare anyone to try and penetrate it. I could hate like no one I knew, rage like no one I knew.

I burst into the bathroom and flew into a stall, not bothering to shut it behind me before I collapsed beside the toilet, clutching the seat. The contents of my stomach rose up. I tasted bile as I vomited, tears clouding my eyes slightly as I wondered just how I had come to this point. How had I not noticed just how much wrath I had inside of me?

How had I let it become so much of who I was?

* * *

Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Even I wasn't looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather. When we arrived at Hagrid's cabin, however, we found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked at them as I struggled toward her through the snow, Ron, Hermione, and Harry trailing behind me. I don't know what they were doing, but I'd skipped breakfast to spend some time in the Library refreshing my memory on fire seeds. I'd get a little extra at lunch or something to make up for it.

"Who're you?" said Ron, staring at her. That was my question as well.

"Where's Hagrid?" I asked sharply.

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry echoed loudly.

"He is indisposed," Professor Grubbly-Plank replied bluntly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached my ears. Draco Malfoy and the rest of my yearmates were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.

This is why I shouldn't skip meals. I missed things.

"This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. We followed her. I couldn't help looking back over my shoulder at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. I toyed with the idea of making him some chicken soup and sending it down. Was he under the weather?

"What's wrong with Hagrid?" Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Never you mind," she said as though she thought he was being nosy. He was. I fully supported it.

"I do mind, though," said Harry hotly. "What's up with him?"

"Shush," I said under my breath, but I knew even if I'd yelled it in his face it wouldn't have helped.

Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led us past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.

Even I was impressed. The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

"Oh it's so beautiful!" whispered Lavender Brown. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!"

"Boys keep back!" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it..."

She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot. Harry turned to Ron.

I joined the press of girls moving forward with Grubbly-Plank. The unicorn looked a little skittish at the sight of us all approaching. I felt a bit bad for it – I'd be edgy too if I had something as ugly as Parkinson walking up to me with her hands outstretched and a greedy glint on her face. We circled the unicorn. Many girls reached out eagerly, cooing over the unicorn as they petted its shoulders and back. I stayed close to the front of the pack, standing a bit apart.

The unicorn pinned me with its liquid eyes. Keeping eye contact, I slowly bowed my head, employing the same principle one used with hippogriffs. Normally, unicorns were docile and gentle creatures, every bit the pure creature of legend they were supposed to be. But when threatened, more than one unicorn had been known to gore its attacker with its horn or crush bones with their hooves.

The unicorn bobbed its head back, which I took as my cue to cautiously approach. I offered the back of my hand. The unicorn bent its head a little. Its breath warmed my hand as it breathed in my scent. Carefully, I reached out with my other hand, placing my palms on either side of the unicorn's head.

Still moving slowly, I bowed my head. My forehead pressed against the unicorn's. The top of my head brushed the base of its horn. It was so warm, bringing feeling back to my chilled fingers. I locked eyes with the horse. It seemed to stare into my soul; suddenly it wasn't just my fingers that were warm, but my insides as well. I closed my eyes and sighed in pleasure as the tenseness that usually held my shoulders taught drained out of my body and into the ground.

I listed to the unicorn breathe. I could feel its breath on my chest. I began to try and mimic it, inhaling and exhaling with it. I opened my eyes again and found that the unicorn was still staring me, the nerves gone from its eyes. It looked calm… kind.

"Are you paying attention over there?"

Professor Grubbly-Planks voice carried over to the boys. I could have cheerfully slapped her. My moment with the unicorn was broken. It pulled its head away from mine slightly. I sighed, disappointed that I couldn't savor the sensation a little longer. Already, I could feel worry and nerves piling on top of me again.

I stepped away from the unicorn's head and moved to the side, toying with its mane, and looked back at the boys. Some looked jealous, others disinterested. A couple were absently scratching down notes, and a few weren't even trying to pretend they were paying attention. I saw Harry with his head buried in the Daily Prophet, Malfoy standing next to him. Going by the way Harry's hands were shaking, I highly doubted that Malfoy was showing him the announcements.

My eyes drifted to Malfoy, who'd been studiously avoiding me since the ball. He seemed even more horrified by the rumors that he'd confessed his undying love or whatever than I was, which was saying something. It was a nice break, not having to deal with him and his mouth, but I was having the strangest feeling of missing sniping at him and having him answer back.

He had the oddest expression on his face at the moment. He was just staring at me, his cheeks pinkened - by the cold presumably. His jaw was loose, and he was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. I scowled at him and made a rude gesture, watching as he jerked out of whatever stupor he'd been in and turned to sneer something at Harry.

A couple of girls had seen what I had done. They attempted to place their foreheads on the unicorn's, but it kept tossing its head. I smirked when Parvati Patil nearly lost an eye in the attempt. I was the only one it would allow to do that, apparently, and I saw a couple of the girls who'd failed scowling at me jealously.

"What'd he show you?" I asked Harry as we walked back up to the castle. I'd filtered into the Gryffindor ranks, not only to ask Harry about the Daily Prophet, but to try and use some of them as a windbreak.

Wordlessly, Harry reached into his bag and tugged out the Daily Prophet. He shoved it at me angrily. I caught sight of a picture of Hagrid at the top looking very shifty and winced. He wasn't sick, apparently, he was embarrassed or ashamed. I looked at the byline. Rita Skeeter. Of course.

 _Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures._

 _Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates._

 _An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."  
"I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."_

 _Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manti-cores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions._

" _I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject._

 _As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown._

 _Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.  
While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature._

 _In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants._

"I'm going to have to kill that woman before the year is out," I said grimly.

"I'll help you hide the body," Harry agreed.

* * *

Hagrid hadn't been seen since the article. I tried visiting him and so had Harry, but we didn't hear anything. I mailed him some homemade fudge and a note of support, but received nothing in reply. Hagrid wasn't letting me help him, so I gave up and turned to other things – namely, the golden egg.

Ordinarily, I would have shrugged off anyone's help but someone whose abilities I respected. I didn't know enough about Diggory's non-Quidditch abilities to respect him or not. I knew he was a Hufflepuff, and what came along with that, but I knew from experience that you couldn't always gauge a person by what house they were in. Look at Pettigrew. Look at me.

But Diggory was upstanding and kind, that had been proven time and time again. On top of that, he owed me for the phoenix tears, and I was pretty sure that his strange tip had been his version of payback – trying to help me without outright telling me the answer.

On top of that, to my surprise, I did trust him. I wasn't quite sure why or even when it happened – maybe I was shallow enough that it was just his pretty face, but I doubted that – but I really believed that Diggory wasn't trying to screw me over. He genuinely wanted me to help. Maybe he remembered my words in his dorm, that I wanted him to do well in the tournament.

Whatever it was, his words kept running around in my head. Finally, three days after the ball, when I could no longer concentrate on my Animagus reading for hearing _take a bath_ running circles in my head and the curiosity was starting to really get to me, I gave in.

A bath sounded like a heavenly idea anyhow, I reasoned with myself as I walked to the exclusive bathroom the prefects, heads, and Quidditch captains shared. My attack on Parkinson and breakdown afterwards drifted to the front of my mind, but I shoved it back. I figured if I was going to have a bath, I might as well have the best one possible. My wand, the egg, and the Marauder's Map were in my bag over my shoulder.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I said. I found my dot on the map and watched as I drew closer to the room labeled _Prefect's Bath._ I saw my little dot pause outside of the door to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered. A little bubble saying _pine fresh_ appeared beside it.

"Pine fresh," I announced, and the door swung open. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.

I'd never bothered exploring the bathroom before, but I was quickly deciding that it might be worth becoming a prefect, head, or captain just to use the place. One row was lined with toilet stalls, but the majority of the room was one huge, sunken bathtub that was more of a swimming pool. Hundreds of golden taps inset with jewels lined the pool. Stained glass windows depicting mermaids preening themselves let in the moonlight – I'd waited until the halls were quiet before creeping out of the dorms.

I settled myself in to wait while the pool filled, stripping down and sitting on the edge with my bag and a couple of towels on either side of me. But surprisingly, it only took a couple of minutes before the pool was filled. I eased myself in, wincing at the scalding water at first before letting it soothe my perpetually-tense muscles.

I played with the taps a little until I found a scent I like and ran sage-scented bubble bath. It turned the water foamy green. Huge bubbles began drifting around the room when I added some minty soap as well. I found lavender scented shampoo and scrubbed my hair before dunking under the water and rinsing it out.

Deciding that I might as well go ahead and see if Cedric was trying to help me or take the mickey, I moved to the edge and dragged the egg out of my bag. It was heavy and unwieldy to manage. I balanced the bottom in my palm, reaching up with the other to open the latch. The egg sprang open and the unearthly screaming filled the bathroom. Despite knowing what was coming, I flinched – I'd forgotten just how loud and piercing the sound was. The egg slipped out of my slick, soapy hand and plopped into the water, blessedly dulling the screaming.

Only… it wasn't screaming anymore. It sounded smooth and melodic now, almost lyrical. I stared at the egg resting on the bottom of the pool beneath my feet. Could it really be that simple? I just needed to give the damn thing a dunking to get it to quit screaming?

Curious and excited – a breakthrough! – I ducked my head under the water, hoping the song-like sound wasn't about to change into screaming again the moment I joined it underwater.

Thank Merlin, it didn't. Instead the sound gained definition. It sounded song-like because it _was_ a song. A beautiful, haunting voice was singing. I listened intently, hanging on every word.

" _Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground, and while you're searching ponder this: we've taken what you'll sorely miss. An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took. But past an hour the prospect's black. Too late, it's gone, it won't come back. Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot-"_

With a great splash, I burst out from under the water. Irritably, I swiped the dripping strands of my hair out of my eyes, sweeping them back. I sloshed ungracefully to the edge of the bath and grabbed the towel, drying off my hand and arm before reaching into my bag. I fumbled around for a second before dragging out parchment, ink, and quill. I shoved my glasses on my face to see properly as I scrawled out the song.

It took me a couple of times, dunking my head under to make sure I had the wording precise, but I emerged from the bath ten minutes later, triumphantly clutching my closed egg.

"Never opening you again," I swore to the thing as I toweled off and dried my hair with a spell. I pulled my clothes back on and scooped everything back into my bag, flushed with delight, because now I knew what the challenge was.

Mermaids.

They were the only thing I knew of that screamed outside of water but sang underneath it. Thanks to Hagrid, I knew a colony of them lived in the Black Lake. The judges were going to chuck something we loved into the lake and the mermaids were going to hold it hostage. Our task would be to get down there, reclaim it, and get back to the surface.

And, thank god, I already knew what I was going to do. Gillyweed. It was ingredient in a couple of water-repellent potions and there had been plenty of other random potions that made use of it. Downing a bit of it on its own, though, would let the user breathe underwater for a length of time proportionate to the amount you swallowed.

I crept back into the dormitory and quietly tucked my egg away into my trunk. I heard someone shift in bed and saw the outline of someone sitting up in the darkness.

"Potter?" Daphne asked sleepily. "What're you doing?"

"Just checking to make sure I've got my Charms essay for tomorrow," I lied easily, climbing into bed.

"Oh. G'night," she muttered sleepily, lying back down.

"Goodnight," I replied, tucking myself under my covers. But instead of closing my eyes and trying to sleep I lay on my back. I was more aware than I had been in a while of the lake lapping at the window by my bed, of the swaying light of the lanterns overhead, of the ripples of light that the water outside cast on the ceiling.

When I first came to Hogwarts, I remembered being viscerally terrified of the dark. That had lessened slightly, and I needed the lights and sound of the dorms less. But now, as I lay in bed and stared, I was reminded again of how comforting they were.

Dimly, a memory came back to me. Sitting at the Slytherin table at the last day of our first year and seeing Harry walk into the Great Hall, looking battered but alive and healthy. His younger self smiled at me, green eyes glinting with happiness and affection and everything you should see in your brother's eyes.

For the first time that I could remember, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

* * *

"This is not a riddle," Snape said disdainfully, setting aside the parchment where I'd written the mermaid's song. "It's an instruction manual."

"They had to make it easy _for ze air'ead to understand_ ," I said, mocking Fleur's accent.

"I was wondering why you requested such a ridiculous amount of gillyweed," Snape said, nodding to the mound that I was patiently sorting through, looking for the best bits.

"To breathe underwater," I said bluntly. "I want to test different amounts and see how long they last. That, and I'm going to make a water-repelling potion and dip my glasses in them, just to be safe."

" _Mermaid Ecology and Behavior?"_ Snape said, examining one of the books on the shelf. It had become my own personal library. The books I'd checked out on mermaids and other underwater creatures were there, as well as my Animagus and Patronus books. The basilisk skin was still on the bottom shelf with the sewing patterns, now safely protected in a wooden box. I'd made myself at home in the apprentice's lab. It was going to hurt to leave it at the end of the year.

"Figured I should know what I'm going to be facing," I said, making a face as I wiped the remains of the gillyweed off my hands on a rag. "I've just got the brew the potion, learn how to swim. Aside from that and some supplementary reading, I'm all set!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You can't swim?"

"Well Aunt Petunia wasn't going to shell out money for lessons," I replied defensively. "It's no problem, I've just been breaking into the prefect's bathroom and swimming a couple laps every night. You didn't hear that, by the way," I added.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What was that? I seem to mysteriously have become temporarily deaf."

I grinned. "Exactly, sir."

The morning after my breakthrough with the egg, I had sent Snape a note requesting that he meet me in the apprentice's lab 'with as much gillyweed as he had, please and thank you.'

After much debate, I hadn't sent Harry a note. I tried to help him last time and had he needed it? No. After questioning, I found out Hagrid had walked him over to the dragons and showed them off to him. I was bitter about it, I couldn't deny. I spent more time with Hagrid than Harry did and he hadn't told me. I had to find out through a couple of house elves and a spy snake.

Speaking of Silas, he had also taken up residence in the apprentice's lab. He spent his days hunting mice in the dungeons and his night huddled by the fire under one cauldron that I kept lit just for him. It had been a near-disaster the first time Snape had walked in and seen him, but thankfully, Snape hadn't been holding a frying pan at the time and I was with him, so no one was injured.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out an egg, passing it to Silas, who jumped on it eagerly. I noticed that he was starting to put on a little weight and made a mental note to cut back on the amount of snacks I brought him from the kitchens.

"Fanks boff," Silas hissed around the egg.

"No problem."

I was working off the assumption that, as usual, stupid amounts of dumb luck and favoritism would get Harry thought this task. It wasn't even an assumption, it was a surety. It always happened. It didn't matter how _blindly_ Harry walked into a situation or how incredibly _dead_ logic dictated he should be by now. Either Lady Luck decided to play favorites with him or someone swooped in and pulled his ass out of the fire at the last second. I had been that someone more than once, and I was tired of it.

It didn't annoy me anymore though. These days, it made me mad. I hated it, hated that I had to struggle and research and plan to get what I did, and Harry just had to turn up and make the meagerest effort and he was rewarded. As childish as it sounded and as much as I even hated to think it, _it wasn't fair._

Harry had done nothing, he really hadn't, to earn the treatment he got. He defeated the Dark Lord? He was a baby, at best he'd sat in the crib and drooled while whatever happened happened and sat back while the Wizarding World made him a legend. Now, he was old enough to reap the benefits. And what did I get?

I got Daily Prophet articles wondering what kind of Dark deeds I was planning. I got called a Parselmouth in every one of them while people completely ignored the fact that Harry was too. Their precious savior couldn't possibly be tainted with something like that, but his Slytherin sister? She was clearly up to no good.

"What's wrong, Potter?"

Snape was looking at me in that all-knowing way he had. Not for the first time I wondered if he could read minds. And not for the first time, I considered lying to him, just saying 'nothing' and turning back to my books, diving into them to escape the anger that seemed perpetually coiled in my stomach these days, a snake ready to strike.

But I had never lied to Snape, and I wouldn't start now. "Nothing I want to talk about, sir," I replied quietly, taking the mermaid book from his hand and moving to the counter. I opened it to some random page and sat down.

Snape seated himself behind me. He wasn't looking at me, but his presence was there, oppressive. He was waiting, knowing full well that his silence would be better at making me talk than pressing me. He was right, too, because with every passing second I wanted to tell him more and more. I didn't quite know how to explain it though.

"Do you remember my first year, sir?" I asked quietly. "When I was crying and you called me a heartbroken Hufflepuff?"

"Vividly," Snape replied calmly. "I had to remove tear stains from my robes."

I winced. "Right. You remember why I was crying?"

I could feel Snape's eyes boring into the side of my face as the silence stretched on. Finally, he spoke. "As I recall, you were under the impression that you were a terrible person. I assured you that you were mistaken."

"That you did," I replied, smiling slightly at the memory. Hard as Snape was, cold and cruel as he could be even to people he called friends, he had it in him to be softer. "I'm starting to think it's true again."

"And what brought this on?"

I shook my head helplessly. "Some things I've been thinking, some things I've been… been doing."

"Like threatening Miss Parkinson with Unforgiveables?"

My head snapped up and I blanched as Snape stared down his nose at me, one eyebrow raised. I opened my mouth in a helpless attempt to defend myself, but even I didn't know how to cover my ass on this one.

"Did you think I didn't know?" Snape asked silkily. "Parkinson was quite rattled when she came to my office to continue her crusade to have you expelled."

"And…" I swallowed thickly, shame washing over me. Snape knew. He knew what I'd done. "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her the same thing I always do – that there was no evidence of any such thing and I didn't appreciate having my time wasted." I had to fight down the urge to hug Snape in thanks. "Of course, now that you have essentially confessed…" My head spun. I couldn't tell if Snape was angry or not, and that was scarier than facing down an angry mother dragon.

"I will continue to treat you the same as I have since you first stepped foot in Hogwarts," Snape said firmly. "That is, with respect and privileges proportionate to the abilities you display. You're a promising Potioneer Potter, and I would hate to have to expel you.

"As it happens, another thing has not changed since your first year – my opinion on your character. You are, are you have admitted multiple times, selfish, callous, angry, bitter, annoying, sarcastic, devious, occasionally malicious-"

"Your point, sir?" I huffed. Snape narrowed his eyes.

"My point, Potter, is that in spite of all that, you _care_. You still care about people and what happens to them. Cling to that, do not lose it, and my opinion will never change."

Slowly, I nodded. "Okay sir. I'll try."


	36. Marauder's Map

**To Be A Student has an update today! The scene in Flourish and Blotts has been done as a belated birthday present to ZabuzasGirl. Happy birthday babe! Remember, I'm still taking suggestions for scenes you'd like to see from years two or three, or really anything you think I should cover.**

* * *

 _A young boy, no older than five, was curled up in a corner. Wallpaper peeled behind him, and he was sitting on a dingy square of carpet. The book in his lap was thick, with small print. By all rights, a boy that small shouldn't be reading a book like that for another several years. But there he sat, eyes combing the pages, eagerly devouring every word._

 _I would say I walked over, but I didn't. I didn't seem to have legs. I was just a disembodied presence, like a ghost. I floated my way over, kneeling down next to the boy. I reached out to him, but my arm passed through him like it was nothing. He calmly turned a page and started a new chapter._

" _Freak."_

 _I looked up, finally observing the rest of the room. It was perhaps the saddest playroom I had ever seen. The floor was scuffed and dirty hardwood, with squares of carpet like the one the boy sat on scattered around as seating. A single shelf of books was on the wall, not even all of that filled. A few puzzle boxes were piled in the corner next to a chipped tea set, a knotted jump rope, and a stuffed teddy bear that was missing an arm and had a button replacing one eye._

 _In the opposite corner, two boys stood. They looked to be about seven or eight. One had sandy hair, the other red. There was a pinched, mean quality to their faces. Their eyes were narrowed, fixed on the boy in the corner._

" _You're a freak," said the sandy-haired boy. He was staring at the boy reading, my boy. "You hear me? Freak!"_

 _He started towards my boy as his friend dragged over a chair and propped it under the door handle. My boy was trembling now, curled up tightly into the corner, his eyes glued to his book like if he didn't look up they wouldn't really be there. He was pale to begin with, but now he was sheet white with fear._

 _The sandy-haired boy reached down and wrenched the book out of his hands. Like I had Apparated, I suddenly found myself sitting where my boy had been. I suddenly realized that I_ was _the boy; I was seeing everything through his eyes, hearing the hateful words with his ears. My hands stung from having the book brutally pulled out of them._

" _G-Give it back, please," I said against my will. The boy was speaking, but it felt like my jaw was moving, my lips were framing the words._

" _G-Give it back!" mocked the boy by the door in a high-pitched voice. I winced as it cut my ears._

" _Stebbins," the sandy-haired boy said, tossing the book to his friend. Stebbins caught it. My hands fisted on my knees. I wanted to reach out, to catch the book before Stebbins got it, but I stopped myself._

' _It'll hurt worse if I fight back,' whispered a voice in my head. I jolted, realizing that I was hearing what my boy was thinking._

" _Little freak," taunted the sandy-haired boy. He chanted, "Mommy died and daddy doesn't want you! Little freak! Monster! No one will ever care about you!"_

 _I wanted to cry out, to say that wasn't true, that people cared about me. Harry cared, the Weasleys cared, Sirius, Snape, Hagrid, Lupin, they all cared. But there was a sinking feeling of acknowledgement in my stomach that I knew came from my boy. People may have cared about me, but no one cared about him. It broke my heart._

 _I tried to will denial into him, to scream aloud that people cared about him - people_ had _to care, right? - but nothing happened. I was trapped, watching helplessly as my boy drowned in his own self-loathing and bitter hatred of the other boys._

 _The sandy-haired boy drew back his fist. It slammed into my cheek. My head snapped back and hit the wall. A ringing headache and a throbbing in my cheek set in instantly, feelings I knew from back when Dudley used to knock the stuffing out of me. They were familiar to my boy too. A foot buried itself in my stomach and I choked, doubling over onto my hands and knees. Frantically I gasped for air, the breathless feeling making my mind wild with panic._

" _S-Stop!" The sound wrenched out of my mouth before I could stop it. My boy hadn't meant to shout. He knew it would only make the beating worse. He was scared and in pain and he just wanted it to_ stop…

" _I'm not gonna stop," sneered the sandy-haired boy. "I'm not gonna stop unless you make me. You gonna make me, huh? You gonna make me, freak?"_

 _My boy wished to high heaven that he could, that he could make the beatings stop. That the boys would leave him alone, that they would leave, that he could leave… anything that would stop this. The desperation for it welled up inside of him until it was nearly a physical thing, burning in his veins and settling on the back of his tongue._

 _The boy drew his hand back to hit me again. A wordless cry left my lips and the desperation burst out of me in a great wave of brilliant, beautiful golden light. It raced through the room. It grabbed up the sandy-haired boy and hurled him across the room into the wall. He slid down to huddle at the base, staring back at me in shock and horror._

 _My boy couldn't believe it. I recognized the feeling, the sensation of magic building and leaving my body. It was accidental magic, the kind children did when they were scared or angry or upset. My boy didn't know that though. He didn't know he was magical. He was stunned by what he had done. It didn't sink in right away, but the more he stared at the boy slumped on the floor, the gaping Stebbins, the more the reality sunk in._

' _I am… powerful.'_

 _That frightened look on the sandy-haired boy's face was a look that my boy knew well, one that he had worn many a time. But he wouldn't never wear it again, he swore, because he had the power to make others feel it. He had the power to turn it around, to punish them for what they had done, to make them feel a small portion of what they'd made him feel._

 _And my boy reveled in that strength, sank into it as easily as a warmth bath at the end of a long, cold winter day. It fueled him, seemed to control him as he rose to his feet, standing as tall as he could. My boy wasn't taller than either of the others, but with the sandy-haired one on the ground, he towered over him. My boy liked that._

" _Alright, I stopped you," my boy said, and again my jaw moved. "And if you ever lay a hand on me again, I'll do more than just stop you."_

 _That power was still tingling in his fingertips, coursing through his veins. He could taste it on his tongue, my boy thought dizzily. He stepped off of his square of carpet and approached the door. He stared at Stebbins, at the chair holding the door shut. That power surged again as he stared at the chair._

' _Move!' he thought at it viciously, trying to force the same surge of power as before. It came again, but not as he expected. There was no burst of golden light that flung the chair away. No, instead the chair simply vanished, gone without a trace._

 _Stebbins screamed in fear and staggered away. My boy liked that too. He liked not being the one afraid, the one running. Slowly, he bent down and picked up his dropped book. He opened the door, cast one last glance back at his two ex-tormenters, and smiled at them. Then he was gone._

I snapped awake with a jolt and a gasp. Above me were the swaying lanterns of the girl's dorm. I relaxed, letting out a breath and closing my eyes.

I was no stranger to nightmares. I'd had them for years, but never like this. It was usually the normal sort of nightmares – a dark corridor full of doors behind which ominous things shifted and mumbled, collapsing helplessly and unable to breathe in the middle of the Great Hall and no one doing anything, showing up to a Quidditch match naked...

They were all distant and fuzzy though. The moment I woke up, the details began to slip away. This one was more vivid than any dream I'd ever had before, burned into my mind. I could feel a lingering soreness in my head from hitting the wall, could taste the buzz of magic on my tongue and, most importantly, could feel my boy's delight at _finally_ being able to turn the tables, to be the one on top.

It was a feeling I was familiar with. I had felt the exact same way when I discovered I was a witch and realized what that meant I could do to the Dursleys. I was no stranger to revenge or the desire for it. I completely understood why my boy felt the way he did, but it was still eerie to feel.

The boy was so young to feel that way, and he looked so innocent, with gorgeous grey-blue eyes, smooth porcelain skin, and neatly-combed black hair. He looked like the sort of little boy that might have been able to light up a room with his smile, but I guessed that expression was few and far between on his face.

A coldness coiled in my stomach and made me tremble. In a desperate bid for warmth, I turned onto my side and tucked my hands against my stomach, drawing my knees up to my chest. I used to sleep like that in the cupboard during the winter. I hadn't balled myself up like this in years, but the gesture was comforting and it did ease some of the shill that had settled in my bones. My eyes suddenly felt unbearably heavy, and I was off to sleep again.

* * *

 _Lorena,_

 _Congratulations on the Ridgeback. That was a lucky break, it was. And I'm told you brewed a potion that made you impervious to dragon fire? I didn't even know there was such a thing. Your mother would have probably found it though and used it. She was great at Potions, your mum, did you know?_

 _Harry's written me a couple of times. He said something odd happened several nights ago. He went to take a bath with the egg – no idea – and ended up trapped in a staircase. Moody and Snape nearly found him and got in a row. Apparently Mr. Crouch had broken into Snape's office, Harry saw it on the Marauder's Map. Someone's been stealing from Snape's stores, apparently._

 _Moody's eye can see through Invisibility Cloaks. He saw Harry there, kept the map and the egg away from Snape, thank Merlin, and got Harry out of the step. Moody was really impressed by the map – owled Remus about that one, we're both proud that an Auror like Moody admires our work – and when he asked, Harry let him borrow it._

 _Apparently Moody's been searching Snape's office himself. Harry's convinced Snape put your names in the Goblet of Fire. I'd like to agree, but I'm not an idiot. I know Snape's smart enough to realize just writing Potter would toss you both to the banshees and he likes you too much to risk you._

 _How's it going with your Patronus studies? Animagi? Let me know. Maybe you can come and stay with me this summer and we can work on your transformations._

 _Much love,_

 _Snuffles_

I tossed the letter aside, furious beyond belief. Harry thought Snape put our names in the Goblet of Fire? Just like how Snape was the one who was trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone and Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin? It would be a cold day in hell before Harry Potter managed to actually figure out who was up to something.

And he was trusting Moody? After how Moody had drawn attention to my scar? He knew full well that I hated Moody and yet all the old loon had to do was ask to borrow the Marauder's Map – _my Marauder's Map_ – and Harry handed it over without question. I remembered vividly how furious he'd been when Snape used the Invisibility Cloak to get into the Shrieking Shack. But of course, he was Harry Potter, he could do whatever he wanted, he was always right.

"Someone's going to die," Zabini announced. "Potter, do you know how scary you look?"

"Good," I snarled, and crammed the letter into my pocket. The backs of my fingers brushed against my wand. It was incredibly tempting to just nail Harry with a jinx from across the hall – but no, that could be anonymous. I wanted everyone to know exactly who was pissed at him.

I stood up sharply from the Slytherin table and started over to the Gryffindor table, a scowl on my face. I got several curious or unnerved looks as I passed others but I ignored them. AS I drew closer, Ron looked up and saw my face. He paled and whispered something to Harry across the table.

Harry turned around, a smile on his face. "Hey Re- gack!"

I seized Harry by the tie and hauled him off the bench. He hastened to scramble after me as I started out of the Great Hall, shamelessly dragging my spluttering brother behind me. I could hear the Slytherins howling with laughter and smirked – glad I could amuse them.

We left the Great Hall and I dragged Harry down a corridor into an empty classroom, tossing him inside and shutting the door behind us. I locked it and stood in front of the door, pulling out my wand and crossing my arms. Green sparks danced warningly on the tip of my wand as I tapped it against my bicep.

"Lorena, what the hell?" Harry demanded as he straightened up and faced me, anger and embarrassment on his face. He reached up to fix his hair and adjust his tie. "That _hurt!"_

"Written to Sirius lately?" I asked icily. "Because I got a letter from him this morning. And he told me the funniest story… Apparently, you gave the Marauder's Map to Moody when he kept your stupid self from getting caught stuck in a stair the other night."

"He asked to borrow it, Rena what was I supposed to do?" Harry asked sarcastically. "He had just saved me from Snape and Filch-"

"Oh, quit whining and just take a detention like a man." I rolled my eyes. "Did it not occur to you that the map is mine-"

"Ours!" Harry protested hotly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Is the invisibility Cloak ours too?" I demanded. "I hate Moody, Harry, or have you forgotten our first class?"

"That was in September!" Harry cried, looking at me in disbelief. "That was so long ago!"

I gaped. "Where's the defensive brother who wanted to try and get him fired for that? What, he can be fired but me being a bit testy with him still, that's too far? That's where you draw the line?"

"Look, I'm sorry I gave Moody the map," Harry said placatingly. I shook my head.

"No, Harry," I said firmly. "You remember how pissed you were when Snape used the Invisibility Cloak?" His eyes flamed at the memory of it. "Exactly. That's how I feel. The difference is, I didn't just toss the cloak at Snape and tell him to have fun without even _asking_ you if it was okay. You did."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Harry insisted. "But you shouldn't have dragged me out of the Great Hall like that, it was embarrassing and-"

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows and looked at him innocently as he hit on exactly why I did what I did. "Was it embarrassing? Did I not consider your feelings?"

"No, you didn't," Harry snapped.

"Weird, I'd swear that's exactly what my problem with you was!" I yelled. Harry scowled as he realized what I was doing.

"Why do you always have to do this, try and teach people a lesson? Why can't you just let things go?"

I stared at him incredulously. "I should let things go? Me?" I laughed. That was rich coming from him. "You're the one who tries to pin everything even remotely suspicious on Snape just because he's _mean_ to you in class! If anyone here should be yelled at about holding grudges it's you, Harry!"

"Well at least if I do have a grudge I don't feel the need to make a big spectacle out of it and draw attention to myself like you do!" Harry said hotly. "You can't let anything lie; you have to make some big stupid gesture that's supposed to teach them a lesson!"

" _I_ draw attention to myself?" I repeated, eyes wide. "Maybe I should be more like you? Excuse me while I go rush off and stick my nose into things that don't concern me, nearly getting myself and breaking about a dozen school rules in the process."

"That's completely different," Harry disagreed. "I'm trying to help people, you're just being petty!"

" _Petty?"_ I shrieked. Red throbbed at the edges of my vision. "Was it _petty_ when I got back at those Gryffindors for hexing my housemates and putting them in the Hospital Wing back in first year?"

"You turned their hair colors, it wasn't exactly your most _mature_ moment!"

"I should have, what, mumbled with my friends about how they were the root of all evil in the world?" I scoffed. "That's _definitely_ more mature."

"There's _plenty_ of evidence against Snape," Harry snapped. "You just won't believe it because he's completely brainwashed you-"

"Brainwashed me?" I repeated incredulously. "If anything you're the one who's brainwashed! You think my whole house is up to at least three murder plots at any given moment, because… _why?_ Because we've done so much to you? Take off those lovely scarlet glasses of yours, _brother-mine_ , they don't do your intelligence any favors," I sneered.

Harry's face went dark. I knew I had just jumped over all kinds of lines but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"You think just because you brewed some potions you're so much smarter than me," Harry snapped, dragging a hand through the air. I tilted my head and smirked.

"Not just because of the potions, there's plenty of other evidence…"

"I figured out the dragons before you did-" Harry protested. I snorted.

" _Figured out?_ What did you _figure out?_ Hagrid gift-wrapped them for you!"

Harry threw up his hands. "Do you know how hard it was to learn that Summoning Charm in time?"

"You mean the spell you should have learned for class, if you bothered? Yes, I'm sure it was _very_ hard, particularly with Hermione coaching you. I _assume_ she did…"

"Yes, because that's what friends _do!"_

"And yet I got past without any friends muttering answers in my ear."

"You still got fewer points," Harry reminded me warningly. I narrowed my eyes.

"Would you like to know something interesting, Harry?" I asked silkily. "I have figured out the egg. In fact, I figured it out before the New Year. I have a plan worked out, a potion brewing… What have you done? Do you even know what you're facing?" Harry opened his mouth, but his eyes were uncertain. That was the answer I needed.

"I figured out the Black Lake-"

"No, shut up. You're going to listen to me, because I want you to understand something. I tried to warn you about the dragons. I broke the rules and cheated trying to keep you safe. You knew about the dragons, you _knew_ , but you didn't tell me. You didn't bother to mention 'oh, hey Rena, might want to look into fire proofing spells, we're going to have to fight a bloody dragon!' You didn't think of me _once_ , Harry, not _once!"_ I finished brokenly.

Somewhere along the lines this had turned from me being furious to me being heartbroken. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, but I didn't think so. This was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Was it wrong, just once, for Harry to think of me? To think how his actions might make me feel? No, it was always all about him and whatever moral tear he was on at the time.

Harry's face fell slightly. "Rena."

"Shut up," I said thickly. "Get out."

"No, listen-"

"Get out!" I roared. The door behind me banged open. It was the first time I'd used accidental magic since Aunt Marge. Harry's face paled slightly when he saw it. He took one look at my face and must have realized that I was done talking. He moved towards the door, pausing just beyond it.

"What happened?" he asked quietly. "We used to be so close… What changed, Rena?"

I smirked bitterly. "We did." I flicked my wand and the door slammed shut and locked with a click. I leaned back against it and slid down, my eyes closed and my head tilted back. I reached up, running my hand through my hair.

I would normally never say things like that to Harry. He was my brother and I loved him, really I did. It was just that I was starting to wonder if he loved me too. What hurt even more was that I didn't doubt he loved Hermione and Ron. I had tried so hard to be friends with them, not because I particularly enjoyed them but for him. But what did he do? He insulted my mentor, the one man who had never faltered in his belief in me. He insulted my house and my housemates without ever bothering to get to know them.

I curled into a ball against the door, curled my knees to my chest, dropping my head onto my kneecaps, and let out a sigh. The times where we would tell each other everything were gone. We didn't talk, we weren't twins like we used to be. Those times ended long ago.

I was only now realizing they couldn't truly come back.

* * *

It was more difficult to get through the school at night without being seen now that I didn't have the map, but I was completely comfortable with it. I'd done it for two years before I got the map, after all. It just took longer and was a little more nerve-wracking. I had a near miss, only just diving into a niche behind a tapestry in time to avoid Sinistra patrolling with her wand raised high.

I kept going up through the castle and stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She was snoring away, her mouth lolling open. Grinning, I reached out and flicked the portrait in the nose. The Fat Lady came away with an indignant yelp, casting around furiously.

"Wha- where? Who? You!" she said, enraged, as she saw me there. I grinned.

"Guess what?"

The Fat Lady groaned aloud. "Oh not again-"

"Lionheart," I said smugly, and she swung open against her will. I crept through the portrait hole and into the Common Room, thankfully, there was no one there except for a couple of seventh years passed out in the corner over their notes. I winced. I did not envy them for trying to study this year – people were too excited by the Triwizard Tournament to be calm and quiet.

I crept up the stairs to Harry's dorms, listening to snores coming from behind the doors. I passed. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself, and opened the door to Harry's dorm.

As expected, the floor was covered in a fine spray of parchment, textbooks, broken quills, and discarded boxers. Seamus and Dean snored away while Neville was passed out with a Herbology book over his face. Ron seemed to be trying to smother himself, his face crushed into his pillow. And there, sleeping innocently at the end of a row of beds, was my brother.

Scowling, I approached his trunk and carefully flipped it open, digging around carefully. I was cautious not to let papers rustle or books slip too badly out of place for fear that any noise might wake him up. Finally, my fingers brushed the watery, airy fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. Grinning to myself, I grabbed it and tugged, pulling the cloak free and draping it over myself. As a last touch, I pulled out a piece of parchment from my pocket and shut Harry's trunk, setting the note innocently on top.

It was made of cut-out letters from the Daily Prophet, much like a Muggle ransom note, which is exactly what it was.

 _You will never see your beloved cloak again unless you return the map to its rightful owner._

Harry may have called my retaliations childish, but in this case I felt it was justified. Standing up, concealed by the cloak, I left the Gryffindor Common Room and strode calmly back to the dungeons, invisible and unseen.

* * *

Predictably, Harry wasn't exactly pleased with my antics. He stormed over to the Slytherin table the next morning, annoyance written on his face. My year mates stared in surprise as he walked over. I had approached the Gryffindor table before, but Harry had never come to me.

"Give it back," Harry growled, standing behind me. I didn't turn around.

"Give what back?" I asked innocently, taking a bite of my bacon. "Lost something?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Rena, this isn't funny," Harry huffed. "Now give it back."

"Not until my property is returned to me," I said coolly, sipping my pumpkin juice.

"What am I supposed to do, just ask for it back?" Harry demanded, throwing up his hands. "He helped me Rena, and he wants to use it!"

"Odd," I said softly. "Someone helped me and he wanted to use it too. But you didn't want him anywhere near it."

I could feel Harry glaring at my back, and I could feel the eyes of the rest of my year mates fixed on me. I kept my own stare fixed on my plate and slowly cut off a piece of my pancakes, placing it on my tongue and chewing.

"What's the alternative?" Harry snapped at me. "Stealing it back?"

"Reclaiming," I corrected, setting my fork aside and turning to face him finally, crossing my legs. "And it's not difficult, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened. "You… you seriously want me to steal it back from a teacher? Are you mad?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting question. I broke in the Gryffindor Tower specifically to get collateral. I want my property back Harry," I said firmly. "I don't care how you get it, just do, or else you won't get your own belongings back."

"You can't do that!" Harry protested. I narrowed my eyes at him challengingly.

"I can't? Why? I have just as much right to it as you do."

Harry stared back at me. "Is this because you're jealous that I got it and you didn't?" he asked incredulously. I raised an eyebrow.

"Congratulations, it only took you four years to figure it out," I said tartly. Harry shook his head.

"That's ridiculous! You've got the-" his eyes flicked up, sending dark looks to all the Slytherins who were listening in. "You know what you've got," he said quietly.

"I got what I got by sheer dumb luck," I reminded him. "Which is surprising, really, as dumb luck seems to be more your style. Emphasis on dumb."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You want to have this fight again? Right here?"

"No, I don't," I disagreed. I stood up, staring Harry down. "I've told you what I want. _Get. It. Back._ Until then, we don't have anything else to discuss. Good luck with your egg, I do hope you don't drown," I said vaguely, sitting back down and turning back to my breakfast.

I heard Harry make a disgusted sound behind me and watched as he stormed back to the Gryffindor table. Hermione and Ron welcomed him back, both of them shooting me looks. Hermione was looking at me beseechingly, Ron accusingly. I stared back at my plate, refusing to be ashamed. Harry had no right to do what he'd done.

"Potter," Nott said slowly. "What was that?"

"Clearly even her brother's figured out what a nuisance Potter is," Parkinson sniffed. I flicked my wand at her and the jug of syrup in front of her exploded, showering her in sticky, thick syrup. _"Damn it Potter!"_ Parkinson howled as she scrubbed at her messy hair. "Not _again!"_

She stood up and fled the Great Hall to get cleaned up. I watched her go with a small smirk before turning back to the rest of the table.

"I feel loads better, anyone else?"

"You're not getting out of this one," Lily said sternly.

"Yeah, what did you do?" Tracey asked, casting a nervous look over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table. "Your brother seemed really mad."

I took a deep breath and pursed my lips. "Harry and I both have something of our fathers' that we're fond of. Harry borrowed mine and got caught sneaking around with it. Moody was interested, so Harry let him borrow it." I glared at the Head Table where Moody sat, gulping something from his flask. I wondered how hard it would be to get my hands on it and add some Puking Potion. My eyes flicked to Harry, who was stalking from the Great Hall. "I stole Harry's inheritance until he gets mine back. He's miffed."

"You broke into Gryffindor Tower again?" Daphne demanded in disbelief. I blinked at her.

"I do that a lot. You people are always surprised."

"Lorena?"

I turned. Hermione and Ron stood behind me, both looking highly uncomfortable.

"The Mudblood and the blood traitor," Daphne said snidely. "What do you scum want?"

"Greengrass," I said warning, twisting in my seat to face them fully. "Well? I assume you're here as Harry's second line of defense?"

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione quickly and not-so-subtly trod on his foot to shut him up.

"Harry's stressed about the Second Task right now, you understand," Hermione began coaxingly. "Surely you understand? Who can blame him if he wasn't thinking right?"

"I think her problem is more that he doesn't think ever," Zabini called from a little ways down the table. Hermione looked up at him and then back at me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow.

"What, I'm not going to correct him, he's right."

"Look Lorena," Ron snapped. "Just give him back the cl-"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, looking around the table worriedly. She glanced back at me. "You really should give it back though, Lorena. I'll admit that Harry was in the wrong, but haven't you ever heard that two wrongs-?"

"If you say don't make a right I will hex you," I said shortly. "Maybe this time Harry will learn a lesson. He's gotten away with breaking a lot of rules and he's been rewarded or gotten out of it on dumb luck. This time he used my property to do it, and I don't appreciate it."

"So have you!" Ron said hotly. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" I challenged. "Is that why I'm covered in scars but Harry's the one with an award for special services to the school?"

"You two need to leave."

All of us turned in surprise to see Malfoy standing up, his eyes glittering darkly as he stared at Hermione and Ron. Hermione took a step closer to Ron, who shifted subtly so that she was behind his shoulder.

"Sod off, ferret," Ron sneered. "This isn't your business."

"I think you made it my business when you decided to come to _my_ house table and yell at _my_ house mate for something she sounds like she's completely justified in doing," Malfoy replied coldly.

"Malfoy," I hissed. "Sit down, this isn't your problem-"

"Yeah Malfoy, sit down," Ron jeered. "This isn't your-"

"Don't get too smug, he's right, you two need to leave," I snapped at Ron, whose eyes widened slightly as he looked at me in disbelief.

"You're seriously sliding with that git?" he demanded, pointing at Malfoy. "When you're treating Harry the way you are? I don't see you helping him with this tournament!"

I narrowed my eyes. "Be very careful, Weasley," I said softly. Ron's eyes widened. It had been a very long time since I'd called him anything other than Ron except in jest. "I've been on my brother's side since before you even met, and I've done far more or him than you ever will. Don't you _dare_ get accusatory."

"Ron," Hermione whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "She did help… Remember?"

"Leave, Weasley," Malfoy said icily, taking a step forward. His hand lingered pointedly in his pocket. "Or I will make you."

Hermione tugged desperately on Ron's sleeve, her eyes wide. "Come on Ron, we don't want to start anything…" Her eyes drifted up to the Head Table worriedly. Ron shot Malfoy a disgusted glare, gave me one only slightly less intense, and then allowed Hermione to tug him away.

I turned around in my seat, allowing myself to bury my face in my hands and let out a long, shuddering sight before I lifted my head and folded my hands neatly in my lap.

"I don't know what you took, but it must be important," Zabini whistled.

"You have no idea," I replied, before twisting to glare at Malfoy. "And you, just what the hell were you thinking?"

Malfoy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Excuse you Potter, I was helping you get rid of your brother's sorry friends."

"Did I ask for your help?" I snapped. "I can take care of myself. The last person I need fighting my battles is you, Malfoy," I snapped, abandoning my breakfast and throwing my bag over my shoulder. I stormed from the Great Hall, ignoring the gaping Malfoy behind me.

* * *

It was mid-way through January, and time for another Hogsmeade trip. My water-repelling potion was almost complete but for a last ingredient, and then I'd be able to bottle it to be poured over my glasses later. I had ridiculous amounts of gillyweed still, and I was looking into a way to carry extra with me down into the lake, outside of just shoving it down my swimsuit…

My secret swimming lessons were going well. I was fully confident about moving in the water now. Granted, the lake would be different than the pool in the prefect's bathroom, but I was satisfied with my abilities. I'd be able to get around with relative ease, barring any unforeseen interference.

I also had something else to look into. I had been assaulted by something painfully obvious the night before right as I was about to drift off to sleep – I was going to be diving into a lake. In Scotland. In February. _Cold_ did not even begin to describe what the temperature of the water would be like.

My plan was to brew a simple Warming Draught – it settled a warmth in the stomach of the drinker, rather like downing a gulp of hot chocolate, only the effect lingered. It would keep my core temperature up, and I could use normal warming spells on my extremities.

I needed to stop by the apothecary and get more fire seeds, the last of which I'd used up in potions two weeks previous. In addition, I had to get the rest of the Animagus books from Tomes and Scrolls. I planned to do that, pop by Honeydukes for some chocolate, and then nestle down in the apprentice's lab by a fire and get started on the first of the two books I still had to read.

"Potter."

I turned around as a growl of a voice said my name. Moody was stumping towards me. I narrowed my eyes. I'd managed to avoid him quite nicely ever since the Mal-ferret incident. Outside of class, I didn't interact with the man at all, and I was content with that.

"Professor," I replied with chilly politeness. "Can I help you?"

In addition, I was still very _very_ pissed that he had the Marauder's Map. Harry hadn't returned it to me. He hadn't even spoken to me since that day at breakfast. We just shot each other dark looks in the hallway. The whole school had noticed and kept asking me why we were on the outs. I sent the curious running with glares even darker than the ones Harry got.

"I wanted to know how you're coming on that egg," Moody grunted, his magical eye whizzing about in seemingly random directions before coming to rest on me. The full power of that wide blue stare was incredibly off-putting – I couldn't help but wonder if that was part of the intention.

"I've solved it, sir," I said shortly. Moody raised an eyebrow.

"Have you?" he said thoughtfully. "And I don't suppose you have a plan in place?"

"As it happens," I snapped, "I do. All that's left is to brew a potion. I was on my way to get ingredients for it if you don't mind." I gestured pointedly towards the door, where Filch was checking students out of the castle.

Moody nodded. "Go on Potter." I turned to leave. "Just one more thing."

I turned back to the Defense professor with a deep scowl. "What?" I demanded, only a modicum of respect still left in my tone. Moody's gaze was knowing as his magical eye flicked up and down the length of me. I was suddenly very self-conscious in my jeans, leather riding boots, and hand-knitted scarf.

"Have you helped your brother out with his egg?" Moody asked, peering at me intently, like he was asking for the answer to the meaning of life. I raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not, sir," I replied saccharinely. "That would be cheating." I feigned horror at the very idea. Moody snorted.

"Very well Potter, off you go. Oh, and I believe this is yours…" From his pocket, Moody drew out a very familiar battered piece of parchment. I snatched it from his eagerly and pressed it to my chest like it was my newborn child, delighted beyond belief to have it back in my possession. I quickly whipped out my wand and prodded the parchment with it.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." I didn't entirely trust that Moody had handed me back the real thing, but I watched in relief as ink spiraled across the parchment, revealing the familiar Marauders header. "Mischief managed."

In a flash I was gone, saluting Filch as I stalked past him as I shoved the parchment into my pocket. I was down the steps and out of the castle before he could stop me for a thorough going-over and warning not to bring back any Zonko's products. I now had a new task ahead of me for the day – to get the cloak back to Harry.

The apothecary in Hogsmeade was very, very familiar with me. J Pippin's Potions was the first store I'd stopped in upon getting to Hogsmeade and ever since then I'd popped in frequently to replace ingredients and to pick up the latest issue of _Potion Master Monthly._

"Hello Miss Pippin," I called as I entered the shop. The original J Pippin had died several centuries ago but his descendants still owned the franchise.

"Hello, Lorena!" called Miss Pippin, a pretty, pink-cheeked, red-haired woman in her twenties. She was busily packaging up an old witch's shopping at the counter. "It's been a while. Have you stopped brewing?" she asked teasingly as she took the old woman's money and handed her the bag.

"Never," I swore as I approached the barrels of ingredients lining the walls of the shop. I picked up a small drawstring bag from a table and began scooping out fire seeds into the bag. I paused and looked longingly at the unicorn tail hair hanging in long, neat hanks from the rafters. I'd always wanted to work with it but I could never find a potion I could reasonably use to justify the expense.

"The day Lorena Potter stops brewing is the day Britain falls," Miss Pippin said cheekily as I grabbed a bottle of powdered spine of lionfish – I was running dangerously low from potions in class – and made my way to the counter. I snagged my usual issue of _Potion Master Monthly_ from the display and laid it all out.

Miss Pippin gave me an amount and put my purchases in a brown paper bag, trading me for the money.

"I heard about the tournament," she said sympathetically. "Rotten luck, isn't it? But I hear you're doing well."

"Yes, I think I'm doing alright," I agreed. "Have you ever heard of a potion called Sine Fraxinus?"

Miss Pippin's mouth twisted thoughtfully as she leaned forward on the counter, displaying her ample cleavage unknowingly. Aside from Madam Rosemerta, Miss Pippin was the shopkeeper in Hogsmeade the boys most wanted to see.

"I remember reading mention of it," Miss Pippin recalled. "In one of my granddad's old books. Something that went out with swords and armor, wasn't it?"

"It repels dragon fire," I explained. "Only good for one use, though."

"Good Merlin." Miss Pippin's eyes grew wide. "Is that how you did it?" I nodded. "Where'd you get the recipe?" she asked eagerly.

"A ghost in the castle, if you can believe it," I said wryly.

"Huh. Well I'll be an augurey's aunt," Miss Pippin mumbled. "I wonder why they don't use it today? I mean, we have dragon reservations," she mused aloud.

That was something I'd considered as well. "The best I can figure is that hunting dragons went out nearly two hundred years before the first dragon reservations were established," I explained. "It's completely possible that the potion was simply forgotten in the intervening years. From what I understand it wasn't easy to find a Potion Master who knew how to brew it either."

"Really, why's that?" Miss Pippin asked curiously. She wrinkled her nose. "Is it one of those that's finicky about the stirring? Got to do it _exactly_ right?"

I shook my head. "A bit, yeah, but you also need phoenix tears for it."

Miss Pippin let out a low whistle, eyes wide. "Well that explains it then! Not everyone has a helpful headmaster with a phoenix for a familiar."

"No kidding," I said drily.

"I bet you're one of the only people alive today that can brew it then," Miss Pippin said, looking me over curiously. "And to think you're only fourteen!" I nodded in agreement. "You should look into marketing it."

 _That_ was an interesting idea. Miss Pippin was right – I was probably one of very few, if not the _only_ person, who could conceivably brew Sine Fraxinus. And with the dragon reserves today, people would be ordering it by the bucket load to prevent any accidents. Dumbledore might be willing to provide the tears, but even if he wasn't, all I'd need to do was achieve my Animagus form and then I'd be golden…

"Just don't forget me when you're rich and famous," Miss Pippin said wryly.

I nodded and bid her goodbye, the idea swimming around in my head. It was a brilliant idea, in fact. Sine Fraxinus was something that wouldn't – _couldn't_ – come cheap, and because I was the only available source I could set the prices wherever I wanted. And the dragon reserves would most likely be able to pay nearly anything, considering most of them were government-funded.

I was still considering as I retrieved my two books from Tomes and Scrolls and headed to Honeydukes. As I browsed the selection of chocolate, I considered. I even had an in – Charlie Weasley. He would know who would be interested in the potion and could put me in contact with them.

The only thing was that I could have to wait until probably at least the end of fifth year to do anything about it. After all, admitting I could brew Sine Fraxinus would be admitting that I had known going into the First Task that I would be facing dragons. Better to let the tournament end and let it fade from memory a little.

Besides, who knew? By the end of fifth year I might have made significant progress with my Animagus transformations. If I could even just get my eyes to change I could get the tears myself. Then I wouldn't even need Dumbledore, which would honestly be preferable.

I was grinning excitedly about the idea as I picked up a large bar of milk chocolate, and, deciding that I deserved to treat myself, grabbed a second one before approaching the counter.

Honeydukes was packed as usual and there was a bit of a line to checkout. It joined the end of the queue and bouncing on my toes, biting the inside of my cheek contemplatively. So it was a long-term plan, but it could very easily kick-start a career as a Potions Mistress after school.

I knew Hogwarts encouraged students to pursue their respective fields of interest. I knew there was a seventh year Ravenclaw girl who was doing correspondence research with a Herbology group in Sweden and she was making some decent money from her salary. And there were a half-dozen older students who had published papers in magazines. It was completely possible I could run a business from Hogwarts – look at Fred and George marketing their Canary Creams and Ton-Tongue Toffees.

I'd need a lab though. Maybe if I explained my plans to Snape he'd let me keep using the apprentice's lab. I was growing incredibly fond of the place and if I could justify my use of it with the attempt to start a business, it was possible I'd have at least a fighting chance of being able to keep using it. After all, like Snape had said, there was no one else who needed it…

"Potter."

Jerked out of my thoughts, I spun around. Malfoy stood behind me. I sighed and rolled my eyes, turning back to face the front. There were still three people in front of me. I tapped my toes impatiently, hoping they'd hurry up.

"Are you trying to buy their entire stock? I know you like to read Potter, but Merlin…" I looked around as Malfoy tapped the bag in my hand emblazoned with the Tomes and Scrolls name.

"Some of the books I wanted had to be ordered," I said shortly before turning to face forward again, hoping that would shut him up. I should have known better – nothing on earth could shut Malfoy up when he wanted to talk.

"You still trying to become an Animagus? Potter, I think you should be more concerned about getting through the tournament alive," Malfoy stressed. I rolled my eyes.

"Malfoy, I've got the next task on lock," I huffed. "Trust me, the tournament is handled for the moment. I'm just researching after all."

"How's it going, the research?"

"Alright," I replied absently as the pair of Hufflepuffs at the front of the line moved off with their arms loaded with sweets. I smirked slightly – third years wanting to try everything at once. They'd regret it by tonight, when they were in the Hospital Wing clutching their stomachs. The line moved forward and I continued carelessly, "I've gotten through most of the books McGonagall recommended for me except for these two and one other. I'm understanding it well with only a little additional reading."

"So you're really trying for this, eh?" Malfoy asked in amusement. "What made you curious?"

I could hardly tell him that my godfather was an Animagus or that my dad was too. So in reply I shrugged and said, "It's a useful thing to be able to do," which wasn't a lie.

One red-eyed Ravenclaw girl moved off with her box of candies and a sad expression on her face. I winced. Definite recent breakup, off to soothe her broken heart with chocolate. There was a reason I didn't bother with relationships…

I approached the counter and laid down my candy bars. The man behind the counter rang them up and gave me a total. I reached into my money pouch and dug around for the appropriate coins, looking up as an arm reached around me. I blinked at the sight of a pale hand placing down the total. Startled, I whipped around and looked at Malfoy questioningly.

He shrugged innocently in reply.

"What are you doing?" I asked suspiciously. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Can't a bloke be nice?"

"Oh, is this your good deed for the year?" I asked drily. Malfoy's eyes shuttered, and it was only when it was gone that I realized there had been an amused sort of gleam in his eye, there had been since the moment he asked me about the books and I replied.

"Consider it a last gift to a woman going to her grave. See you after the Second Task, Potter, or… probably not."

With a snarl I swept the chocolate bars into the bag and stomped from the candy store, burrowing my chin into my scarf to keep warm as I started the trek back up to the castle. The weirdest part was that Malfoy was being nice. We'd been having a civil conversation until I ruined it by mouthing off. Was Malfoy, dare I think it, actually maturing?

I shook my head. No, definitely not. He was probably just in a good mood and deigned to lower himself enough to converse with the halfblood Potter.

* * *

Harry was surprised to find a brown-wrapped package sitting atop his trunk. He picked it up and sat down on the edge of his bed, slitting the paper with his wand and pulling it out of the way. A grin spread across his face as the watery fabric of the Invisibility Cloak spilled out across his lap. Harry tossed the paper away and ran his hands over the fabric, relieved to have it back.

His hand hit paper and Harry plucked out a note. He recognized Lorena's spiky, slanted handwriting marching across the paper.

 _Harry,_

 _Maybe it wasn't the best tactic, and for that I'm sorry, but it did work. Moody gave me the map this morning._

 _Sorry._

 _Rena_

Harry smiled slightly. He was glad Lorena had the map back, especially since it meant the return of his cloak. He was also pleased to see that she'd signed the note 'Rena' instead of the usual LP she used, and that she'd added a quick sorry to the end.

Their fight was still vivid in his mind. Much as he didn't like to admit it, Harry knew he was in the wrong. In addition to that, he also realized there were a lot of times in the past he'd made things hard on Lorena when he didn't mean to, just because he wasn't thinking. It wasn't like he'd tried to make her life difficult.

Then again, she hadn't exactly been kind in that classroom. Harry had been struck in the gut by the realization that he didn't know his own twin sister as well as he thought he did. He had no idea she was carrying that kind of hurt and anger inside of her. He knew that his feelings against the Dursleys had mostly vanished with the realization that he had Hogwarts to be his home. He'd always assumed Lorena felt the same.

Harry lay back on his bed, stuffing the cloak under his pillow. He considered seeking Lorena out and asking her forgiveness, explaining he didn't mean to hurt her like he had. But she was nearly impossible to find most days, and no way was he going down to the Slytherin Common room and asking after her.

She had to know, Harry told himself. Lorena had to know he never meant to hurt her.


	37. Second Task

The day of the Second Task dawned grey, dreary, and cold, just as I'd predicted. My clothes for the task had been delivered to me instead of waiting for me. I'd scowled at the choice but fled to the bathroom and tugged on the emerald green one-piece, glad of the sweat pants and hoodie I was given to go over it.

I nipped down to the apprentice's lab and grabbed the warming potion and gillyweed, shoving them in my pockets before dipping my glasses into the bubbling Water-Repelling potion. When I removed them, beads of the potion rolled off like a duck's back. I smiled, pleased, and placed them back on. I snagged a vial with some extra gillyweed in it off the counter and shoved it down my swimsuit in case of emergency.

Breakfast was a jovial affair for most people. They were wondering excitedly about the task – large stands had been erected out in the middle of the Black Lake, and those who had seen them already were eagerly sharing the news. Many people were already bundled up, ready to head out to the lake and get good seats for the task.

I couldn't help but think they'd be very underwhelmed. They'd be staring at a lake for an hour.

"So you're ready?" Lily pressed as I ate. I was sticking to warm foods with lots of protein – eggs and bacon with orange juice. Hopefully, that would keep me from getting too tired to reach the bottom of the lake where the merpeople must be settled.

"Yes," I told her for the third time since I'd sat down. "I've got a plan, I've got my potions brewed, I'm ready."

"Good," Tracey said, looking relieved. I glanced sideways at Krum.

"What about you?" I asked him. "You ready?"

Krum nodded slowly. He looked just as grim as he had before going to face the dragons. Clearly he wasn't feeling as confident as I was, which gave me a little bit of pride. Hopefully, nerves would make him mess up.

Like with the First Task, Snape approached our table and told us it was time that we headed out to the stands to prepare for the task. Surprisingly, Iliya wasn't there to wish me or Krum luck. My year mates gave me their best before the pair of us left the hall. Cedric and Fleur followed us, but I didn't see Harry anywhere. I cast around worriedly for him. I swear, if he overslept and missed the task…

The four of us piled into one of the first year boats waiting by the dock. The moment we were inside, the boats took off across the lake towards the stands. I could see a cluster of people already out there and recognized the headmasters and Bagman. Moody, unfortunately, was there as well. Crouch still seemed to be gone. Percy was in his place again. I rolled my eyes. Joy.

"Here are our champions!" Bagman announced jovially as he moved forwards, helping Fleur out of the boat and up onto the stands. Cedric hopped out and offered me a hand. I took it gratefully – the boats were stable in the water but they still rocked – and let him help me out onto the flat platform on the bottom level of the middle stand. There were three in all with layers of seats every ten feet or so, the bottom layer being flat with stairs leading up.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Bagman announced as Krum left. He cast around, looking for Harry. His eyes flicked to me questioningly. "Your brother?"

"Overslept, probably," I grumbled. Bagman looked vaguely concerned.

"Very well, very well… no choice then, I guess. We'll have to get started without him. Now, you all figured out your eggs?" he asked, his enthusiasm slightly dampened by the lack of Harry. I sneered at that. "Does anyone have any final questions?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

I glanced back and saw that the boats were starting to move out, clusters of students boarding from the docks. In no time at all, the stands would start filling up and then the task would begin. I couldn't see the burst of red that would declare Harry in his tournament clothes, but with everyone in casual clothes in various colors instead of the sea of black, that wasn't too surprising.

"I have a potion to declare," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the bottle. "It's just Warming Draught." I saw Fleur shoot me a jealous look, like she was wishing she'd thought of that. Cedric gave me an approving nod. "Professor Snape can vouch that I made it myself."

"Of course, of course, I'm not worried!" Bagman chuckled. "As if you need someone else to make your potions for you. Go ahead and take it," he requested.

As the first wave of students reached the seats and were guided by teachers up into the higher layers of the stands I uncorked the potion and downed it, smiling slightly as the warmth settled into my stomach and rested there, combating the chill of the day a little.

"I'm here!"

I turned around as Harry came flying out of a boat, panting slightly as he skidded to a stop beside the rest of us. He was panting slightly, his fist clenched around something. My eyes narrowed as I noticed a bit of slimy green tendril poking out of his fist.

"Ah, Mister Potter!" Bagman was visibly relieved. "Thank goodness, we were worried you'd be late!"

"Sir, they need to get into their starting positions," Percy reminded Bagman, looking down his nose a little at the portly man.

"Ah, of course!" Bagman agreed as he ushered us towards the edge of the platform.

"Gillyweed," I hissed to him as we took our places. I stepped out of my pants and pulled off my hoodie, making sure to retrieve the gillyweed from my pocket. I glanced down to make sure that the vial of extra was still in place between my meager breasts.

Subtly, I flashed mine at him. Harry grinned and showed his as well.

"How'd you come up with it?" I asked, surprised. No way Snape would have given Harry any gillyweed even if he'd asked. That begged the question then of how he'd gotten his hands on any. I supposed maybe Neville…

"Dobby gave it to me," Harry said with a grin. "Don't tell Snape, it's from his personals. I didn't even know the thing existed.

I scoffed, but said nothing. Of course. Once again Harry's fairy godmother had struck and he hadn't actually needed to anything but kick back while the answer was handed to him on a silver platter. Absently, I wondered what Harry would do if his life ever became difficult.

Bagman moved among us, spacing us out at ten foot intervals. Krum had already stripped down to his trunks and Cedric was in what seemed to be trunks and a swim shirt like Harry. Fleur was in a shiny silver suit.

"Alright Harry?" Bagman asked as he shifted Harry slightly. "Know what you're going to do? What about you, Lorena?"

The pair of us nodded and Bagman nodded happily before stepping back and placing his wand to his throat. " _Sonorus,_ " he murmured. I took that as my cue and crammed the gillyweed into my mouth, chewing. I winced at the texture and Harry took a cue to start chewing, I saw out of the corner of my eye. It felt like eels sliding down my throat as I swallowed, nearly choking as one tendril uncoiled and hug itself half in my throat and half on my tongue. Gagging, I hastily swallowed and got the rest of it down, relieved.

"The champions are ready for the next task!" Bagman announced as my body began to change, webbing growing between my toes and fingers. I was glad I'd practiced swimming under the influence of gillyweed a couple of times so I wasn't surprised by the sensation. "Last night, something was taken from each of them. They will have one hour to enter the lake and retrieve it. Begin on my whistle. One… two…"

The whistle blared. I arched off the platform, diving into the lake at the same time the others did. I noticed Harry writhing slightly and clutching his neck and winced in sympathy, remembering the first time the gills had come in. They'd hurt a lot when you weren't expecting them.

I watched as the other contestants sank through the water, wands in their hands. Cedric and Fleur used a quick bubblehead charm, but Krum seemed to be trying something more complicated. I waved my wand, the incantation coming out as a stream of bubbles, and cast the warming charm on my arms and legs.

As I kicked off, my flipper-like feet pushing me through the water faster than normal swimming, I felt pleasantly warm. The water still felt a little chilly as it slid past me, but I myself was warm. It was an odd sensation really, and one I wasn't used to – I'd always filled the bath in the prefects bathroom with warm water.

I got used to it quickly though and propelled myself along with my hands and feet, my wand stuffed down my swimsuit for safekeeping. I didn't seem to need to blink, which made it much easier to comb the area around me looking for signs of merpeople.

The water made the landscape around me dark and foggy as I dove deeper and deeper into the lake. I hadn't seen any sign of the other competitors since I'd started out, but that wasn't surprising. The lake was hardly small, after all, and there were plenty of things that could have blocked my view. Huge schools of silver fish you could get lost inside, dense forests of black weeds, I passed all of them as I went deeper.

I was crossing a wide mud plain littered with glimmering stones as it happened. From a cluster of weeds shot something green. I got a vague glimpse of green teeth and horns before whatever it was grabbed my ankle and began dragging me backwards, propelled along by squid-like tentacles that brushed my legs with every thrust.

Grindylow, I thought dizzily as I pulled my wand free. The creature's fingers were long but brittle. You were advised to break their fingers to escape if you didn't have a wand. I, however, had a wand. I shot a Stinging Jinx at the back of its head. The grindylow released me with a yelp as a large patch on the back of its head turned red and began to rise. It fled into another cluster of weeds.

Smirking smugly as the grindylow fled, I turned back around and continued farther along across the mud plain. It was black under me and swirled up sluggishly as I passed. I paused, bobbing slightly in the water, as I heard something.

" _Your time's half gone so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot…"_

It was a mermaid's voice echoing through the water. Grinning, I kicked off and pushed through the water in the direction of the voice. My time was half gone, but that was alright. I could get up much faster than I got down. I couldn't be too far from the merpeople's city if I could hear the singing. I should be able to return within the time limit. I'd swallowed enough gillyweed to get me forty-five minutes underwater and what was in the vial would give me another forty-five in case things went wrong.

A rock loomed out of the water in front of me. Like native art, it was painted with designs of the merpeople carrying spears and tridents, hunting what looked like the giant squid. The edges of the rock were worn smooth… I wondered dizzily how old the squid was.

That was a question for another day. I used the rock as a springboard, shooting myself faster for a couple of feet. I was swimming as fast as I could now. I hadn't seen anyone – maybe they'd gotten turned around. Maybe I could be the first one back, wouldn't that be something?

A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, I saw faces that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom. Then again I wasn't surprised. The merpeople around here – properly called selkies or merrows – were not as attractive of the sirens you found in warmer waters.

They had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at me as I swam past. One or two of them emerged from their caves to watch me better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

I sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous. There were gardens of weed around some of them, and I even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching eagerly, pointing at my webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. I sped around a corner and found my 'stolen object.'

A whole crowd of merpeople were floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue, a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Five people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

Ron was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made me think that she was Fleur Delacour's sister. On her other side, Iliya floated, clouds of dark curls swaying around his head and his skin looking oddly green in the light. All five of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.

It was easy to guess who was for who. Harry's best friend, Krum's date to the Yule ball, Fleur's sister, Cedric's girlfriend. Iliya was obviously for me, not Krum. No one else down here could be.

I heard the murmurs of the merpeople intensify and spun around. There was Harry swimming forward with his hands and feet in the same state as mine, his gills leaving a fine trail of bubbles behind him. His eyes sparkled and he waved a hand in greeting when he saw me.

I smiled back and nodded to Ron, tapping a finger against my wrist pointedly before turning back to Iliya. The weed rope his ankle was bound in was tough and strong-looking. I hadn't thought to bring my silver knife with me, unfortunately.

"We don't help!" croaked a voice. I turned around again to see Harry gesturing at one of the mermen's spears. I rolled my eyes and dove down a little, scooping up a rock from the lake floor. I chucked it at Harry. The water, predictably, slowed it down, but it still hit his shoulder before floating to the ground. Harry turned around.

I pulled out my wand pointedly and pointed it at the rope binding Iliya's feet. I cast a severing charm and the rope snapped loose. I glanced back over my shoulder at Harry nodding encouragingly. He flashed me a thumbs up as well as he could with his hands turned webbed and swam over to Ron.

Nodding approvingly I wrapped one arm under Iliya's shoulders and raised my wand with the other hand. I pointed towards the surface of the lake. _"Ascendio!_ " I cast, and tightened my grip on Iliya as we shot up through the water. The speed forced water into my eyes. I closed them quickly and waited until the spell began to face. Unsurprisingly, we were still underwater. The lake was deep and it would take us more than one casting to get to the surface. I opened my eyes and looked around, pleased to see that we were getting closer to the surface. I could see the water beginning to lighten. Closing my eyes, I pointed up and cast the spell again.

We shot through the water like a cork out of a bottle and a minute later we popped out of the lake, breaking the surface briefly before falling back down. I looked around and realized we were in the center of the lake, several dozen yards away from the stands. We were up though, and that's what mattered. I heard cheers erupt from the stands.

"What… What's going on?"

I looked around. Coming out of the water seemed to have woken Iliya up, because now he was casting around and looking horribly confused.

"They took someone we each cared about and the merpeople held them at the bottom of the lake," I explained, raising my wand and sending up celebratory green sparks. They fell down around us as I added, "They seemed to pick either family or whoever we went to the Yule Ball with."

"I see." Iliya blinked in surprise and shivered as a cold breeze hit his wet hair. I cast a warming charm on him and gestured for him to follow me. Thankfully, the gillyweed was starting to wear off. I'd timed it perfectly, and this also meant that I'd made it back before the hour was up, which was a relief. The gills weren't entirely gone though. I alternated between gulping air and lake water as I waited for them to fade entirely, trying not to think about the fact that the castle's plumbing emptied out into the Black Lake.

"Come on, Potter…" Snape was kneeling on the edge of the stands, McGonagall standing behind him looking fretful and Moody with his magical eye fixed on the lake and his regular one fixed on me. Several of his friends moved forward and hauled Iliya out of the water as Madam Pomfrey hurried forward with towels and blankets for both of us.

I took Snape's offered hand and let him help me out of the water. Almost immediately I was smothered in a blanket by Madam Pomfrey. I took it gratefully and wrapped it around myself as I used my wand to dry myself off. I knew my hair must look a mess, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

My arms and legs were exhausted from swimming, I had bruises around my ankle from the grindylow, but I had done it. And, looking around, I realized I was the first one back. Well, aside from Fleur. She was huddled worriedly in a corner with some of her schoolmates, looking rather battered. I saw a similar bruise around her ankle and guessed the grindylows had gotten her too.

"Well done Potter!" Bagman congratulated me, his voice making my ears ring after the silence of being underwater. "Miss Potter is the first champion to return successfully, bringing up Iliya Dimitrov in forty-seven minutes!"

"Well done," Iliya congratulated, sniffling slightly and tossing his head to get a piece of dripping hair out of his eyes. "How's Viktor doing? Did you see him?"

I shook my head. "Not since we entered the water," I said, flicking my wand at him and drying him off too.

"Lorena?" I turned around and was surprised to see Fleur approached me, her blanket held tightly shut at her throat. She looked fearful, her hair disheveled. She looked real, instead of like some kind of ethereal Barbie.

"My seester," Fleur said softly. "I haff not seen her seence last night. Ees she…?" Fleur swallowed thickly, unable to continue.

Damn it, I felt bad for her. Drenched and shivering and scared she looked just like any other girl her age might, covered in cuts and bruises. I sucked in a deep, annoyed breath, cursing myself and my soft heart. This was a competition, she was my competitor, she was a bitch. But I couldn't help but think how I would feel if I was in her shoes and Harry was down there tied to a statue of a merperson.

"She's down there," I admitted. Fleur paled.

"Too late, eet's gone, eet won't come back," she said throatily, looking physically ill. I reached out, taking her shoulders in my hands and shifting her to face me fully. Fleur looked up in surprise, meeting my eyes.

"Your sister will be fine," I promised her. "That line was just to make sure that we got back within the time limit, otherwise we might have spent ages down there poking around. Think about it – they can't exactly drown your sister for the sake of a game, can they?" I asked mockingly, like she was foolish for even considering it.

Fleur nodded. "You… you are right, of course. Thank you," she said gratefully before retreating to her nervous circle of friends.

Warm breath blew across my ear. "That was nice of you," Iliya whispered to me. I twisted my lips into a scowl.

"Yeah, well," I grumbled, cheeks pinking slightly. I hoped he'd blame it on the wind. "Her sad face was putting me off."

Iliya looked down at me, unconvinced. "Of course," he said drily. I frowned harder.

"Don't tell anyone," I grumbled, and pulled a bit of the blanket over my head to cover my hair.

I cast a nervous look at the water. Harry was down there with me. Even if he'd swam the whole way back up, he should be back by now. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe something had gone wrong. Had he tried to steal the merman's spear again and they hurt him? What if his gillyweed had worn off? He looked like he had enough, but what if he didn't.

My heart leapt and I rushed to the edge of the platform as a pair of heads popped out of the lake. My heart sank as I realized that it was Cedric and Cho. Cedric brushed Cho's hair out of her face and whispered something to her before urging her towards us as Bagman announced their return.

"Well done," I said as Cedric climbed out of the water with Cho. Madam Pomfrey was on them with blankets in a second. "Don't suppose you saw my idiot brother down there?" I asked casually.

Cedric glanced sideways at me, sympathy clouding his features. "He'll be fine," he assured me earnestly. "Last I saw him he was at the hostages. I told him to get a move on."

I scowled. "He's waiting, why is he waiting?" I murmured to myself. "He was there when I was," I explained. Cedric's eyes widened slightly.

"Then you're right, he is waiting. I'm sure he's got a reason," Cedric promised me before moving off to comfort Cho, who was looking a little rattled.

"Yes, he does," I spat out.

That _idiot!_ I would kill him. He was being thick – did he really think they'd just let people _drown_ for the sake of this tournament? It was serious business and people died, yes, but no way in hell was the Ministry prepared to deal with the shitstorm that would arise if any of the students they'd tied up down there drowned. There would be safeguard after safeguard in place to make sure the hostages didn't get so much as a bruise.

But no, Harry felt the need to be heroic. He was going to get himself killed! He'd admitted he didn't know anything about gillyweed. He didn't know how long he had, and if he stayed down there too long and lost his gills then there was no way that even the merpeople could keep him alive long enough to get him to the surface – they were over a hundred feet down!

"Potter, what are you doing?" Snape demanded, catching my arm and jerking me backwards. I pulled myself out of my stupor as I realized I'd been stepping out to reenter the water, some kind of vague plan of going back down there and dragging Harry back to the surface by his hair swirling dizzily through my brain.

"Harry's staying until all the hostages are up," I said sharply. "But Fleur-"

Snape understood my meaning and followed my gaze to the French girl in the corner. "She won't arrive. Potter, how is your brother handing the task?"

"Gillyweed, same as me," I explained. "But he doesn't know… much about it, he doesn't know how long he has. If he lingers too long he'll drown!"

Snape's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I will speak with Dumbledore." He hustled off towards the judge's table, bending close to whisper to the headmaster.

A third cheer went up from the stands. I looked around, hoping to see Harry coming up. No, it was Krum with Hermione. The pair of them swam to the stands. Iliya and I moved forwards to help them out. Iliya embraced Krum in a manly hug as Hermione flung herself into my arms, sodden hair sticking to her face.

"You're okay!" she panted in relief. She cast around curiously. "Where's… where's Harry?" she asked uncertainly.

I pulled away from her, scowling thunderously. "Being a dumbass, where else?" I said shortly, turning away from her and stalking a short distance away from her, curling and uncurling my fists and trying to reason with myself.

Fleur's hostage should be the last person down there now. Surely Harry would have realized by now that she wasn't coming? He'd just take Ron and come up, right? His gillyweed had to be running out by now… Or maybe he'd try and take Fleur's sister and fight with the merpeople, who would likely try and hurt him.

Worry rose up and clenched at my insides, making my breath come in pants. I felt hands on my shoulders turning me around. Iliya pressed me to his chest, hugging my shoulders tightly. Normally I wouldn't have, but I had worked my thoughts into a dizzied panic. I didn't have time to think about how it would look as I embraced him back, digging my fingers tightly into his back.

"He'll be fine," Iliya whispered to me. "He will be fine."

A final roar erupted and I whipped around. Three heads were bobbing in the water. One red, one silver, and one black-haired. Mermaids surfaced all around them as they escorted them to the shore. I flew to the edge of the platform, only barely holding back from hurling myself into the water to pull Harry out, just so I could slap him back in. Maxime had to hold back Fleur from jumping in after her sister and Percy looked like he was seconds away from leaping at Ron as well. Off to the side, Dumbeldore was conversing with one of the mermaids in a horrible, screeching language.

"Hey Rena," Harry said sheepishly as he approached. I offered him a hand, not smiling. "I know, I know," he grumbled as he took my hand and I hauled him out. I whapped him across the head with my blanket as Madam Pomfrey came for him with one of his own.

"You're stupid," I said bluntly, because he _didn't_ know. He hadn't been the one up here smacking himself in the head for trusting me, for thinking I knew what I was doing. He hadn't been pacing around and considering getting back in the water to go look for him in case he'd drowned himself. He had no idea the kind of fear he'd put me through, and then he popped out of the water like nothing had happened and _grinned_ at me?

Dumbledore turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

I turned away from Harry and stormed over to the other champions, rage rolling off of me. I'd thought, once Moody returned my map, that Harry had learned his lesson, had learned something. But no, he still stupidly threw himself into danger without a thought for himself or anyone else because he had some kind of hero complex. I could have cheerfully throttled him as he slouched over to us.

The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy's clutches. She led him over to the rest of us, gave him a blanket and some Pepper-up Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister.

"Look after Gabrielle," Fleur told her, and then she turned to Harry. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking a little disappointed. I hoped my cold reception had given him something to think about.

Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek , then said to Ron, "And you too-you 'elped -"

"Yeah," said Ron, looking extremely hopeful, "yeah, a bit -"

Fleur swooped down on him too and kissed him. Hermione looked simply furious, but just then, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside us, making us all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows...

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," said Fleur throatily, shaking her head and absently stroking her sister's sopping hair.

"Lorena Potter, who used a warming potion and gillyweed, was first to return with her hostage at forty-seven minutes. We award her forty-eight points."

Scattered applause echoed down from the stands. I wasn't a favorite for most people. But I had just reached 82 points. I was confident that I'd at least beaten Cedric in total points.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was second to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers came from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd. Cho gave Cedric a glowing look. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was third to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."

Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

"Harry Potter also used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was second to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

Ron and Hermione both gave Harry half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks.

"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However... Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points."

"There you go. Harry!" Ron shouted over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all - you were showing moral fiber!"

My mental math wasn't wrong, but I ran it at least three times. Harry, Cedric and I were tied for first place. Cedric and I, who had done our work – had learned a new spell, brewed potions, figured out what we were going up against – were tied with Harry, who had a damn house elf pop up and give him the answer with a tip of the hat and a wave. _He'd. Done. Nothing._

This was first year all over again. Harry and I had both gone up on brooms after Malfoy. I got detention and had to apologize. Harry got to become the youngest Seeker in the century. I was punished and he was rewarded for doing the same thing. This time I'd been better than him, better in every way, and yet Harry was still right there with me, coasting on his laurels.

 _You have got to be shitting me._

I was so sick and bloody tired of him doing nothing, absolutely nothing, and getting everything. Did he know how hard I worked? How many hours I spend in the library? How many extra projects I took on trying to improve myself? And he did nothing, but he still got everything!

 _It's not fair, Harry, and you don't deserve it, any of it!_

My heart bleated feebly at him but I couldn't make myself say the words. I knew exactly what would happen if I did. Everyone would stare at me in disbelief. How could I possibly say something like that to Harry? To my twin brother? They had no idea, no bloody idea about how horrible it was to be his sister sometimes.

"Isn't that great Rena? Rena!" I heard Harry call behind me. I was already in a boat and on my way back to the castle.

* * *

 _My boy was sitting in the Slytherin Common Room. His nose was buried in a second-hand copy of an older edition of Hogwarts: A History. He was sitting in the black leather chair by the fire, the one that absorbed and held the heat from the flames, practically swimming in second-hand robes._

 _Everything about his attire was slightly shabby. His robes were worn and his slacks were slightly faded at the knees. The tips of his shoes were polished and shiny, but it couldn't quite hide the scuffed toes. His shirt had been hemmed and the sleeves taken up. His hair was neatly parted and combed to the side with not a strand out of place, like he was trying to combat his shabby appearance by any means necessary._

 _His eyes, a gorgeous blue-grey, flicked up from his book and towards a cluster of couches in one corner. There lounged a boy that looked to be his age. I would have said he was Malfoy, with his platinum hair and grey eyes, but his hair was longer and his face was slightly wider. My boy didn't like him, not one bit. I could feel the anger in his veins, in my veins._

 _His thoughts swirled in my head. The boy he was staring at darkly had done nothing to deserve the attention he was getting from the other students. He was an average student at best, and was not terribly polite. He was downright dismissive or disdainful to most people._

 _But because the other boy was rich and came from a good family, he had everything. He had nice clothes and books someone else hadn't dog-eared and spilled tea on the pages of. He didn't have to be careful to make sure his knees didn't wear through his pants. He didn't have to spend long hours in the library trying to understand the world he was a part of like my boy did._

 _My boy swore to himself that this would change. He would one day be the one in nice robes. He would be the one with all eyes fixed on him. He would use those long hours in the library and ace every one of his classes. He would be smarter, more powerful,_ better, _than that platinum-haired idiot. No one would ever question him. No one would ever put him down. No one would ever hit him._

Never again.

 _The words beat like a promise nestled within his heart._

Never again.

* * *

I came awake with a jolt, choking on bitterness and anger and envy as I sat up, the greenish light of the lake filling the room. It reminded me of being out there, of the second task, of Harry tying with me and Cedric when he'd done nothing…

The anger surged through me like a cup of espresso and I was wide awake despite the fact that a glance at the clock showed that it was only just after midnight. I knew it was all over. Once I woke up, really woke up, there was no going back to sleep. I was up, at least for a while.

I forced down the anger and cast around for something to occupy myself. On the nightstand next to my bed were the two journals I'd gotten for Christmas from Tracey and Sirius. I decided this was as good a time as any to get started on my plans for one of them – turning it into my personal recipe book.

I grabbed my glasses and put them on my face, crawling to the end of my bed. I opened up my trunk and hauled out potions book after potions book. I dragged them back to the head of my bed with me, closing the curtains around me before lighting my wand and gripping it between my teeth.

From the drawer on my nightstand I pulled out ink and a quill. I picked up Tracey's notebook, the one bound in buttery brown leather with a floral pattern etched onto the front, and flipped it open to the first page, dipping my quill into the ink.

Reminding myself at some point to break down and buy a Self-Inking quill, I opened my potions textbook and began copying down recipes, one per page, with all of my additions to them.

For nearly two hours I worked, until my eyelids began to droop again. I took that as my cue and packed everything away, lying back down on my bed and closing my eyes. The next task wasn't until dusk on June 23. We were to be told what it was a month beforehand. There was no point to trying to figure out how to get through it when I didn't know yet what I'd be facing.

I was looking forward to nearly three months to focus on my own projects and interests before I had to throw myself back into the tournament. Smiling slightly at the idea that I'd have time to finish my Animagus reading and probably get through at least three years of potions changes, I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.


	38. Witch Weekly

I looked up as the door to the apprentice's lab opened up, unsurprised to see Snape enter. As far as I knew, he was the only other person in the castle who knew I could be found here. I liked the solitude of the place for working.

"Hello sir," I greeted before turning back to my notebook. It was the same one I'd started after the second task. I'd decide to spend my weekend copying recipes. My hand was aching, but I was already on my third year, which was farther along than I thought I'd be.

"You are becoming reclusive," Snape said as he shut the door behind him. I raised an eyebrow at him over my shoulder and smirked.

"Is that a bad thing?" I challenged as I set aside my quill, flexing my hand and trying to work out some of the stiffness. "It's quieter here than the Library," I explained with a shrug.

"Have you finished your Animagus reading? Snape asked, nodding to the books lined neatly on the shelf. I glanced at them, sucking in my bottom lip, and nodded.

"Yeah. I'll probably go back and review them after the third task before I meet with McGonagall, but I'm done."

"And what are you writing?" Snape continued, swooping over to stand behind me. Most students feared his looming presence over them as they worked. I actually found it rather comforting, because there was no way he'd allow me to make a mistake.

"I'm compiling all of my recipes," I explained, flipping back through a couple of pages to show him. "This far I've gone through the textbooks for first and second year, and now I'm working on third year."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise, compiling all of your recipes? Consider if someone else gets that book," he said pointedly. "And it's nearly filled – you won't be able to add anything else."

I smiled. "Now sir, do you think I'd go into this project half-baked? I enchanted this journal so that it never runs out of pages and it's compressed so that it doesn't get too ridiculously thick. Also, it's coded so that only I can open in. It's dirt, water, and fire resistant and there's a tracking spell on it so that I can find it in case I lose it or someone takes it."

I was _very_ proud of my journal. It had taken me nearly three weeks to find all of the spells to make it as secure as I wanted it to be and to get the spells right. But now I had my own personal book of potions that I could carry in the pocket of my robes yet would hopefully hold hundreds of potions.

"You," Snape said slowly, "have created a grimoire."

I shrugged. I hadn't really thought of it like that, but I suppose I had.

"I just thought it would be convenient," I admitted.

Compiling my tweaked potions had been something that had danced around in the back of my mind for over a year but now was the time I was getting around to it. The past few weeks I had been focusing on it and my Patronus exclusively.

"And how are you progressing with your Patronus?" Snape asked. I set aside my quill and drew my wand from inside my sleeve, summoning a memory.

"Expecto Patronum!" I cried, and the silvery specter of my Patronus burst from the tip of my wand. It had gained a little definition. It was definitely avian, with wings that flapped lazily up and down, but it was only a vague bird-shaped outline. Details had yet to come.

Snape nodded approvingly. "Better," he allowed. He smirked down at me. "Do you have any other ridiculously large projects you're decided to pile on yourself?"

I bit my lip. "Actually sir…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Good Merlin Potter, _really?_ It's a miracle you're passing your classes."

"I know I know," I said hastily. "It's a lot, but I like being busy, sir, you know that."

Snape seated himself on the second stool, his cloak spread around him. Dark eyes peered down his nose at me, waiting. "Well? Explain."

"Have I ever told you what my Animagus form will be, sir?" I asked, knowing full well that I hadn't. It was a good introductory topic at least.

"No, but Minerva shared it with me. She was quite delighted," Snape replied. "I'm familiar with your transformative pursuits."

"I went into Pippin's last Hogsmeade weekend," I began, and explain the conversation I'd had with Miss Pippin, finishing with her recommendation that I begin brewing Sine Fraxinus for dragon reservations.

"Think about it sir!" I said eagerly. "With my Animagus form I could easily procure the tears and the other ingredients aren't too tricky – I can special order them. But I would be the only one doing it, meaning I could set the prices. I could use this as a start to my own brewing business!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I knew you desired to become a Potions Mistress," he said quietly. "I did not realize you were already considering opening your own business."

"It would be perfect, sir!" I exclaimed. "I could already have the groundwork for a business laid, with contacts all over. I could be ready to start really brewing the moment I left Hogwarts instead of interning with a Potions Master for a few years like most brewers do."

"And what would you brew besides the Fraxinus?" Snape asked calmly.

"I've already been looking into that," I said, ticking things off on my fingers. "Madam Pomfrey has talked to me about the most common potions she uses – Dreamless Sleep, Pepper-up, things like that – and I was thinking that if I could tweak them and make them a little easier I could get away with selling them a bit cheaper than most other companies do while still making a profit. Basic healing and cleaning potions are the ones most commonly bought by the average witch or wizard on the street, so they'd be the best place to start.

"So, sir?" I asked hopefully. "What do you think?"

"Your ambition is staggering," Snape finally said, eyes roving over me. "It has been many years since Slytherin has seen a student who I believe will be as successful as you will. Clearly, you are in the right house." I flushed in pleasure. "Though I admit I am slightly startled by your grasp of economics at your age."

I stared at Snape. "Do you _know_ how often I've had to listen to Uncle Vernon rant about the economy, sir?"

"You know, of course, that all your plans will have to wait until you have achieved an Animagus form?" Snape asked pointedly.

I nodded. "Yes sir. But I have a firm grasp on the reading and I think I can get it down by at least the end of sixth year. That would still give me a year to work and brew here at Hogwarts before leaving school."

"And how will you explain your knowledge of Sine Fraxinus?" Snape pressed.

"The truth – a ghost told me."

"And when people connect the potion to the first task?"

"By the time the tournament has been over for a year or two, even if I win, people will have forgotten anything about how I faced the dragon beyond the fact that I 'tamed' it," I said with a snort. "Half my classmates don't even know I took a potion. Beyond that, even if pressed, who would believe that I got my information from a snake and some house elves?"

"I resent that."

Silas made an appearance from a small hole at the base of a wall, squeezing out and into the lab. I smiled at him and hissed a greeting. "It's true," I explained. "I'm not saying it's fair but it is true."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You are serious about this, aren't you?" I nodded. "Very well. Should you need any advice, my door will be open."

I grinned at Snape brightly. "Thanks sir. You're the best."

"Hardly."

* * *

 _Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

Sirius's words rang in my head as I hustled down the stairs to Potions class. I would like to believe he wasn't dumb enough to come to this close to Hogwarts, especially with all of the added Ministry presence from the tournament, but I didn't. His Animagus form was a brilliant disguise though, and I trusted that he was at least cautious enough not to go out in public in human form. That was compounded by the request for food – he couldn't be scavenging much as a dog.

The class was already filing into the classroom as I made my interest, sliding into the press next to Lily.

"There you are!" she hissed. "You vanished after breakfast."

"Library," I said with a shrug, which was the truth.

"Good thing you left when you did," Tracey said. "Right after the mail arrived. Who was that letter from anyway?"

"No one, just a note," I replied absently, before her words set in. "Wait, why is it good that I left?"

Lily and Tracey shared uncertain looks, pausing as they pulled out ingredients to brew their Wit-Sharpening potions. I looked between the pair of them suspiciously.

"What's going on?" I said sharply. "What'd I miss?"

"Show her," Nott said grimly as he lit a fire under his own cauldron. "Better she find out before Pansy chucks the magazine at her like she did to Granger."

"Magazine," I repeated blankly, but Lily answered the question for me when she dug out the most recent copy of _Witch Weekly_. She passed it over nervously. I raised an eyebrow at the curly-haired witch on the cover pointing her wand at some sponge cake.

"I don't need new recipes," I said slowly.

Lily shook her head. "Page twenty-two," she advised. I flipped open the magazine and found page twenty-two, rearing back in horror at the sight of a full-color photo of Harry looking upset.

 _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache_

 _A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss._

 _Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."_

 _However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest._

" _She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."_

 _Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate._

"That bitch," I snarled. "When will she lay off Harry?"

"Harry?" Lily said blankly. She peered around at the article and winced. "Oh, no. You're on the next page."

"There's more?" I winced, turning the page. I gaped at two pictures of myself at the top, one in either side of a broken heart outline. One was of Iliya embracing me after we got out of the lake, the pair of us wrapped in our towels. The next was of me in Hogsmeade. The photo had been taken through the window, but you could clearly see Malfoy reaching around me to pay for my chocolate and the surprise on my face as I turned to look at him.

"Oh dear god," I muttered and started reading.

 _Lorena Potter's Love Triangle_

 _Readers of the Daily Prophet will remember the article detailing an altercation between Lorena Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Iliya Dimitrov at the Yule Ball. Lorena Potter, an illegal entrant to the Triwizard Tournament, was seen dancing with the Malfoy heir before slapping him only minutes later and storming off with her date of the evening Dimitrov, close friend to famed Quidditch player Viktor Krum._

 _At the time there was speculation that young Mister Malfoy had revealed feelings to Miss Potter and been soundly rejected. However, new evidence has come to light, writes Rita Skeeter. While Dimitrov was taken to the bottom of the lake as 'the thing Miss Potter would sorely miss,' she was seen scant weeks before in Hogsmeade with Mr. Malfoy._

 _One can only speculate as to Mister Malfoy's motivations in pursuing Miss Potter after her rejection at the Yule Ball. However, some of her fellow students have their own opinions. Pansy Parkinson, a fellow Slytherin and betrothed to Mr. Malfoy, had this to say: "Potter's always trying to climb the social ladder. I think it's because she's so jealous of her brother. But she's completely crazy. She threatened me with physical harm in the hallway, told me to stay away from Draco and that she'd hurt me if I didn't. But I don't care, because Draco and I are destined to be together!"_

 _Miss Potter has made quite a name for herself as a Parselmouth and possible rising Dark witch. Now, perhaps, a gold digger as well? (For details read 'Triwizard Champions Selected' a Daily Prophet article by Rita Skeeter.) Is Lorena Potter genuinely caught between two boys? Or is she taking advantage of the feelings of young Draco Malfoy for the sake of his money? Only time will tell._

"Merlin," I groaned aloud. "How many times is she going to misuse Parseltongue?"

Lily gaped at me as I tossed the magazine back to her and began brewing my potion. " _ **That's** _ what you got out of that?" she demanded incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"It's not like any of it's true," I said with a shrug. "You lot know I've got my own money and the day I start dating Malfoy is the day hell freezes over. That's not even what we were talking about at the Yule Ball. Confessing his feelings? Hardly. "

Tracey shook her head. "I dunno," she said skeptically, shooting a glance at Malfoy who was bent over his own potion, Zabini working calmly beside him. Now I noticed that Parkinson looked a little upset as opposed to triumphant like I'd have assumed she would. I was gratified to see her looking mildly disheveled as she shot me a glare.

"What's got Parkinson's wand in a knot?" I asked carelessly, tossing a sprig of dried sage in with my scarab beetles and picking up my pestle. I began grinding them into a fine powder. "Has she finally figured out no one likes her?"

"Sort of," Tracey allowed. "You should have seen Malfoy after he read the article, he was furious. She tried to cheer him up-"

"Draped herself off of him and shoved her breasts in his face?" I guessed.

Lily snickered. "Pretty much. But you know normally Malfoy eats up the attention… he just shoved her off and stormed out of the Great Hall."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well I mean, he had Parkinson leeched onto him, I'd toss her off and sprint for the hills too."

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger..." I looked around and found Snape looming behind Ron, Hermione, and Harry, who were all turned around and staring up at him in horror, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry glanced over at us Slytherins. I saw Malfoy flash a POTTER STINKS badge across the dungeon and rolled my eyes as Harry's narrowed. Malfoy looked a little cheerier than he had a moment ago.

"Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of _Witch Weekly_. "A further ten points from Gryffindor... oh but of course..." Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..."

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. Harry looked furious as Snape started to read.

"'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache... dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'"

Snape paused at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.

"'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching," sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. "Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Snape trailed after Harry as my brother furiously packed away his materials and stormed to the front of the class. I watched him go, not feeling anything but relief that Snape hadn't found the article about me and Malfoy. God only knew what would have happened if he'd decided to read that aloud.

I watched carefully as Snape bent over, hissing angrily at Harry, who was cutting up his ginger roots and feigning deafness. Something got him though, because his head snapped up and he said something in reply. Snape reached into his pocket and held out a bottle of something clear. There were very few clear potions. The most likely option – unless it was some kind of poison – was Veritaserum.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. We watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. I debated scattering some crushed beetles on the floor – the little grains would take ages to get up – but I respected Snape more than any other teacher. If Karkaroff had barged in for a word with McGonagall I definitely would have stayed behind. As it was, I cleared my things away at the end of class and left with everyone else.

"Feelings for Potter? Please! Why would I feel anything but disdain for filth like her?"

I paused just outside the classroom door. Malfoy lingered near a flickering torch, the rest of the Slytherin boys gathered around him along with Pansy, Bulstrode, and Daphne.

"I mean, she's such a know-it-all, always closeted away in the library like some nun! And three guesses why – no one wants to be around her! If they don't hate her for her personality then her face will definitely do the rest of the job!"

Parkinson howled with laughter, pressing hopefully against Malfoy as Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle chuckled dumbly. I was a bit relieved to see that Daphne only gave a light ha of laughter and Nott and Zabini contented themselves with politely amused smiles.

Surprisingly, that hurt. Maybe it was because last time I'd said two words to Malfoy we'd actually gotten along. He'd been... nice, even. And now he was turning around and saying things like that about me? I felt the anger in my stomach stir, beginning to creep through my veins as I watched the torchlight flicker on strands of platinum hair. It was almost hypnotic.

"Come on, let's go," Lily hissed, grabbing my hand and trying to tug me away. I ripped my hand free and before I even thought about it I was speaking.

"In my defense, I can't help how my face looks," I said coldly, projecting my voice over to the group. I was able to watch as Malfoy's face drained of color, whipping around to see me still standing in the door to the classroom.

"Gold digger!" Parkinson screeched at me from Malfoy's side, curling her arms around his and nuzzling her face against his shoulder.

"Potter," Malfoy said slowly. I didn't blame him for being wary. Somehow my wand had made it into my hand. I raised it without thinking, the tip pointed at the howling Parkinson. For a random, wild moment, I wondered dizzily what she would look like howling with pain instead of laughter. The spell was on my lips, nearly breaking free before I forced it down.

" _Furnunculus!"_

Pansy howled as boils loomed on her face, thick and painful and oozing pus. She curled back against the wall, hands fluttering uselessly in front of her face. A boil on the tip of her nose burst and she whimpered.

"Potter," Malfoy said hastily, raising his hands. "I didn't mean-"

I didn't care what he meant. "Why did I think even for a moment that you were anything but a pretentious, self-centered asshole?" I said quietly. I flicked my wand once more and watched as the bogeys in his nose turned into big, black bats and flew around and battered his face with their wings.

Turning on my heel, I stormed away.

* * *

At half-past one, I made my way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village. The winding lane was leading me out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger. I saw a few growing magical herbs and plants. I were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then I turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood there, Harry holding a bag. Next to them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth.

"Hello, Sirius," I said, smiling fondly at my godfather. I ruffled the fur on top of his head fondly.

Sirius and I had gotten off to a very rough start. That night in the Shrieking Shack had included me screaming and cursing him and at one point physically attacking him. But correspondence and some time to process everything I'd learned that night had mellowed my feelings about him. We got on well now – at times, I even got along with him better than Harry, mostly because Sirius wasn't afraid to occasionally take the low road.

"Harry," I said, greeting him with a smile and a one-armed hug, my other arm supporting a heavy basket. He returned the hug, smiling genuinely. I felt a bit like I was going through the motions as I nodded to Hermione and ignored Ron, who was scowling at me. I don't think he'd forgiven me for the incident at the Slytherin table yet – but then again, what was he expecting to happen, coming over there like he had?

Sirius barked a greeted and nosed at the basket over my arm. I smiled. I'd hit up the kitchens earlier that morning with Silas. He'd gotten an egg from Hilly, who seemed very fond of him – I wondered if she was sneaking him extra eggs, because despite the fact that I'd cut back on his treats he still seemed to be roughly the same size.

I felt a bit bad about lying to the house elves. I told them I was taking a picnic out to Hogsmeade with friends. That wasn't technically a lie – I was going to Hogsmeade with friends, but it wasn't exactly a picnic, per say. Sirius would be eating all the food. I had fresh rolls, leftover bacon, a whole chicken, a couple of cobs of corn in aluminum foil, and several thermoses of pumpkin juice. They'd even given me a couple of wrapped-up cookies.

Sirius turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. We climbed over the stile and followed. Sirius led us to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but we were soon out of breath. We followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour we climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the handles on the basket digging into the crook of my arm.

Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when we reached the place where he had vanished, we saw a narrow fissure in the rock. We squeezed into it and found ourselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of them. I smiled as I approached him and bowed. Buckbeak lowered his head in response.

Grinning, I hurried forward and began scratching the join where his beak met his chin and the spot behind his wings.

"Hello, gorgeous," I whispered to the hippogriff. "How are you?"

Buckbeak gave a low, warbling cry in response. I smiled at that and lowered my head to rest on his warm, feathery neck, reaching up to scratch the top of his head.

"How do you like that? The bird gets a better welcome than I do!"

I turned away from Buckbeak to stare at my godfather, now in human form. Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes, the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin.

"I raided the kitchens for you," I said pointedly, passing over the basket. Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a napkin wrapped around a bundle of food and passed it over, looking a bit sheepish as Sirius went into raptures over the chicken and bacon I'd brought him. I thought he would faint in delight at the sight of cookies.

"Thanks," said Sirius hoarsely, cramming a cookie in his mouth sitting down on the cave floor. He chewed and swallowed before reaching for a drumstick from Harry's package and tearing into it. "Do you know how long it's been since I had something sweet? I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade - I'd draw attention to myself."

He grinned up at Harry and I, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly.

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" he said.

"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray."

He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry's face, said more seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter... well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing papers and magazines every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."

He nodded at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Harry, however, continued to stare at Sirius.

"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"

"You're forgetting it's not common knowledge that he's an Animagus," I reminded Harry. "So long as he stays a dog most of the time he shouldn't have any problems. You are staying in your Animagus form, aren't you?" I asked my godfather sternly as he grabbed another drumstick.

Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. I leaned over his shoulder to look at them. There were two: The first bore the headline _Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch_ , the second, _Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved._

I scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out: hasn't been seen in public since November… house appears deserted... St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment... Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness...

"They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here..."

"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informed Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."

"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," said Harry slowly, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet..."

"I expect part of that was outright shock," I reasoned. "Imagine his surprise when the Goblet of Fire pops out a fourth piece of paper. You saw Dumbledore – he was outright cowering. The only one who took it even remotely well was Bagman, and I think he just likes the unexpected."

"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, pacing. "What's he like?"

"He's okay," said Harry. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."

"Does he, now?" said Sirius, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?"

"Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry.

"Hmm," said Sirius, looking thoughtful.

"He was very concerned that you were late to the second task," I recalled, then remembered him running around making bets at the World Cup. "You don't suppose it's because he's put money on you?"

"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry and Ron.

"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" said Ron. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."

"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"

"Come off it," said Ron incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"

"Well Harry did say he saw a man standing there, but he couldn't see any features," Hermione said stiffly. "It _could_ have been Bagman."

Ron opened his mouth to keep arguing but all he got out was, "I'd rather believe it was Crouch-" before Sirius held up a hand to silence him. Sirius shook his head and ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard.

"All these absences of Barty Crouch's... He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that... It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."

"D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry.

Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when I first met him, the night when I still believed Sirius to be a murderer. I was reminded of how hard Sirius had been living and how long he'd been locked away with the dementors. I could barely stand to be around them for a minute, I couldn't even imagine being around them for _years.  
_  
"Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."

"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.

"You're kidding!" said Harry. I remained silent, clenching my hand into a fist. Well, that settled it. If I ever saw Crouch at the tournament again, I was sending a Stinging Jinx straight at his arse.

"No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken from my basket. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?" We shook our heads. "He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," said Sirius. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side... well, you wouldn't understand... you're too young..."

"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?"

A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face.

"All right, I'll try you..." He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't. You know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing... the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere... panic... confusion... that's how it used to be.

"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side.

"He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened..." Sirius smiled grimly.

"Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's _son_ was caught?" gasped Hermione.

"Yep," said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread Harry had brought, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while... gotten to know his own son."

He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.

"Was his son a Death Eater?" said Harry.

"No idea," shrugged Sirius, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.

Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.

"Of course not," I said grimly. "He couldn't not if he wanted to keep his reputation. He was at the pinnacle of his success and having his son found with Death Eaters was a serious blow to that success. Crouch himself defending him? It would have brought everything crashing down around his ears. Crouch's best option was to be as harsh with his son – maybe even harsher – as he was with everyone else."

"That's not a 'best option!'" Ron snapped. "That's a terrible option! Who thinks like that?"

I raised an eyebrow at Ron. "Slytherins do. Many Ravenclaws do. Politicians and officials do. _I_ do." Harry cast me a nervous look, like he was worried I'd toss him to the dementors given the chance – he didn't need to worry, if one of us went to Azkaban it would probably be me.

Sirius nodded at me approvingly. "You've got the measure of him, Lorena. Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban."

"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly.

"That's right," said Sirius, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..."

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them. I knew that look. It was the look a person got when they looked deep into the darkest parts of their memory, when they became lost in the muck and the mire of their past.

"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry asked, breaking the spell.

"No," said Sirius dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."

"He died?"

"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress - I watched them do it."

Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up one of my flasks of pumpkin juice and drained it.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic... next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry told Sirius. I sneered and noticed Sirius look at me sideways.

"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."

"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.

"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius.

"Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head. I glared at Ron.

"If Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."

"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry, but Hermione broke in.

"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -"

"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -"

"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?"

"I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out-"

"You dunno," I said mockingly, making myself sound slow and thick. "Then maybe you should keep your mouth shut. Snape's a bastard but he's not evil."

"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly. Ron and I stopped bickering to listen.

"I think they've both got a point," said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at us. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. I scowled. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."

Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.

"Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron.

"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" said Harry quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."

He showed Snape something on his arm?" said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about... but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers..."

Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration.

"There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."

"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron stubbornly.

"Maybe because Crouch is obsessed and Moody's a paranoid bastard?" I suggested saccharinely.

"Well," said Sirius slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though... he's a different matter... is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not... what's he up to? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?"

Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron.

"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."

"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry.

"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic... maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long..."

Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.

"What's the time?"

"It's half past three," said Hermione.

"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He looked particularly hard at Harry and I. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."

"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows," Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him.

"I don't care... I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?" He glanced sideways at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Do you lot mind waiting outside for a second? I want a word with Lorena."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised, and by the looks on their faces, so were the others. Harry shot me a curious look and Ron looked a bit put out and being left out of the loop. Hermione glanced at me sideways and hustled the boys out. I nodded at her thankfully before turning back to Sirius.

"What's this about?" I asked.

"What's your problem with Moody?" Sirius asked slowly. "I saw the look on your face earlier. What'd he do to piss you off so much?"

"He tried to touch my scar," I said shortly. "First class he starts rambling about Unforgiveables and then other dark curses. Brings up the Reminder and asks me if I know what it does." I scoffed, my fingers reaching up to trace the thin line on my cheek. "I did. He got real close to me and tried to touch it."

Sirius frowned. "That is a little odd. You'd think Moody would have come across it before. Then again, Moody's a little odd," he allowed. "How are your private projects coming along?" he asked hopefully. "Any progress?"

I drew my wand and cast "Expecto Patronum!" The bird-shaped blur of silver shot from the end of my wand. It had gained a bit of definition around the tip of the beak and the claws thanks to some practice, but it still wasn't truly corporeal.

"You're getting closer!" Sirius said encouragingly. "What shape is that anyway, d'you know?" he asked, reaching up to trail a hand through some of the silver streams floating off the wings.

I bit my lip. "Er, same as my Animagus form?"

"Huh?" Sirius gaped at me. "You _already transformed?_ " he asked in disbelief.

"No!" I laughed. "But McGonagall's got this mirror that shows what your form is and how likely you are to achieve it. Some really old thing covered in runes," I explained. "It showed me. It was almost perfectly clear."

"What is it?" Sirius asked eagerly. "Some kind of bird? I could see you as a falcon or something… maybe a crow…"

I scowled at the last one. "Thanks. It's a… well, it's a phoenix actually," I said, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. Sirius's head snapped away from the Patronus to stare at me.

"Lorena," he said hoarsely. "Magical forms are really rare… and a phoenix… Do you have any idea why?" he asked me curiously.

I shook my head, smiling bitterly as I crossed my arms under my chest, ending the Patronus. The silvery light winked out of existence, casting the cave in darkness. "I don't. I can't imagine myself as anything that good."

Sirius stepped forward, a sympathetic expression on his face as he clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You're not nearly as bad as you think, Lorena," he assured me. "You try to hide behind this Slytherin mask but I can see that you really do care about other people and you want to be a good person. We all have both light and dark inside of us. What matters is what we choose to act on."

I bit my lip, turning my head away from him slightly. "But what if…" I sucked in a breath, remembering how I'd been tempted to use a Crucio on Parkinson instead of just giving her boils. "What if the darkness is too tempting?"

Sirius looked at me sadly. "Then you fight it. Some people have to spend their whole life fighting against themselves to become the people they want to be. Look at Remus – he has to fight every day to be accepted. Look at me," he said bitterly. "My family were pureblood fanatics – by all rights me and your dad should never have been friends. I should have been a Slytherin, buddying up with Snape." He made a face. I laughed weakly.

He reached up to pat my cheek. I wrinkled my nose unconsciously and Sirius winced. "Yeah, it's been a while since I had a chance to clean up."

I pulled out my wand and hit him with a couple of Scourgifys but they didn't do much. They got rid of the dirt, but Sirius had still been wearing the same ragged robes for over a year and his hair was still a wreck.

"It's something," I said helpfully. Sirius chuckled and nodded, urging me towards the opening of the cave. We came out together, the others looking at me curiously.

"I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," said Sirius, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transformed into the great black dog before we left the mountain, and we walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of us to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. We made their way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts.

"What did Sirius want to talk about?" Harry asked the moment Sirius was gone. I shook my head.

"Just some stuff I'd written him about earlier."

"Stuff," Harry said dubiously. "What kind of stuff?"

"A project I've been working on," I replied calmly. I couldn't exactly figure out why I didn't want Harry to know I was working on the Patronus Charm and becoming an Animagus. Maybe it was because I didn't want him to react the same way Hermione did when she found out about the Patronus thing. Maybe it was because I was worried he'd think I was trying to show him up or something by becoming an Animagus like our dad.

"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as we walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care... It'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."

"Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," said Hermione severely.

"I don't know," said Ron skeptically. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career... Percy's really ambitious, you know..."

We walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward us from the Great Hall.

"Poor old Snuffles," said Ron, breathing deeply. "He must really like you Potters... Imagine having to live off rats."


	39. Fan Mail

The mail started up in the beginning of May. It wasn't just for me, it was also for Hermione. The first time it happened, everyone stared in disbelief as no fewer than five owls arrived for each of us.

I stared at the owls circling my plate, the lot of them shuffling around and trying to offer me their letters first. I didn't recognize any of the owls or any of the handwriting on the letters. In fact, one was the bright red of a Howler. I scowled at it.

There was one good point to having Moody as a teacher – paranoia was his stock-in-trade. Before Christmas, the season of packages and presents, he'd run us through a whole unit on detecting spells and traps in mail and boxes as well as curses on other objects. It was annoying, having to worry he'd swapped your quill with a hexed one in the middle of class when you turned around to chat with your friends, but it was useful.

I flicked my wand and cast a detection spell on the letters. They would glow red if they were enchanted, green if they were hexed, and black if they were cursed. None of them glowed red except for the Howler, which wasn't a surprise considering what it was.

I gathered up the letters and set the owls off with a bit of bacon each.

"What is this?" Iliya asked, leaning over from his conversation with Krum. He examined the letters suspiciously. "You're going to open them?"

"I checked, they're not trapped," I said with a shrug, reaching for the first letter.

"Mind if I open one?" Lily asked. I nodded to her and she snatched up one in a violently pink envelope, slitting it open with her wand as I did the same. Tracey grabbed an envelope to open as well as I opened the letter.

 _You are an absolute disgrace! Leading on those two nice boys like you are! You should be absolutely ashamed of yourself! I'd tell you to pick one but you don't deserve either. I remember when girls your age were ladies, now they sleep around and toy with the affections of poor, innocent boys. Go boil your head._

I stared in disbelief. This… was about that bloody _Witch Weekly_ article?

"It's hate mail!" Lily exclaimed in disbelief. "'You're dragging the Potter name through the mud, you gold digging little…" She blinked. "Well that's rude."

"This one's the same!" Tracey exclaimed, scanning through. "'Leading those poor boys on… Go jump off the Astronomy Tower…'" She scowled and read out. "She says she expects this from Slytherins."

"This bat wants me to go boil my head," I said, holding up the letter.

Iliya winced. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to bring you this trouble…"

I shook my head. "It's not your fault," I comforted him. "I pissed off Rita Skeeter – this is probably exactly what she hoped for. To be honest…" I glanced down at the letter in my hand and smirked. "It's kind of funny. They've got nothing better to do that call me a gold digging… what was it Lily?"

"Gold digging slut of a Mudblood," Lily said with a wince. I nodded.

"Yeah, that. It's not even a very creative insult," I critiqued as I picked up the fourth envelope and slit it open. I pulled it out, grinning as I scanned through it and offering it to Iliya. "See, this one's better! She says I have 'all the shape of a broom and all the appeal of a flobberworm.' That's nice and personal."

Iliya stared at me in disbelief before his face broke into a grin. He chuckled, passing the letter back. "You're taking this well."

I shrugged. "I'm a Slytherin. We hate people for sport."

"This is part of beink a celebrity," Krum put in. "It vill die down," he assured me.

"Something more interesting will happen," I agreed, standing up in my seat and cupping my hands around my mouth. "Oi, Granger!" I bellowed across the hall. I saw Hermione look up at me and Harry and Ron whip around. Hermione looked torn between hurt and annoyance.

"They tell you to go leap off the Astronomy Tower? I was thinking of heading up later, want to go together?" I asked loudly. I reached down and snatched up a letter. "Or would you rather boil your head? I understand that's an acceptable alternative."

The Great Hall rippled with laughter and Hermione looked a bit more cheerful. She didn't scream back, just ducked her hair and smiled slightly. Harry shot me a thankful look as I sat down.

"Shall we see what the Howler has to say?" I asked brightly, slitting the envelope open. Predictably, the thing floated up, the letter shaping itself into teeth with a ribbon for a tongue.

" _YOU ARE AN UGLY LITTLE GIRL INSIDE AND OUT! I FEEL SORRY FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS TO BE AROUND YOU!"_

The Howler burst into flames and dropped to smolder on the remains of my eggs. I grinned down at it.

"Well, it wasn't the best of the bunch but I give her points for effort," I critiqued. "None of the others bothered with a Howler."

Lily shook her head. "Potter, you're unbelievable," she said fondly. I grinned.

"Thanks! Let's head to Care of Magical Creatures, shall we?" I asked brightly.

Hagrid, who had told us last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for us outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. My heart sank at the sight of the crates - surely not another skrewt hatching? - but when I got near enough to see inside, I found myself looking at a number of flurry black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.

"These're nifflers," said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff... There yeh go, look."

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.

"Go niffler," I muttered under my breath.

"Useful little treasure detectors," said Hagrid happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He pointed at a large patch of freshly turned earth. "I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an get ready ter set 'em loose."

I took off the silver studs I usually wore in my ears just to keep my holes open and tucked them into my pocket. I moved forward with Lily and Tracey and picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in my ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was really quite cuddly.

"They're kind of cute," Daphne admitted reluctantly as her niffler nuzzled into her arm. She petted it uncertainly and seemed bolstered when it didn't attack her.

"Hang on," said Hagrid, looking down into the crate, "there's a spare niffler here...who's missin? Where's Hermione?"

"She had to go to the hospital wing," said Ron.

"We'll explain later," Harry muttered. I glanced at them sideways. Hagrid gave the cue for us to release our nifflers. We chucked them in the direction of the earth and let them get to work. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

I sidled over to them, my own pile of coins held in the sleeve of my robe. I sat down next to Harry and let it spill out into a pile next to me. My niffler popped out of the ground and scrambled over, spitting two Galleons into my pile before diving back into the fray.

"What happened to Hermione?" I asked him quietly. Harry scowled thunderously and Ron looked murderous.

"Someone sent her an envelope full of undiluted Bubotuber pus," he replied darkly. "It got all over her hands."

I winced. The diluted form was used in potions and it still wasn't something you wanted to handle without watching your hands afterwards. Undiluted, it would raise huge, hard, painful pustules that were difficult to get rid of.

"I see," I said softly. "Tell her to use that spell Moody taught us on all of her letters in the future," I advised. Harry nodded and we all watched as our three nifflers popped out of the soil. Harry's dropped him a coin, mine brought two, but Ron's had bulging cheeks and proceeded to spit out five Galleons into his robes.

"Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil.

"Yer mum wouldn' be happy, Ron," said Hagrid, grinning. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now," he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. "I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y'are, Hermione!"

Hermione was walking toward them across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily. I resisted the urge to toss a hex her way. She'd been the one to talk to Skeeter. She was part of the reason the story even ran.

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" said Hagrid. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours."

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize.

()()()()()()()()()

I decided to skip dinner. Instead I grabbed a book from the Library and headed down to the apprentice's lab.

"Back again?" Silas hissed as I entered. "I swear you live here?"

"I have brewing I need to do," I said as I set down my potions kit and flipped the potions book open, setting it on the counter. I'd heard of this potion before and I knew the basics of brewing it but I'd never actually made it before. It was a fifth-year potion anyway, meaning it was a little trickier than what we did in class.

"What are you making?" Silas asked curiously as he slithered a little closer to the fire and coiled himself up near the flames, sighing in contentment.

"Essence of mutlap," I replied. "It's useful for healing cuts and boils. Hermione got a dose of undiluted Bubotuber pus," I explained. "I'm going to take a batch up to her. May also stop by the kitchen for some chocolate," I added thoughtfully as the idea occurred to me. "Chocolate helps with everything."

The murtlap essence wasn't difficult, and I was glad I'd used a full-sized cauldron and brewed a real batch instead of a dose. As often as Harry and I got hurt, and considering I doubted today would be the last day of the letters, it wasn't a bad idea to have some on hand. I bottled it and added it to the ridiculous amounts of Sine Fraxinus I still had held in Stasis bottles – bottles enchanted to keep potions longer before they spoiled. Potions tended to be resilient anyway, and the bottles kept them even longer. They could still go bad though, and spoiled potions were never a good thing. They could become explosive or toxic.

Silas joined me in the kitchen, getting an egg while I wrapped up some chocolate chip cookies in a napkin for Hermione. He slithered back off to the lab while I headed up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower. Everyone should be back from dinner by now.

I ducked into a niche in the wall and pulled out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I said, which was a lie. I was actually doing good for once.

The ink had barely covered the parchment when I arrived at Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady looked down at me smugly.

"The password changed yesterday!" she crowed. "There's no way you know it!"

I glanced down at the map and grinned. I hadn't been sure, but I'd suspected… "Lion's den," I announced, and the Fat Lady reached up, clutching her hair.

"How?" she shrieked in disbelief as she swung open. "How do you always know?" she wailed.

I stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room. As always, I blinked in surprise at the warm colors and the fire flickering merrily in the hearth. The Slytherin fire burned low and green but was just as warm. Considering I was used to the dungeons, Gryffindor Tower was almost obnoxiously bright, although not quite as much as the Hufflepuff Basement.

"What're you doing here?" snapped some little second year. "You don't belong here!"

I rolled my eyes. "Go turn a needle into a matchstick," I said dismissively, turning away. He drew his wand angrily and hurled a basic, rather weak Tickling Hex at me. I whipped around, eyes blazing, as the spell rebounded off of me and hit the second year. He collapsed into helpless giggles.

I'd taken to wearing a Shield charm around me at all times. I'd started it back in second year when the other houses, particularly those who were friends or relatives to those who had been petrified, were convinced I was the Heir of Slytherin. I learned to put up a brilliant Shield charm with a couple after-class tutoring sessions from Snape and maintain it all day.

Considering I was now in open war with Parkinson and half my house, as well as a Triwizard champion, and knowing that someone was trying to kill me, I'd figured it was a good idea to get back into the habit. The past month I didn't go anywhere without a Shield charm firmly in place.

"Shield charm?" Fred guessed as he and George wandered over. I nodded. "You just wearing them around these days?" he asked wryly. Again, I nodded.

"You'll have to get up earlier than that to get our dear Rena," George advised the giggling second year. As a testament to how weak the hex was, it was already wearing off. He glared at me as he stood up.

"Are you here for us?" George asked hopefully.

Fred pouted. "You never come to see us anymore, Rena."

"I've actually come for Granger," I explained, lifting up the bottle of murtlap essence and the napkin full of cookies. "I come bearing goodies."

"Oh, right." George's face darkened at the mention of Hermione. "They're over here, come on."

They guided me over to a corner table where Hermione, Harry, and Ron were working on homework. I smirked slightly when I realized that it was the homework due tomorrow morning for Moody that Harry and Ron were hastily scribbling out. When would they learn not to procrastinate?

"Presenting, Miss Lorena Lily Potter!" George announced grandly. The trio looked up.

"Harry," I greeted my brother, sitting myself down at the table next to Hermione. "Granger. Pass me that candlestick, Ron?"

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked blankly as Ron looked at me sideways but fetched the candlestick. I took it from him, putting out the wick and setting the candle aside.

"And how did you get in?" Hermione asked, startled. "It's forbidden for a student to enter another house's Common Room."

"She's adorable," Fred grinned.

"Let us know if you need any help," George called as he and Fred moved back towards the fire.

"I break into Common Rooms so often it's ridiculous," I said drily as I tapped the candlestick with my wand. I had to focus, but I managed to turn it from a copper candlestick into a plain copper bowl. "Do you know how easy it is? The Hufflepuff password never changes and the Ravenclaws just make you answer a riddle. They're ridiculously insecure," I said with a snort.

"What's that?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose as I unstoppered the bottle of murtlap essence and poured it into the bowl.

"Murtlap essence," I explained promptly. "Good for helping with boils and cuts. Your hands, Granger."

I held out my hand for one of hers.

"Madam Pomfrey didn't mention anything about this," Hermione said, frowning at the blue liquid curiously as she offered me her left hand. I took it and began carefully unwrapping the bandages. "Or did you get it from Professor Snape?"

"Neither," I said, shaking my head. "I skipped dinner to brew it for you."

"Y-You what?" Hermione was visibly startled. "W-Why?"

"Undiluted Bubotuber pus is nasty business," I said, wrinkling my nose as I tossed aside the bandages and revealed Hermione's pustule-covered, scabbed, red hands. They looked wretched, and I knew they had to hurt like hell. "It usually takes weeks to heal and hurts like a banshee. The murtlap essence should help with the pain and give the healing a little boost," I explained as I carefully set Hermione's hand into the bowl. She sighed in relief.

"That feels amazing," she breathed, relaxing a little. I beckoned for her other hand and she eagerly passed it over.

"I'm glad," I said honestly. "I was a bit worried because I've never made it before but it came out alright I think. I've got more bottles of it, too. I'll get them to you tomorrow at breakfast. I'd recommend soaking them every night."

"This was… really nice of you, Lorena," Hermione said slowly as I finished unwrapping her hand and set it in the bowl too. I sat back and crossed my legs, smirking.

"It's been known to happen."

"Thanks Rena," Harry said earnestly. I nodded at him.

"No problem. I figured it would be a good thing to know how to do. It's not like it's difficult, either." I wrinkled my nose. "It's fifth-year magic so I was expecting more of a challenge, to be honest."

"It probably is to normal people," Ron pointed out. "Just because you're some kind of potions prodigy…"

"Do I detect jealousy?" I sang.

"No!" Ron huffed in annoyance. I smirked.

"Yeah right. Hermione, let me see one of your hands," I requested. Hermione lifted her left hand out of the bowl. I carefully rested her palm on mine, tilting it this way and that. The boils and scars were still in place, but it looked a little less red. I nodded in satisfaction and raised my wand.

"The murtlap essence will help heal it and take the sting out," I explained. I gently tapped the back of her head with my wand. "This is a basic numbing spell – it should keep the pain down enough for you to get a decent night's sleep."

"Where'd you learn that?" Hermione asked interestedly. I shrugged in reply.

"I like Mediwizardry," I replied. "I talk to Madam Pomfrey a lot when I'm in there. She recommends books for me to read and I figure the way Harry and I tend to be, the spells in it are a good thing to know."

"That's really good!" Hermione praised. I smiled slightly, unable to repress a small flush of pleasure at the praise.

"Thanks," I replied quietly, and tapped her hand. _"Ferula."_ Bandages unraveled from the tip of my wand and wrapped around Hermione's hand, tying themselves neatly. "Not too tight?" I checked. Hermione shook her head, watching with interest as I repeated the process with her other hand.

"I'll walk you out," Harry said as I stood up. I looked at him, surprised. It wasn't like the portrait hole was hard to find, after all. But I shrugged and let him walk me across the Common Room. Harry paused by the portrait hole, looking at his feet.

"Harry?" I asked uncertainly. I knew something was bothering him.

"I… had no idea you liked Mediwizardry that much," Harry mumbled. I turned around to face him, smiling softly.

"That's fine. I'm not surprised. We're not… really like that anymore, are we?"

Harry shook his head. "Could we be though?" he asked hopefully. "I mean… maybe we won't be like we were when we were six, but we could still… I dunno… be closer."

I sighed. "I miss you Harry," I admitted, watching his green eyes dim as he realized that the answer wasn't a yes. "But we're different people than we used to be, we have other people in our lives. We don't need each other like we used to. And that's… not a bad thing."

It hurt to admit, to watch the pain of my words wash over Harry and make his face fall out of its hopeful look. I turned on my heel to face the portrait hole.

"I'll bring the rest of the potion around tomorrow at breakfast," I said quietly, and left.

()()()()()()()()

The next morning the same thing happened. I had barely returned from Gryffindor table when the owls descended around me. There were more today, eight. I reached out, trying to herd two that were wandering down the table back towards me. They hissed and hopped away to a startled-looking Malfoy.

"Looks like people hate you too," I announced as I checked the envelopes. Again, none of them were cursed, but I was still wary. I used my wand to levitate the first envelope into the air and slit it with my knife.

"I don't know why you read them," Iliya said, eyeing the letters in distaste as my owls took off. "You know they will say horrible things."

"Some of them are kind of funny," I said with a shrug as I carefully nudged the letter out before checking it for a potion or poison on the parchment. It came up clean, so I picked it up and started to read, making a face. "Wow, spelling is not a polite suggestion," I sneered as I tossed it aside.

"How does it feel to be the most hated witch in Britain?" Parkinson smirked.

"Very superior," I replied tauntingly. "Seriously, they can't come up with a decent insult to save their lives. I'd be much better at hating them than they are at hating me."

Lily and Tracey didn't ask this time, they just grabbed a letter and opened them.

"This one wants you to jump off the Astronomy Tower too," Lily relayed. "She also has a polite suggestion for where you can stick your wand."

"Lovely," I chirped, nodding at the envelopes in front of Malfoy. He was staring at them in distaste. "Go ahead and open them, they're not very good."

Malfoy shot me a suspicious sideways glance but nevertheless reached out and picked up one of the letters to open it.

"Ooh, this lady thinks you are disgracing Hogwarts!" Tracey grinned. I raised an eyebrow.

"Really? The whole school? By myself? I'm busier than I thought," I said, shaking my head as I read through the next letter. "Hey, this one has a suggestion for where I can put my wand too!" I waved the paper at Lily, who grinned and snatched it away to look over.

"The handwriting matches!" she laughed. "It's from the same lady! She must really hate you!"

"It's hard being this popular," I said with a melodramatic sigh as I slit open my next letter. "Are the witches of England telling you to leap off the Astronomy Tower, ferret?" I asked. "Please do."

Malfoy sneered. "This is pathetic," he said, tossing his first letter aside and picking up the second. I tried to remember if he had checked them over for spells but couldn't recall seeing hi, pull out his wand. I opened my mouth in warning.

"Malfoy, I wouldn't-"

Too late. He slit the envelope open with his wand and triggered the hex waiting on the paper. It burst out in a flare of sickly green light and a burst of acrid smoke. Malfoy yelled and wrenched back from the paper as sores that oozed green pus began to cover his hands and work their way up his arms.

"Merlin!" Zabini yelped, recoiling in shock.

"Somebody should get him to the Hospital Wing!" Parkinson fretted. "Draco, Draco are you alright?"

Malfoy moaned, trying to pull the sleeves of his robes away from his arms without touching it with the sores on his hands. "Hurts…"

I reached out and prodded the letter with the tip of my wand, frowning when the paper rattled angrily at me. "Hold on," I said slowly. "I think I may actually know what this is."

I aimed my wand at Malfoy, who pulled away from me warily.

"Put your wand away, Potter, you'll make it worse!" Parkinson said furiously.

"Oh, shut up Parkinson," I snapped. "I may actually be able to help your precious albino. Move, Zabini."

Zabini was Malfoy's best friend, but he was eager to get away from the oozing heir. I slid across the bench closer to Malfoy, who was still looking skeptical. I rolled my eyes and snapped my fingers at him expectantly.

"Come on Malfoy, I don't have all day!" I huffed. "I'm pretty sure this is _Plaga laesiones._ Nasty, ancient, spell, people used to put it on messages to their enemies. One touch and boom, you look like a plague victim and get driven out of town by the fearful peasants."

"I don't give a damn what it's called, just get rid of it," Malfoy moaned, pressing his hands towards me. I winced at the smell of infection and rot coming off of the sores and raised my wand.

" _Sanabit laesiones,"_ I whispered, twirling my wand through a complicated glyph. The tip glowed a faint white and I tapped it to Malfoy's hands. Almost immediately, the pus began to retreat and the sores began to close. Malfoy sighed in relief as the pain eased.

I reached out, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it close to my face, looking it over for any signs of pus or open wounds that had escaped the spell. I turned his hand over, combing over his palm carefully.

"You're lucky," I muttered, biting my tongue between my teeth as I grabbed his other hand to go over. "This was a pretty weak spell and you let go of the letter soon enough that you only got it on your hands and forearms." I pulled up his sleeve, checking over his wrist. "If you'd read the whole thing through you could have had the lesions all over."

"Why do you know all this?" Malfoy asked, staring down at me in disbelief. I prodded a dark spot on his wrist before realizing it was just a small scar. I smirked at that. Perfect Malfoy having a blemish, he must be horribly embarrassed.

"I'm a nun, remember," I said coldly as the memory of his words weeks ago washed over me. I should have just let him suffer. Then again, I would have missed a chance to try the counter-curse… And maybe, after seeing Hermione's ruined hands, I was feeling a little bit sympathetic.

I looked up in time to catch Malfoy wincing. "Potter, I shouldn't have-"

"What's going on here?"

Snape loomed over us, having noticed the disturbance and descended from the Head table.

"Malfoy got a cursed letter," I explained, hastily dropping his hand. "Plaga laesiones, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then why does Mr. Malfoy not have any sores on him?"

"I knew the counter curse," I explained with a shrug, sliding back down the table to my own seat and letting Zabini have his back.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "That's a very old spell, Potter."

I shrugged, flushing slightly as my year mates looked at me, their expressions torn between jealousy at Snape's approval or being impressed.

"I like learning about old spells," I replied quietly. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I see. Mr. Malfoy, see Madam Pomfrey to ensure the curse has been fully removed. I will speak to Professor Dumbledore about screening the mail more carefully. Oh, and Miss Potter, you and the other champions are to go to the Quidditch pitch at nine o'clock tonight to meet Mr. Bagman. He will explain the next task to you all."

()()()()()()()()

I came up from the dungeons at the same time Harry descended the stairs and Cedric popped out of the kitchen corridor. By unspoken consent, we all formed a group as we made our way to the doors.

"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" Cedric asked Harry as we walked down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels. She reckons we've got to find treasure."

"That wouldn't be too bad," said Harry.

"I dunno, Accio is apparently too easy," I grumbled, remembering my attempts to summon the egg.

We walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"They're hedges!" said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.

"Hello there!" called a cheery voice.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry, Cedric, and I made our way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. Her attitude toward him had changed completely since he had saved her sister from the lake.

"Well, what d'you think?" said Bagman happily as we climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on our faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then -

"A maze," I sighed, staring glumly at the mess of hedges.

"That's right!" said Bagman. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"We seemply 'ave to get through the maze?" said Fleur curiously.

"There will be obstacles," said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures... then there will be spells that must be broken... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at us Hogwarts champions. "Then Mr. Krum will enter... then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

I knew what kind of creatures Hagrid might provide. He was a man who kept a Cerberus as a pet and named it Fluffy, who tried to raise a dragon in a wooden hut, and who illegally cross-bred dangerous species for a fun night out. Anything he provided would definitely be capable of killing us in at least three different ways. I made a mental note to bone up on Magizoology.

On the other hand, those basilisk robes that I had made would come in handy here. Unless someone aimed for my head or my hands – and I could easily add a hood to the robes and make gloves – they wouldn't be able to get the drop on me inside the maze if any of my competitors decided to duel it out. I smiled smugly to myself. I knew it wouldn't be a bad idea to make those robes.

"Very well... if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..." Bagman said.

Bagman hurried alongside Harry as we began to wend their way out of the growing maze. Harry shot me a long-suffering look as Bagman hopped over a hudge. Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Could I haff a vord?"

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, slightly surprised.

"Vill you valk vith me?"

"Okay," said Harry curiously.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed.

"I'll wait for you. Harry, shall I?"

"No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman," said Harry, suppressing a smile, "I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks."

Again he looked at me with a grin and I smirked back, hustling after the others as he peeled off to walk with Cedric.

"I heard about the letters," he said quietly as we walked towards the castle. "I'm sorry… you don't deserve that, either of you."

I knew he was thinking of me and Hermione. Malfoy deserved every hexed letter he got. "It's not too bad," I replied. "I just test to make sure the letters aren't hexed first. Hermione wasn't so lucky."

"I saw you handing her a potion at breakfast the other day," Cedric recalled. "What was it?"

"Murtlap essence."

"No phoenix tears?" Cedric said wryly. I flushed.

"I'm running low," I admitted guiltily. "And they'd fix her but there are other ways…"

"Her hands are hurting her," Cedric pointed out.

"Not as much!" I protested. "I gave her a spell to numb the pain and the murtlap. She'll be fine."

"But you could completely heal her," Cedric pointed out, raising an eyebrow at me in confusion. "Why don't you?"

I blinked at him dispassionately. "You're forgetting something," I said bluntly. "I'm a Slytherin. Having usable phoenix tears is a rare thing, a privilege most brewers my age don't get. I have my reasons for wanting to keep them instead of using them," I replied cagily.

Cedric shook his head and I knew he didn't agree with me. It was selfish and greedy of me, and not fair to Hermione. I knew all of that. But when I'd considered handing over phoenix tears to her, I couldn't make myself do it. They were too rare and too valuable. The spells and potion would take away most of the pain and Madam Pomfrey would make sure Hermione's hands didn't scar from the boils.

Because Merlin forbid someone else get a scar…

I shook my head and stepped away from Cedric as we entered the castle.

"We Slytherins look out for ourselves first," I said forcefully. Cedric smiled faintly.

"Yeah, they do. That's why I can't figure out why you're a Slytherin."

He headed off down the kitchen corridor, leaving me staring at his back in disbelief.

()()()()()()()()

"This potion is another of Krea's contributions," Snape said as he peered at the notebook open on the counter. I had managed to catch it up to present day with one long weekend spent chained to my quill. It now included all of the potions from our textbooks as well as anything else Snape had us brew in class and a fair number of potions I'd found on my own.

"It's called Stone Skin," I confirmed as I measured out crushed quartz and poured it into my cauldron. I pitched in the three sprigs of dried lavender and grabbed my stirring rod, dragging it through the potion three times clockwise followed by once counter-clockwise.

"A good potion to have on hand," Snape approved.

"Yes," I agreed as I continued the pattern. I looked at him sideways and smirked. "And speaking of… turns out the basilisk skin wasn't so useless after all, eh?"

"It will not protect you from all forms of magic," Snape cautioned. I nodded.

"Oh, I know. After I finish this potion my next step of preparation will be to go to the library and research defensive and offensive spells. I considered trying to enchant the robes to make them more magically-resistant, but by definition that's impossible.

"That's that finished," I said brightly as I pulled out the stirring rod and set it aside. "Now I just leave it set for about an hour."

I wiped the stirring rod on a clean cloth and laid it on the rim of the cauldron. I moved to the box on the bottom shelf of the apprentice's lab and dragged it out with a grunt. From inside I pulled the completed basilisk robes and tossed them onto the counter before dragging out another softer piece of skin and a large bit of satin I'd borrowed from one of Parkinson's emerald green nighties.

I cut out the pattern for the hood on the satin and mirrored it on the skin before laying them both out.

"Where did you get this fabric?" Snape asked, observing the ragged edges of the fabric adorning the floor. I winced.

"The less you know the better, sir."

"Better for whom?"

"Me, of course."

Again I'd sought the help of the house elves to figure out how to attach a hood to my robes. They'd also given me a pattern for gloves that I was particularly excited about. With my hands protected with magic-resistant gloves, a basic Disarming spell or a more advance Finger-Removing jinx wouldn't work except at point-blank range.

I retrieved my green and silver thread and my needle and cast the same spell on them as before, setting them to work sewing the hood and attaching it as I cut out the outline for my gloves. Biting my lip, I considered the merits of the gloves. I decided to make a pair for Snape for next Christmas. Aside from being warm and stylish – not to mention expensive – they would be almost as protective as dragon hide.

"What are your plans for the summer, sir?" I asked casually as I laid out the gloves to be sewn. I only had one needle, I'd have to wait until it was finished on the hood.

Satisfied with my efforts for the time being, I settled down on the empty stool and leaned back against the counter.

"I will most likely read and research, as usual," Snape replied bluntly. "Why the interest Potter?"

"Just making conversation," I said with a shrug. "I bet you're dying to hear about what I'm planning."

"Not particularly," was the rumbling baritone reply. I smirked. "You will, of course, tell me anyway."

"You know me so well, sir. I'm going to hopefully get my job at Amity's back."

"Ah, yes, your blind employer," Snape recalled. "You will continue to work for her?"

I scoffed. "Of course. Amity's great and she pays well. In addition I'll probably also get some catalogs, look into pricing and marketing on commercially-available potions."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You still intend to pursue your plans of starting a business, then?"

I nodded. "It's the best plan I've got for now, so I might as well throw myself into it," I reasoned. "Oh, hood's done."

I retrieved my needle and fitted it with another length of thread, choosing the silver this time just to shake things up. I set the needle to work on the satin-lined gloves, already relishing how wonderful they would feel on my hands.

"Your spell work has come along well," Snape noted. "I was surprised you know how to handle Mr. Malfoy's curse. Madam Pomfrey was in raptures about your counter curse. It was irritating."

I snorted. Sorry me being praised was such a burden for him. "Madam Pomfrey is just glad there's a student that listens to her. She recommended a book to me called _Ancient Magical Curses and their Cures._ It had a whole section on _Plaga laesiones_ in it. I thought it was interesting, so I remembered it."

"I am less surprised that you know what to do and more surprised that you bothered to cast the counter curse, considering it was Mr. Malfoy who had been cursed."

"I'm a softy," I said absently as I stood up to check on my potion. I winced. It was a goopy grey mess, slowly bubbling away with a mud-like consistency. Unfortunately, that's exactly how it was supposed to look.

"Perhaps you are fonder of Mr. Malfoy than that Skeeter woman's articles imply."

I whipped around, ponytail flying behind me, and peered through the smoke at Snape, who was looking unbearably smug, a small smirk on his lips.

"I will make that needle stab you, sir," I growled, gesturing to the needle currently finishing up the first glove. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Potter…" he said warningly.

"Don't imply things like that then if you want me to keep a civil tongue in my head and my breakfast in my stomach," I replied tartly as I walked over to check the glove. I pulled it on and was pleased at the feel of satin inside it. I flexed and fisted my fingers, testing the give. The gloves didn't restrict my motion, which was good.

"These should work," I said happily, tossing the glove onto the robe.

"You will undoubtedly make a statement, arriving at the third task like that," Snape said, observing the glittering scales.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, hopefully I'll strike terror into the hearts of my enemies and all that."

"I've told you before Potter, you're not terrifying. Annoying, yes, occasionally unnerving, but never terrifying."

I drew myself up, offended. "Are you kidding me?" I demanded. "I'm a bloody Slytherin! We come in two settings – terrifying or _really_ terrifying."


	40. In Dreams

I had elected not to skip Divination and lock myself in the library hunting for more spells to learn. I'd already mastered Stunning and found a great little spell that would turn my wand into a whip of all things. I was learning that one just because I couldn't resist, to be honest, but it could also be useful. The Stone Skin was ready and bottled and my basilisk clothes were waiting to be used. With everything going well in my preparations I couldn't exactly justify skiving off.

I was starting to wish I'd just said to hell with it anyway. The dimly lit room was swelteringly hot. The fumes from the perfumed fire were heavier than ever. My head was swimming as I sat down on a pouf in a dark corner, trying to take advantage of the cooling effect of shadows. I saw Harry, looking just as bleary-eyed as me crack the window next to him while Professor Trelawney was looking the other way. I leaned myself back against the corner behind me and let my eyes fall to half-mast.

"My dears," said Professor Trelawney, sitting down in her winged armchair in front of the class and peering around at them all with her strangely enlarged eyes, "we have almost finished our work on planetary divination. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is placed most interestingly at the present time. If you will all look this way, I will dim the lights..."

She waved her wand and the lamps went out. The fire was the only source of light now. Professor Trelawney bent down and lifted, from under her chair, a miniature model of the solar system, contained within a glass dome. It was a beautiful thing, really. Each of the moons glimmered in place around the nine planets and the fiery sun, all of them hanging in thin air beneath the glass. I closed my eyes as Professor Trelawney began to point out the fascinating angle Mars was making to Neptune. The heavily perfumed fumes washed over him, and the coolness of the shadows was pleasant against my sticky, sweaty skin.

Sighing heavily, I felt myself drift off…

 _My boy was standing in the middle of the girl's bathroom on the second floor. Moaning Myrtle didn't seem to be there, I noticed with some amusement. Then again, I didn't like her, so of course she wouldn't be there in one of my dreams._

 _My boy was older than I'd ever seen him. He had to be in fifth or sixth year, with a straight nose, angular face, and those gorgeous grey eyes still in place. His hair was as neatly-parted as ever and his clothes seemed a little nicer. He was devastatingly handsome and I praised my mind for dreaming him up. Now if only he were real and just a year or two younger…_

 _I was sucked into his body once more. I felt the eager lump in his throat as if it were mine as we approached the sinks. My boy stretched out a hand, trailing our fingers over the etching of a snake on the side of one of the faucets. Inside his body, I made a face. This was what I got for working on the robes so much lately…_

 _My boy opened our mouth and hissed, "Open." As usual, I heard the hiss of Parseltongue layered over and nearly obscuring the human words underneath. I watched dispassionately as the sinks ground back and sank out of sight, revealing the opening to the Chamber of Secrets. It was impressive the first time, but now that I knew what was down there, I was a little amused by the melodrama of it._

 _My boy was trembling with excitement as he stepped towards the opening. "Spongify," he said, pointing his wand at the edge of the tunnel. I observed his wand curiously. Unsurprisingly it was made of what looked like yew as well, but with a bone-like hook on the end of the handle._

 _Visibly, nothing happened, but he seemed pleased as he lit his wand and hurled us down the tunnel._

 _I was prepared for the usual rough and painful slide but instead it was rather soft and there actually seemed to be a little give to the tunnel. I cursed myself for never thinking of using the Softening Charm on the tunnel on my trips down it – that was first year magic!_

 _We slid out into the skeleton-strewn antechamber. My boy made a face as he crunched the rib cage of a bat under his shoe and lifted the edge of his robes. I smirked slightly. A little bit prissy, wasn't he?_

" _Intemerata!" he said, pointing his wand at the hem of his robes. He let them drop and I noticed with some curiosity that the skeletons on the floor around where his robes fell seemed pushed away by an invisible force. Was that the Imperturbable charm? Weird, I'd never actually learned the incantation for it… how did my boy know it?_

 _Deciding I'd maybe heard it in passing before and filed it away in my subconscious, I let it go. My boy started walking towards the tunnel, his footsteps hurried and eager as he walked along, his wand illuminated and raised high. I could feel our heart racing and his thoughts echoed in my mind._

 _So close… so close… almost there… almost there…_

 _He rounded a few bends. I noticed that the shed skin of the basilisk was nowhere in sight. Maybe my subconscious had decided to give the Chamber some spring cleaning?_

 _My boy slammed to a stop, gaping in awe at the coiling serpents carved on the wall in front of him. His eyes roamed over the sculpted scales and he looked up at the rubies glimmering from the eye sockets._

" _Beautiful," he whispered, and I had to agree. The Chamber was dark and a bit dank, just like the Slytherin Common Room, but it had the same soothing, cool, moistness to it that I enjoyed about the dungeons. Even a layperson could see that the architecture that went into it was beautiful._

" _Open," he hissed again and the walls ground open. Spread beyond him and arching high into the darkness were columns decorated with carved snakes. I was used to the grandeur of the Chamber, having seen it before. I knew how impressive the columns and the Slytherin statue were._

 _My boy was seeing it for the first time. He walked down the aisle between the columns, peering into the dark water on either side, slanting his wand to cast light deeper into the Chamber, stopping and peering up into the darkness and squinting in an attempt to see the ceiling. He turned this way and that, fascinated by the scenery around him._

 _Our hearts were racing as we approached the statue of Salazar Slytherin. My boy's thoughts turned to a fevered buzzing, emotions and thoughts flickering through his mind so fast I couldn't hold them all. Awe, pride, disbelief, joy, annoyance, anger… and under it all, an undercurrent of bitterness that ran deep and cold._

 _The sound of scales against stole was like the rasp of a file. My boy stiffened, his thoughts calming at once as one word rang in his mind._

 _Basilisk._

" _Intruder," the snake hissed as it slithered up the walkway behind us, occasionally dipping part of its massive body into the water and out with light sloshing sounds. "You do not belong here! You are not worthy! Intruder, you will be my meal!"_

" _Stop!" the boy hissed, the deliciously addictive feeling of power flooding his veins as he straightened our back. "I am not an intruder! This Chamber is my birthright! I am the heir of Slytherin!"_

 _The snake stopped. "You are…" It seemed confused. We trembled as the snake came even closer. It was so close its nose brushed out back as it inhaled deeply, smelling us. It retreated slightly with a hiss, its tongue darting out and stirring out hair. "You are."_

 _It was no longer a question._

 _I snapped out of my boy. I now stood in front of him, watching the wide-eyed manic delight on his face as his lips stretched into an obscene grin. He stared intently but sightlessly ahead of him at the statue of Salazar Slytherin in front of him. He physically shook with the emotions coursing through him, the serpent looming behind him. In my dream, I could look safely into its lamp-like yellow eyes._

" _I am the Heir of Slytherin!" my boy cried rapturously. "I am Tom Riddle! I am Lord Voldemort!"_

"No!" with a cry I snapped awake, looking around me in confusion. I saw several heads turn toward me curiously, but most of the class was focused on a figure curled into a ball by the window, hands clutched to its forehead.

"Harry," I said blankly, staggering to my feet. "Harry!" the reality of the situation clicked into place and I ran across the classroom, leaping over the table Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil shared. I threw myself down next to Harry, watching worriedly as his eyes blinked open. His face was pale and sweaty and his pupils were blown wide.

Ron was kneeling next to me, looking terrified. "You all right?" he asked.

"Of course he isn't!" said Professor Trelawney, looking thoroughly excited. Her great eyes loomed over us, gazing at Harry. "What was it? Potter? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?"

"Nothing," Harry said sharply. He sat up and looked around himself. I reached out, placing my hands on his shoulders. I could feel him shaking.

"You okay?" I asked him worriedly. My heart was racing. From the emotion in my dream, from the ending, from waking up to see Harry curled up on the ground…

"You were clutching your scar!" said Professor Trelawney. "You were rolling on the floor, clutching your scar! Come now. Potter, I have experience in these matters!"

Harry looked up at her. I whipped around to glare at the old bat. I opened my mouth to say something. Harry cut me off, which was probably a good thing considering what I was about to say was liberally peppered with swear words and insults.

"I need to go to the Hospital Wing, I think," he said. "Bad headache."

"My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room!" cried Professor Trelawney. "If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever -"

"I don't want to see anything except a headache cure," said Harry shortly.

"I'm taking him to the Hospital Wing," I said just as shortly.

We stood up. The class backed away. They all looked unnerved.

"See you later," Harry muttered to Ron, and he picked up his bag and headed for the trapdoor, ignoring Professor Trelawney, who was wearing an expression of great frustration, as though she had just been denied a real treat. I grabbed my bag and hurried down the ladder after him.

"What happened?" I asked the moment we were on the ground again. Harry started walking. I didn't question him, just fell in step beside him.

"You remember that dream I had this summer?" Harry asked. I nodded, remembering waking up to find him writing to Sirius. "Well, Sirius told me if I ever had a dream like that to go to Dumbledore. My scar was hurting, really hurting. It felt like my head was going to split open…" He reached up and rubbed his scar, stress and annoyance and fear all coloring his face.

My steps stuttered. Harry had a dream about Voldemort? At the same time I did? Then again, mine was probably just a dream, right? But why would I have it? Voldemort was Harry's thing, not mine. Voldemort had only had contact with me in the fringes of his encounters with Harry. Why would I dream him up? Why would I dream about him repeatedly, as a student and even before Hogwarts?

"That's probably wise," I said faintly as we paused by the statue of a gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. Harry paused, suddenly uncertain.

"Sherbet lemon?" he tried tentatively.

The gargoyle did not move. I stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know the password?"

"You do?" Harry challenged.

I shook my head. "I just figured you would if you were coming here!" I explained.

"Okay," said Harry, staring at the gargoyle, "Pear Drop. Er - Licorice Wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans... oh no, he doesn't like them, does he?"I decided not to question why Harry knew that. "Oh just open, can't you?" he said angrily. "I really need to see him, its urgent!"

The gargoyle remained immovable. Harry kicked it, achieving nothing but an excruciating pain in his big toe.

"Brilliant," I congratulated him, clapping mockingly.

"Chocolate Frog!" he yelled angrily, standing on one leg. "Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!"

The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Harry blinked.

"Cockroach Cluster?" he said, amazed. "I was only joking..."

"Knew the old man was crazy," I said as we hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase. It moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind us, taking us up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker.

I could hear voices from inside the office. We stepped off the moving staircase and Harry hesitated, listening. I paused next to him, leaning a little closer to the door.

"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"

I knew about Barty Crouch from Harry. He'd sent me a note the morning after everything happened out in the Forbidden Forest. We'd discussed it, but I couldn't come up with any explanation for what might have happened to Crouch before or after Harry found him in the Forbidden Forest. I didn't think it was completely ridiculous to think that two Ministry members disappearing so close together being connected though.

"And what do you thinks happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" asked Moody's growling voice.

"I see two possibilities, Alastor," said Fudge. "Either Crouch has finally cracked - more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history - lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere -"

"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," countered Dumbledore calmly.

"Or else - well..." Fudge sounded embarrassed. "Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?"

"I consider her to be a very able headmistress - and an excellent dancer," replied Dumbledore quietly.

"Dumbledore, come!" said Fudge angrily. "Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless - if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got -"

"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still as deadly calm as ever. I had learned a long time ago not to trust someone who was always that calm. "I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius."

"Can we wrap up this discussion?" growled Moody.

"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then," said Fudge impatiently.

"No, it's not that," said Moody, "it's just that the Potters want a word with you, Dumbledore. They're just outside the door."

The door of the office opened.

"Hello, Potters," said Moody. "Come in, then."

We walked inside. Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

"Harry!" said Fudge jovially, moving forward. "Lorena! How are you?"

"Fine," Harry lied. I nodded my agreement.

"We were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds," said Fudge. "It was you who found him, was it not?"

"Yes," said Harry, then added, "I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, well," said Fudge, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, if you'll excuse us... perhaps if you just go back to your class -"

"I wanted to talk to you. Professor," Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look.

"We need to talk to you," I corrected. I didn't know if my dreams meant anything of if they were nothing but the stress of the tournament, but something told me that wasn't it. Something was going on and I needed to know what.

Dumbledore's eyes roved over me as well for a moment. I refused to fidget under his piercing blue gaze. "Wait here for me," he finally said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

They trooped out in silence past him and closed the door. After a minute or so, I heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. He looked around.

"Hello, Fawkes," he said.

Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at us.

"Hello Fawkes," I said with a smile, approaching the bird. I reached out a hand. Fawkes warbled a greeting and allowed me to stroke his wings with the backs of two fingers. I grinned softly at the bird. "You are absolutely gorgeous," I praised him. "You beautiful, magical thing you."

"Rena? Rena look at this?"

I let my hand fall away from Fawkes and turned. saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet whose door had not been closed properly. Harry was creeping towards it. He hesitated, glanced at Fawkes, and pulled open the cabinet door. I couldn't see properly. I moved closer, peering into the cabinet.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that I did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing I had ever seen before. I could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid - or like wind made solid. The closest material I could compare it to was a Patronus – it had the same slightly misty silver-grey look to it.

Harry pulled his wand out of the inside of his robes, cast a nervous look around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, and prodded them.

The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.

"What did you do?" I demanded furiously.

"I dunno, but… look!"

Harry bent closer, his head right inside the cabinet. The silvery substance had become transparent. It looked like glass. I looked down into it expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which he seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit. I thought it might be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Lowering his face so that his nose was a mere inch away from the glassy substance, Harry saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave me an ominous feeling. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it.

I bent closer as well, trying to see better. A couple of the witches and wizards in the stands looked vaguely familiar, like I might have passed them sometime in Diagon Alley. I couldn't quite make out their features though. The surface was clear but there was still distance to consider.

Where was this place? It surely wasn't Hogwarts. I had never seen a room like that here in the castle and I'd explored most of the dungeon areas of the castle over the years.

The crowd seemed to be waiting for something. All of their faces seemed to be pointing in one direction, and none of them were talking to one another. The basin being circular, and the room square, I could not make out what was going on in the corners of it. Harry leaned even closer, tilting his head, trying to see. He shifted his feet, his shoulder nugging mine and jostling me a bit. The tip of my nose touched the strange substance into which I was staring.

Dumbledore's office gave an almighty lurch and I was thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin.

My head did not hit the stone bottom. I was falling through something icy-cold and black. I felt like I was falling through the shadows that loomed in the corners of the dungeons.

Just as suddenly, I found myself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. I looked up at the high, dark stone ceiling. There was nothing to indicate we'd just fallen through it, but that's what I felt like had happened. Forcing myself to stay calm, I looked around and saw Harry doing the same to my right, his expression shocked and confused. Not one of the nearly two hundred witches and wizards in the room were looking at us. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that the Potters had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. Harry turned to the wizard next to him on the bench and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room. I looked around and jolted in surprise.

He was sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor!" Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to - I was just looking at that basin in your cabinet - I - where are we?"

But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored Harry completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.

"He… can't hear you," I said slowly. "None of them can. It's like… we're not really here." It wasn't a guess, it was a fact. To everyone else in the room, we weren't there.

"Do you think…?" Harry said uncertainly. "This is like the time I was in a memory… from Riddle's diary."

I swallowed hard at the mention of memories. "It would explain things if we're in one of Dumbledore's memories."

Harry raised his right hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in from of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at Harry, or indeed move at all. That sealed the deal. No one could remain that completely still and ignorant to someone flapping ah and in their face. Reflexes dictated you had to blink or something.

I shivered as I peered past Dumbledore at the rest of the room. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place. There were no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all, just the tiered rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms.

I heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered - or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.

I paled. If there was one thing that really, truly scared me, it was dementors. They made me listen to Voldemort's voice, cooing words in my ear just as he had when I was a baby. Worse, I could feel warm spots on my body that countered the cold. I'd looked into that – the only thing that countered the natural chill of a dementor's presence was something connected with the memories they forced their victims to relive.

It had been when I was curled up sideways in a chair by the fire one night reading about dementors that I had realized what it was. I felt Voldemort's arms, his hands holding me. The feeling still made me sick. To think that the night my parents died their murderer had picked me up and _held me…_

I shook off the past – metaphorically, at least, if we were really in a memory – and focused on the scene in front of me.

The dementors were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.

I looked down at the man now sitting in the chair and saw that it was Karkaroff.

Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaroff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. The chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, binding him there.

"Igor Karkaroff," said a curt voice to my left. Harry looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside him. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. He was younger too. "You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.

"I have, sir," he said, and although his voice was very scared, I could still here the slyness to it. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I - I know that the Ministry is trying to - to round up the last of the Dark Lords supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can..."

There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced mistrust. Then I heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledores other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, "Filth."

Harry leaned forward so that he could see past Dumbledore. I, in turn, had to lean even farther. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting there - except that there was a very noticeable difference in his appearance. He did not have his magical eye, but two normal ones. Both were looking down upon Karkaroff, and both were narrowed in intense dislike.

"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."

Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose.

"Ah, I was forgetting... you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?" said Moody with a sardonic smile.

"No," said Dumbledore calmly, "I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."

For once I had to agree with Dumbledore. I couldn't think of anyone who deserved dementors except perhaps for Voldemort himself.

"But for filth like this..." Moody said softly.

"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," said Mr. Crouch. "Let us hear them, please."

"You must understand," said Karkaroff hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy... He preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them -"

"Get on with it," sneered Moody.

"-we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - He alone knew exactly who we all were-"

"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in," muttered Moody.

"Yet you say you have some names for us?" said Mr. Crouch.

"I - I do," said Karkaroff breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely-"

"These names are?" said Mr. Crouch sharply.

Karkaroff drew a deep breath. "There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

"And helped him do it," murmured Moody.

"We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after yourself."

"Indeed?" said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. "I - I am delighted to hear it!"

But he didn't look it. I could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless. He now had that much less chance of getting out of Azkaban.

"Any others?" said Crouch coldly.

"Why, yes... there was Rosier," said Karkaroff hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."

"Rosier is dead," said Crouch carelessly. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."

"Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody, indicating the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore.

"No - no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. He was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting.

"Any more?" said Crouch.

"Yes!" said Karkaroff. "There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"

This time, Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together.

"Rookwood?" said Mr. Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. Apparently, she was the stenographer. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"

"The very same," said Karkaroff eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -"

"But Travers and Mulciber we have," said Mr. Crouch firmly. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -"

"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

He was sweating visibly in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard.

"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

I let out a snarl of rage and shouted, "You liar!" My voice echoed around the courtroom, resonating with Crouch's.

"Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch disdainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No!" shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.

"I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

Mad-Eye Moody was wearing a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore's back.

I sat, frozen, my jaw loose. For so many years I had told Harry he was ridiculous for thinking Snape was a Death Eater. And now I realized that he wasn't entirely wrong. Snape was – he had done – he had actually supported the man who took my parents from me, the man who made Harry and I orphans, the man who had tried to kill my brother more than once.

But it came with the condolence that Snape had switched sides. I took some comfort with that. Snape had realized the error of his ways, had come back to the side of good and had even helped to fight. He made a mistake but he tried to atone for it, and that made me respect him even more.

"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime..."

Mr. Crouch's voice faded. The dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke, I could only see my own body and Harry next to me.

And then, the dungeon returned. We were sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr. Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. I noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a younger Rita Skeeter. If I hadn't been noncorporeal, I would have taken the opportunity to leap up and smack her round the face.

Dumbledore was sitting beside us again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter. It was a different memory, a different day, a different trial.

The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.

This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who was clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now. He was tall and lean and muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.

"Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters," said Mr. Crouch. "We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgment?"

I gaped. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater? I'd sooner believe Snape-

My stomach dropped. Oh. Right.

"Only," said Bagman, smiling awkwardly, "well - I know I've been a bit of an idiot -"

One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr. Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike.

"You never spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore from the row behind us. Moody was there again. "If I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain..."

"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters," said Mr. Crouch. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than -"

But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their fists, at Mr. Crouch.

"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad's... never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on... once my Quidditch days are over, you know... I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"

There were titters from the crowd.

"It will be put to the vote," said Mr. Crouch coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands...those in favor of imprisonment..."

Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up.

"Yes?" barked Crouch.

"We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said breathlessly.

Mr. Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to his feet and bowed, beaming.

"Despicable," Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed... The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day indeed for the Ministry..."

The dungeon dissolved again. We were still sitting with Dumbledore beside Mr. Crouch, but the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands.

Crouch looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple. "Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.

The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Harry saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr. Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.

The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch, a thinner and more nervous-looking man whose eyes were darting around the crowd, a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne, and a boy in his late teens who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.

Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -"

"Father," said the boy with the straw-colored hair. Hiw tongue darted out and licked at the side of his mouth. The gesture was unmistakably snake-like. "Father...please..."

"- that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice.

"We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror - Frank Longbottom - and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below, his tongue flashing out again. My eyes widened as I realized I was witnessing the trial of Crouch's son that Sirius had mentioned. As Sirius had said, there was no pity on Crouch's face. His heart was completely unmoved by his son's pleas. "I didn't, I swear it. Father, don't send me back to the dementors -"

"You are further accused," bellowed Mr. Crouch, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury -"

"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr. Crouch, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"

The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats. The woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban, we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Harry could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. His tongue lashed out a third and fourth time like some kind of nervous tick. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle.

"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"

The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"

"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

"I think it is time to return to my office," said a quiet voice.

I jolted and looked around. Albus Dumbledore was sitting on Harry's right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors . Albus Dumbledore also sat on my left, looking right at us.

"Come," said the Dumbledore on my left, and he put his hands under our elbows. We rose into the air, into blackness, as the dungeon dissolved around us again. Suddenly I was flat on my feet in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of him, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside us.

"Professor," Harry gasped, "I know I shouldn't've - I didn't mean - the cabinet door was sort of open and -"

"I quite understand," said Dumbledore. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry and I to sit down opposite him.

We did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze.

"What is it?" Harry asked shakily.

"This? It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

"Er," said Harry, clearly unable to relate. I could though.

"At these times," said Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."

"You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?" Harry said, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me show you."

Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it, but it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin and I saw our faces swimming around the surface of the bowl. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold. Our faces merged and changed smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

"It's coming back... Karkaroff's too... stronger and clearer than ever..."

"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore sighed, "but never mind." He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry, who was gaping at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. "I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Curiosity is not a sin," he said. "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed..."

Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of us. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin. "He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday..."

"But why, Bertha," said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"

"Bertha?" Harry whispered, looking up at her. "Is that - was that Bertha Jorkins?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again. Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. "That was Bertha as I remember her at school."

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."

"Yes," said Harry. "Professor - I was in Divination just now, and - er - I fell asleep."

He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, "Quite understandable. Continue."

"Well, I had a dream," said Harry. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail... you know who Wormtail-"

"I do know," said Dumbledore promptly. "Please continue."

I remained quiet, listening as Harry spoke.

"Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake - there was a snake beside his chair. He said - he said he'd be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail - and my scar hurt," Harry said. "It woke me up, it hurt so badly."

Dumbledore merely looked at him.

"Er - that's all," said Harry.

"I see," said Dumbledore quietly. "I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"

"No, I - how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" said Harry, astonished.

"You are not Sirius's only correspondent," said Dumbledore with a tiny tilt to his mouth. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay."

Dumbledore got up and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that I couldn't make out anything clearly. It was merely a blur of color.

"Professor?" Harry said quietly, after a couple of minutes.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry.

"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.

"D'you - d'you know why my scar's hurting me?"

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that... It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"But... why?"

"Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."

"So you think... that dream... did it really happen?"

"It is possible," allowed Dumbledore. "I would say - _probable._ Harry - did you see Voldemort?"

"No," admitted Harry. "Just the back of his chair. But - there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he?"

"But then how could he have held the wand?" I said slowly.

"How indeed?" muttered Dumbledore. "How indeed..."

None of us spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

"Professor," Harry said at last, "do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pensieve. "Once again. Harry, I can only give you my suspicions."

Dumbledore sighed. "The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared... within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry.

"These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees - as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office."

Harry nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Harry felt as though he ought to go, but his curiosity held him in his chair.

"Professor?" he said again.

"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore.

"Er... could I ask you about... that court thing we were in... in the Pensieve?"

"You could," said Dumbledore heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others... particularly now..."

"You know - you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well... were they talking about Neville's parents?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look. "Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?" he asked. Harry shook his head. "Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," explained Dumbledore. "His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard."

"So they're dead?" asked Harry quietly.

"No," corrected Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness I wouldn't have expected from him. "They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

I was horror-struck. Not remembering my parents was bad enough, but then not remembering me… I couldn't even imagine the kind of pain that must cause.

"The Longbottoms were very popular," continued Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was - given their condition - none too reliable."

"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" reasoned Harry.

Dumbledore shook his head. "As to that, I have no idea."

"Er," Harry said, "Mr. Bagman..."

"...has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Right," said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts. "And...er..."

But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him.

Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.

"No more has Professor Snape," he said.

Harry looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Harry it was time to go. He stood up, and so did Dumbledore.

"Rena?" Harry questioned me.

"I said we needed to speak to you headmaster," I said softly. "You see… I've been having dreams too."

Harry looked at me. "You never mentioned… you never said…"

"I only just realized what I was dreaming of," I explained. Dumbledore sat down sharply, bidding me with his eyes to explain. I took a deep breath and began. I explained the vision I'd seen of the boys tormenting a young Voldemort, then the scene where he jealously observed someone who I realized now was probably Malfoy's grandfather. Finally, I finished with the scene in the Chamber of Secrets.

"In understand Harry having a connection to Voldemort, but why would I be dreaming these things?" I asked, desperation leaking into my voice. "Why am I dreaming about his childhood?"

Dumbledore stared at me like he'd never quite seen me before. Once more he raised his wand and pulled out a memory, dropping it into the Penseive. My face swirled there and the words I'd just related echoed slightly.

"I still have no more than suspicions…" Dumbledore said for a third time.

"I'll take them," I replied shortly.

"It's possible you are more connected to Voldemort than any of us perceived," Dumbledore allowed. "Perhaps not so closely as you brother, but not so loosely as one might think. Beyond that, I can say nothing more."

I stared at the headmaster darkly. "I'm connected to Voldemort? No kidding!"

"Rena!" Harry hissed. I rolled my eyes.

"That's seriously all you can give me sir?" I demanded. "I'm… I'm having dreams about the man who murdered my parents… I'm watching him grow up, and d'you know the worst part? I liked him! I felt bad for him, I felt sorry for him… I was even worried about him! Do you have any idea what that's like?"

"More than you might think," Dumbledore said softly, stopping my tirade. "I understand how upsetting this is but I really can't offer you anything more, Miss Potter. If you'll excuse me, you have both given me much to think about."

Dumbledore stood once more and this time I knew that we were done here. He was dismissing us.

"Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry.

"And… good luck with the third task."


	41. Third Task

**Haha! So here we have the Third task and next chapter is the graveyard. Because these two go together I decided they were going to get posted together. That eman you get the Third Task today and the graveyard tomorrow. I hope you all like it because the graveyard gave me fits trying to figure out how Voldemort and Lorena would interact.  
**

* * *

 _HARRY POTTER: DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS_

 _The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behavior, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School._

 _Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.  
It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potters brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion._

" _He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention."_

 _The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public._

" _Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power."_

 _Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence."_

 _Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts his sister favors in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening._

"She looks really angry," Lily said slowly.

"Someone's gonna pay." Tracey nodded knowingly.

Down the table, I could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle clutching their foreheads and pulling faces. _That rat bastard… And after I fixed his hand too!_

"After the third task," I said grimly, folding up the newspaper and rolling it into a tight tube, resisting the urge to go over and beat Malfoy around the head with said tube. "After, he dies."

"At least she didn't write anything about you, eh?" Iliya pointed out. I nodded. That was something, at least. I didn't have my own smear article, just a vague mention at the bottom of Harry's.

"Ugh, come on," Lily grimaced, standing up. "We've got a History of Magic exam to take."

"I don't wanna," Tracey whined, slumping down in her seat. Ruthless, Lily grabbed her under the shoulders and heaved her backwards, forcing her to stand up or get dropped on the floor of the Great Hall. Glaring, Tracey picked herself up and said, "Sometimes I don't like you."

Lily shrugged. "That's fair. Come one, Potter. You may not have to take the quiz but you have to sit and suffer in silence like the rest of us."

We champions didn't have to take the final exams, which I was grateful for. I didn't think I'd have gotten half as much done these last few days if I had been worrying about exams as well as the third task. I would have been cramming for exams instead of tucked away in the Library looking for new spells to learn for the third task.

As Lily and Tracey walked away, I pulled out the spell book I was currently reading through and propped it up against the gravy boat, scanning the pages as I nibbled absently on a bit of bacon.

" _The Reductor Curse (incantation: reducto) is a curse which will blast solid objects to pieces. W_ _ith this powerful curse, skilled wizards can easily reduce obstacles to pieces. For obvious reasons great care must be exercised when learning and practicing this spell, lest you find yourself sweeping up in detention for it is all too easy to bring your classroom ceiling crashing down, or to reduce your teacher's desk to a fine mist."_

I bit my lip and filed that away in my brain as I examined the diagram of the wand movement on the facing page. I pulled my wand out of my sleeve and fiddled with it, mirroring the movements until I felt comfortable enough that I could remember.

"Potter."

I whipped around and found Snape standing behind me. His eyes flicked from me to the book I was reading and he nodded approvingly. I grinned.

"You and Mr. Krum as well as the other champions are to congregate in the antechamber after breakfast," Snape ordered.

"But the task is not until tonight," Krum rumbled, surprise in his voice. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I'm well aware of that. However, the champions are allowed to visit with their families before the third task begins. A reward for making it this far, as it were. Or… a final goodbye," Snape added with a smirk before swirling away.

"Go and see your families," Iliya urged Krum and I. "It must have been a while."

"There's no way in hell my family is here," I said shortly, but curiosity made me stand up and move towards the door with Krum. I saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. I glanced over and saw Harry still sitting at the Gryffindor table, looking morose and confused as he stared back. I gestured for him to come. He abandoned his eggs and started over.

"You don't think they actually came, do you?" Harry asked.

"No," I snorted. "'Course not. But Snape and McGonagall wouldn't have sent us over if no one was in there for us," I reasoned.

We stepped through the door and looked around. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back, grinning. Then we both saw Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at us.

"Surprise!" Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as we smiled broadly. "Thought we'd come and watch you. Harry!" She bent down and kissed us both on the cheek.

"You all right?" said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. "Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail. And he'd never seen anything like what you pulled with that Ridgeback, Rena. Almost like you two were old friends."

He winked subtly, and I guessed Charlie had filled him in on the fact that I did know Norbert from before. I grinned back slyly. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Fleur Delacour was eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother's shoulder. Apparently, she had no objection whatsoever to long hair or earrings with fangs on them.

"This is really nice of you," Harry muttered to Mrs. Weasley. "I thought for a moment - the Dursleys -"

"Hmm," said Mrs. Weasley, pursing her lips. She had always refrained from criticizing the Dursleys in front of us, but her eyes flashed every time they were mentioned.

"It's great being back here," said Bill, looking around the chamber. "Haven't seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"

"Oh yeah," said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year. I snickered, remembering that Sir Cadogan had given Harry the runaround one day when he was looking for class.

"Harry knows Sir Cadogan very well, doesn't he?" I said sweetly. Harry scowled, no doubt remembering that as well.

"And the Fat Lady?" asked Bill eagerly.

"She was here in my time," said Mrs. Weasley. "She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning -"

"What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?" said Bill, surveying his mother with amazement.

Mrs. Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll," she said. "He got caught by Apollyon Pringle - he was the caretaker in those days - your father's still got the marks."

"Fancy giving us a tour?" asked Bill.

"Yeah, okay," said Harry, and we made their way back toward the door into the Great Hall. As we passed Amos Diggory, he looked around.

"There you are, are you?" he said, looking Harry and I up and down. "Bet you're not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric's caught you up on points, are you?"

"What?" said Harry blankly.

"Excuse me?" I said shortly, narrowing my eyes at the other man.

"Ignore him," said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the Triwizard Tournament - you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champions."

"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?" said Amos Diggory, loudly enough for us to hear as we started to walk out of the door with Mrs. Weasley and Bill. "Still... you'll show them, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven't you?"

"Rita Skeeter goes out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!" Mrs. Weasley said angrily. "I would have thought you'd know that, working at the Ministry!"

Mr. Diggory looked as though he was going to say something angry, but his wife laid a hand on his arm, and he merely shrugged and turned away.

"Hey, Cedric," I called out. Cedric turned around, looking mildly surprised. "Good luck out there, eh? Hogwarts victory no matter which of us gets it, right?"

Cedric grinned back at me, his father staring at me in surprise. "Yeah, that's right," Cedric replied. "Good luck Harry, Rena."

Harry gave me a sideways look and even Mrs. Weasley looked a little surprised, but neither of them pressed me for details and I didn't offer any up. Bill didn't know me well enough to know that what I'd said to Cedric was a bit out of character. I didn't even know why I'd said it, really. I still did hope he did well in the tournament and took the win if I couldn't.

We had a very enjoyable morning walking over the sunny grounds with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, showing them the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship. Mrs. Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she had left school, and reminisced at length about the gamekeeper before Hagrid, a man called Ogg.

"How's Percy?" Harry asked as they walked around the greenhouses.

"Not good," said Bill.

"He's very upset," said Mrs. Weasley, lowering her voice and glancing around. "The Ministry wants to keep Mr. Crouch's disappearance quiet, but Percy's been hauled in for questioning about the instructions Mr. Crouch has been sending in. They seem to think there's a chance they weren't genuinely written by him. Percy's been under a lot of strain. They're not letting him fill in for Mr. Crouch as the fifth judge tonight. Cornelius Fudge is going to be doing it."

I split from them at lunch and headed over to the Slytherin table, watching jealously as the Weasleys had a lively lunch with Harry and never once looked over at me. They left after lunch without a word and headed out while I was left sitting at the Slytherin table.

I tried not to be jealous. _Harry's closer to them, you know that,_ I chided myself as I descended into the coolness of the dungeon. I headed to the apprentice's lab to put the final touches on my preparations for the third task this evening. I ladled the Stone Skin into bottles and set one out to be used during the task.

I supposed I could have made a small batch in my travel cauldron, but I'd always preferred making larger batches. It used more ingredients and some of it might go bad but at the same time, if you ever needed more then you had some on hand already and didn't have to go through the brewing process all over again.

Particularly with potions I'd never made before it was much easier to make a full-sized batch. After all, when making a smaller batch you had to carefully scale back the ingredients while not affecting their arithmantic values too much. It was just easier not to bother.

I continued to read about spells, practicing a couple. My Patronus was still not quite corporeal, but it was close. The Reductor Curse I attempted on the wall, confident that the stones charmed to take potions explosions could handle a beating or two. I was right as well. The spell worked for me on the second try, which I wasn't terribly surprised by. I had always been better at destructive and offensive magic – it was the majority of what I'd done accidentally before leaning about Hogwarts.

As the evening feast drew closer I readied myself for the third task. I stripped off my school uniform and replaced it with jeans and a long-sleeved button-front shirt. Over that went the basilisk robes. My wand was tucked up my sleeve and the Stone Skin potion concealed inside of the robes. The gloves I held in one hand. And a final precaution I pulled my hair back into a high, tight ponytail to keep it out of the way.

Satisfied that I was as prepared as I could possibly be, I left the apprentice's lab and headed for the Great Hall. Unsurprisingly, I got several startled looks from those that passed me in the hall. I managed to slip into the Great Hall mostly under the radar, only drawing a couple of surprised stares as I slid around the perimeter of the Great Hall to the Slytherin table.

Lily choked on her soup when she saw me.

"What are you wearing?" she demanded incredulously, observing the glittering green scales.

"Is that… It's not dragonhide," Zabini said confidently, leaning around Nott to get a good look at me. "Seriously Potter, I've never seen that before. What is it?"

I smirked at the people around me and said carelessly, "Oh, it's just basilisk skin," I said as I poured myself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Daphne paled slightly. "Are you… Are you serious?"

"Bad luck, Potter!" Parkinson said smugly. "You can't wear that! Dragonhide robes are only for Aurors! It's illegal!"

"If you'd pay attention, Puginson, you'd know this was basilisk skin," I replied tartly.

"That's why you went down into the Chamber earlier this year," Malfoy said faintly as his eyes combed over me, observing my attire. I caught an appreciative flicker in his eyes. I think Malfoy liked the idea of running around in magic-resistant robes.

"Yes," I confirmed. "And let me tell you, the thing's corpse was rancid after two years decomposing down there." I made a face, remembering the smell and look of the monster.

I looked up at the Head Table. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harry thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her.

"Basilisks are still illegal!" Parkinson huffed, still trying to win the conversation. She narrowed her muddy brown eyes at me damningly. "So you can't wear that!"

"Actually," I explained, "in a rather magnificent oversight on the part of the Ministry, _breeding_ basilisks is illegal but possessing their parts is not. So yes, Parkinson, I _can_ have this."

"It's resistant to spells just like dragonhide is but it's completely legal," Nott said, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the material. "Brilliant, Potter," he approved. "Absolutely brilliant."

"You can only use things you made yourself!" Parkinson cried, still trying to win this fight. "So there!"

"As it happens I _did_ make these," I said shortly. " _I_ went into the Chamber of Secrets, _I_ skinned the basilisk's corpse, _I_ turned it into hide, _I_ cut out the pattern and sewed the pieces together. I _made_ these, so they are perfectly legal, and if you try to say one more word against me I will hex you into oblivion and laugh while you attempt to do the same to me," I said coldly.

As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."

We champions rose and headed out of the Great Hall after Bagman to great applause from the rest of the students. Names were called out as people wished their favorites luck. I heard the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students calling out to their champions and the Hogwartians yelled for Harry and Cedric. I didn't hear a single person call my name or wish me luck.

 _I'll show them_ , I thought irritably as we headed out of the castle.

"Feeling alright, Harry?" Bagman asked as we went down the stone steps onto the grounds. "Confident?"

"I'm okay," said Harry.

"My, Miss Potter," Bagman said as we passed through a patch of moonlight. "Those are quite the robes! Now, did you make them?"

"I did," I replied bluntly.

"I hate to tell you, but dragonhide armor isn't legal for anyone but Aurors. Even for the tournament, an exception can't be made." Bagman smiled at me apologetically, but I got the feeling he was rather pleased with himself. "You'll have to take them off."

"No, I don't," I replied shortly, getting rather sick of having to explain this to people. I wasn't an idiot, I'd done my research, I knew what was and wasn't allowed. "This isn't dragon hide. This is basilisk skin."

Harry choked and stumbled over his own feet. He stared at me incredulously. "Rena, you didn't," he breathed. "You actually went back down there?"

"Down where?" Fleur asked, her eyes combing over my robes.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Cedric said, his eyes flying wide in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Not at all," I said smugly. "And since it's only illegal to breed or possess a live basilisk, I can have their parts, which means these are okay."

"Well done finding that loophole, Miss Potter," Bagman said, looking slightly put out. "I'm assuming you've prepared a potion as well?" I narrowed my eyes at him. My theory that he was betting on Harry was gaining strength by the moment.

"Thank you," I replied with a smirk. "And yes, I've got a bottle of Stone Skin. As usual, Professor Snape can confirm I brewed it myself."

"Right."

The Quidditch field was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of us - the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill. The air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," explained Professor McGonagall to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

We champions nodded. I wasn't surprised. The first task we could clearly be seen and there were dragon handlers standing by to control the beasts if we got hurt. The mermaids were standing by in the lake if we got in trouble. Now we had teachers patrolling.

"Off you go, then!" said Bagman brightly to the four patrollers.

"Good luck Harry, L'rena," Hagrid whispered, and the four of them walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place with eighty-five points each are Mr. Cedric Diggory, Miss Lorena Potter, and Mr. Harry Potter, all of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In second place with eighty points is Mr. Viktor Krum of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in third place is Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"

I could just make out Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione applauding Fleur politely, halfway up the stands. My heart swelled at the sight of Lily, Tracey, and Nott all holding up a large snake banner with my name under it. I did have supporters, it seemed.

"So... on my whistle, Potters, Cedric!" said Bagman. "Three - two - one -"

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and we hurried forward into the maze.

The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, whether because they were so tall and thick or because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment they entered the maze. I felt almost as though I underwater again. I pulled out my wand and the bottle of potion, lighting the tip as the others did the same. I uncorked the potion and downed it in one gulp, wincing at the mud-like consistency as it coated my tongue.

"Holy Helga that's rancid," I coughed, my eyes watering slightly as I hurried to keep pace with Harry and Cedric. "Sorry Cedric."

"No problem," Cedric said. All of a suddenly we found the path in front of us split three ways. "Problem," Cedric said uncertainly. We exchanged looks.

"We each take one?" I offered, and the boys nodded. I moved to the right path, Cedric took the middle, and Harry the far left.

"See you," Harry said, and we all took off.

I heard Bagman's whistle for the second time. Krum had entered the maze. I sped up. Despite the fact that there were now four people in the maze I felt completely alone, the shrubs towering over my head. I was afraid of the thickening darkness that loomed outside of my wandlight. I turned right, and hurried on, holding my wand high over my head, trying to see as far ahead as possible. There was nothing in sight.

Bagman's whistle blew in the distance for the third time. All of the champions were now inside.

" _Protego,"_ I said softly, casting my shield charm. Now even if someone or something tried to get me from behind I'd have a split-second to react. Unless, of course, they shattered my shield on impact. _Don't think like that!_ The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy.

I could see nothing, hear nothing, but the wind and the slight rustling from the shrubs. It wounded like the rustling of a cloak on the ground. I was reminded of the sound of Quirrell's cloak rustling across the ground behind him in the forbidden Forest back in first year and my breathing hitched before coming faster.

Damn it, what was I doing, psyching myself out like this? I was going to drive myself into a frenzy before I even got anywhere!

I paused in the middle of the path, shivering slightly as the night turned colder. It was well and truly dark now. I took several deep breaths, l trying to calm myself down. I pushed aside feelings of fear and tried to focus on good things, things like me winning the Triwizard Tournament, achieving my Animagus form.

The sound of a rattling breath blasted it all apart. I whipped around in time to see a hooded figure with rotted, slimy hands drifting out of a passage to the right. I knew it had no eyes, only a hole under that hood, but I still swore I could feel its eyes on me as it turned to face me.

I raised my hand, trying to dive back into those happy thoughts. I tried to imagine myself lifting the Triwizard Cup high to ringing applause from the Great Hall. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A silvery stream burst from the end of my wand and flew at the dementor, but it was weak. The applause changed to a chorus of rattling breaths as the dementor pressed on after only a moment's hesitation.

" _You are no danger to me. So the question becomes… what is your fate?"_

"No," I moaned as the high, cold voice hissed in my ear. I could feel the warm spots blooming on my body – the memory of my parent's murderer holding me. " _Expecto Patronum!"_ I cried again, brandishing my wand as I remembered the shock on Harry's face when he'd seen me coming to face him on the Quidditch pitch for the first time in our second year. Until then he'd had no idea I was even on the team.

The Patronus was weaker this time, moving back towards a shield form as the dementor drew closer.

 _"_ _You pose no danger. Should I kill you as well? It would almost be a kindness…"_

"Don't kill me, please, don't kill me," I jabbered helplessly to the memory of Voldemort's voice. "Please, no…"

The dementor was close now, its chill obliterating any and all heat. My breath came in pants of steam and my teeth chattered. It reached up to grab its hood and fear exploded inside of me. Harry could do this, Harry could take on dementors and win, what would he do?

 _Harry…_ Without conscious thought, a memory drifted through my mind. Harry in our first year standing in the door of the Great Hall. It was the first time I'd seen him since coming out of the Hospital Wing. He was smiling at me. He was happy, healthy, and irrevocably on my side. I was staring at him, at my brother, and I was so happy to see him. _So happy…_

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ I screamed as the dementor began to lower its hood.

From the tip of my wand burst a glowing silver phoenix. It opened its mouth in a soundless cry and flared its wings, diving for the dementor. Immediately, the hooded figure drew away. The phoenix Patronus battered at the dementor, swooping at it from all directions and battering it with its wings. The dementor turned and fled, my Patronus soaring after it with its mouth open in a noiseless song.

The dementor vanished into the darkness and the phoenix turned and came closer to me. It hovered in front of my face, its eyes boring into me as its wings flapped soundlessly, letting off streams of silver. I stared in awe at it.

"I did it," I said softly. "I made you…" I reached out to touch the Patronus, to stroke its feathers like I would have Fawkes, but the moment my finger made contact it was gone, leaving only a few trails of silvery magic and a lasting flare of warmth.

I considered calling it back, keeping it with me as I made my way through the maze, but I couldn't make myself do it. I was shaking still, but not with fear or cold, with pride and adrenaline. I felt confident now. I could make a corporeal Patronus! All I needed… Harry. My happy memory was my brother.

I smiled faintly. "Of course. It's always Harry," I said, and for once it came out tinged with fondness instead of bitterness.

I turned and took a step back down the path, only to freeze as a girl's shout shattered the night. It was Fleur, no question. The sound was oddly choked-off. I wondered if she'd been knocked unconscious by something? If that was the case, she had no one to send up sparks for her and who knew what could come across her while she was passed out.

Then again if I went looking for her I might lose my chance at getting the cup. No way was I going to let her keep me from that. I'd keep going and if I found her I'd send up sparks for her. If not… well, I wished her luck.

I was three more steps down the path when I heard someone else yell.

"Damn it! Expecto- Ex… Expecto…"

It was Cedric and he was right on the other side of the hedges. The dementor must have doubled back around somewhere behind me and come up the other side. I couldn't just pretend I didn't hear this one. He was just on the other side of the hedges from me, and he was facing a dementor. And losing, by the sound of it. I wouldn't leave Malfoy to the dementors, much less a guy as decent as Cedric.

I backed towards the opposite hedge and shouted _, "Reducto!"_ The hedge was blasted apart, a hole larger than me appearing in the branches. Almost immediately, the hedge began to grow and twist, trying to cover the hole. I ran for ward and leaped through, catching my ankle on a fresh branch. The wood dug into my skin and opened a wide gash as I staggered against the opposite hedge.

"Expecto… Expecto…"

I looked around frantically. The dementor had backed Cedric into a corner and loomed over him. I could see his face pale with fear under the dementor's arm. I brandished my wand and brought that image of Harry back to my mind.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ I bellowed. My phoenix burst out once more. The dementor whipped around as the phoenix dove for it once more. With a final rattling breath the dementor abandoned Cedric and tore off around the corner.

"And stay gone," I grunted as I limped towards Cedric, my ankle throbbing. He was sagging against the hedges, looking pale and shaken. "You okay?" I demanded.

"Th-That was…" Cedric's eyes were wide with fear but he seemed to be gathering himself up. "Y-You cast a corporeal Patronus. Th-That's really advanced."

"I know," I said smugly as the phoenix returned to my side. I dismissed it with a flick of my wand and stepped closer to Cedric. My ankle gave a particularly vicious throb and I felt blood start to slide down into my shoe. "Damn it," I cursed, and knelt down, hiking up my robe and the hem of my jeans. There was a deep cut wrapping from my ankle to the top of my foot, about three inches in length.

" _Scourgify. Episkey."_ The wound cleaned itself and healed over. It was deep enough that a simple Episkey didn't quite heal it, but it did scab it over and let me move my ankle without sending a fresh wave of blood and pain down my foot. "That's better," I approved as I stood up. I glared at the way the dementor had fled. "I swear, if that thing pops up, I'm gonna Avada it, I don't care."

"Y-You've already faced it?" Cedric asked.

"Yeah, it came after me and must have doubled back after you," I said with a shrug.

"You didn't have… you didn't have to come help me," Cedric pointed out quietly. I blinked at him.

"Yeah, I should have let you get your soul sucked out," I said shortly. "Despite what you might think, we Slytherins don't just go around being dicks for the sake of being dicks. You know, usually. I may be your competition but I don't want you soulless, Diggory. Besides," I continued quietly. "I wouldn't wish dementors on my worst enemy."

I looked up. Cedric staring down at me, understanding on his face. "You're alright, Potter," he said slowly. "You really are."

I smirked, my usual persona back. "I know. Now come on, we can stick together until we hit the next split in the road."

A wind whipped up suddenly, blowing strands of hair into my face. I spit them out and glanced behind us, squinting against the wind.

"Oh no," Cedric said faintly. I watched in horror as the hedges began to snap shut behind us. "Come on!" Cedric yelled, seizing my hand and dragging me along. I had to sprint to keep up with his much-longer legs as we tore down the path and rounded a corner. The hedges were still rustling loudly behind us, knotting together and blocking our way back.

"Argh!" Something caught my ankle and wrenched me out of Cedric's hand. I hit the ground hard, slamming my chin into the dirt and watching as stars burst in my vision. I twisted frantically as whatever had me tried to drag me back along the ground. I let out a scream as whatever it was tugged harder and tried to dig my fingers into the dirt and catch hold of something.

" _Lumos Solem!"_

A brilliant beam of light arced over my head and whatever had me recoiled immediately, releasing my ankle. I whipped around onto my rear and watched a tentacle-like vine retreat under a hedge.

"Devil's Snare," Cedric said grimly as he offered me a hand. I looked up at him, panting, wide-eyed.

"Th-Thanks," I said uncertainly as I took his hand. Cedric hauled me to my feet.

"That ankle's taking a beating, huh?" Cedric said with a weak attempt at a smile. I nodded faintly. "Hey, uh, Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"What… do you mind telling me what… what you hear when you see dementors?"

I froze. No one knew. Even Harry didn't know. He'd asked, of course he'd asked. He told me all about hearing mom pleading for our lives. I told him I heard the same. No one knew that I heard Voldemort. No one deserved to know.

But here was Cedric, my enemy, just as scared as I was in this damn maze and we were helping each other out. And I _trusted him._

"Never mind, dumb question…" Cedric said quickly. "You don't have to-"

"Voldemort."

Cedric's eyes blew wide. "You… _what?"_

I cleared my throat and looked to the side, unwilling to let him see whatever my eyes would show. "Harry has it lucky, I think. He hears our mum pleading with Voldemort to let us live, to take her instead. I hear Voldemort talking. I can hear him… deciding whether or not to kill me. Worse than that," I continued with a shudder. "I can _feel_ him holding me."

"Oh Merlin… Lorena, I'm… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked…"

"It doesn't matter," I said firmly. "Just… just tell me what you hear, alright? So I don't feel like so much of a sap…"

"It sounds silly now," Cedric admitted with a faint chuckle. "But… when I was ten my parents left me home alone for the night. It was just a couple of hours, no big deal. But I decided I wanted to cook for them. I did accidental magic… I was trying to heat up soup and I set the kitchen on fire. I hear the flames roaring and then I hear my dad bursting in and putting the fire out with streams from his wand."

"I'd take that," I said with a small smirk, "in a heartbeat."

"No kidding. Shall we… should we keep going?" Cedric asked, nodding to the only patch left open ahead of us.

"Might as well," I said and we started walking again. The pair of us moved through the dark, holding our wands high, eyes darting this way and that for any sign of another enemy or the hedges suddenly deciding we needed to be pancaked. I paid particular attention to the ground as well – I had no desire to wind up in another patch of Devil's Snare.

" _Ossio Dispersimus!"_

"Down!" I shouted as a burst of blue light appeared in front of us. Cedric and I both dropped into crouches as the Deboning spell soared overhead.

"Krum?" I demanded incredulously as the Durmstrang champion lurched around a corner in front of us. "What the hell are you playing at? That could have-!"

" _Confringo!"_

The Blasting curse sailed between our heads and nearly nicked my ear. Someone shot out of a side-channel and into the middle of our fight.

"Get down!" Cedric roared. I recognized the flash of glasses and realized that it was Harry. He dropped just as Cedric raised his wand. I mirrored him.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Cedric yelled.

I wasn't nearly so nice. " _Petrificus Totalus!"_

Krum's limbs locked to his sides and he went flying backwards as Cedric's spell hit him. Cedric ran forwards, jumping over the curled-up Harry on the ground and kicking Krum's wand out of his hand. I leaped up and ran for my brother.

"Harry!" I cried. Harry ignored me and jumped to his feet, lunging at Cedric and trying to move his wand out of the way.

"Stop Cedric!" Harry shouted. "He's bewitched!"

" _Get off me!"_

" _He's bewitched!"_

Cedric shoved Harry away and took off running. Harry sprinted after him. With nothing left for it, I jumped up and started running after them, clearing Krum in a long-legged leap and trying to trail them through the twists and turns of the maze. They made it easy, slamming into hedges as they rounded corners and twisting and shoving each other back.

I caught up to them only because they'd both stopped. Beyond them, only a few yards away, I could see the glittering of the Triwizard Cup. Krum was down, and presumably so was Fleur. It was just the three of us. The image I'd had before of me raising the cup to a cheering Great Hall slammed into my mind again at full-force.

"Yes," Harry breathed, and that set us all off. We three started sprinting forwards. Cedric had longer legs but Harry was fast. So was I, but I was stuck behind then from the start. Roots began to lash at our feet and branches struck us across the face as we ran.

Cderic dropped as a branch got him by the leg. I leaped over him without stopping and pushed past the frozen Harry, leaning sideways as a branch swung out trying to nail me in the eye. I suddenly realized I was the only one running. I heard Cedric cry out and I froze.

What was I doing? I was abandoning my twin and Cedric to the maze just so I could get some recognition. What had Snape said… This tournament was for those who couldn't gain notoriety in their own way? But I could, I knew I could. I had a plan for my future, a talent I could use… I didn't need this. I didn't need to abandon them. I didn't need to show everyone that Slytherins could be great, too.

" _Harry! Harry, Lorena, please! Lorena!"_

I needed to show them that Slytherins could be _good._

"Harry, you know the reductor curse?"

Harry nodded as I moved to his side. The pair of us raised our wands and at the same time we shouted. _"Reducto!"_

Cedric tore himself free of the blasted roots, snatching up his wand and staggering away from them quickly. He panted as he stared from the retreating roots to the pair of us, both standing side-by-side with our wands still raised.

"Th-Thanks," Cedric choked out.

"N-No problem," Harry stammered back.

"You know f-for a moment there, I thought… you were going to let it get me…"

"For a moment, so did I," Harry said back, not very encouraging.

"You helped me," I said with a scowl. "I… Well, I had to repay the favor, didn't I?" I said stiffly. "I don't like being in someone's debt."

"I think you helped me first," Cedric said with a weak laugh.

"Well, one of us owes the other something, we'll work it out later," I said with a snort.

The three of us stood in silence for a moment, staring at the spot where Cedric had almost been strangled by roots.

"Some game," Cedric said softly.

The wind whipped up again and the hedges creaked as the wood began to move. Once more the maze walls were clapping together, moving closer to us.

"Go!" Cedric shouted, grabbing Harry and I and shoving us towards the cup. The three of us were sprinting once more, tearing towards the glowing crystal of the cup as the hedges waved around us.

"Go on and take it!" Cedric shouted as we stopped beside the pedestal. "You saved me, take it!"

I looked from Harry to Cedric helplessly. There was no way to measure which one of us really deserved it, was there?

"Together!" Harry shouted, presenting the only reasonable solution. "One!"

"Two!" Cedric counted.

"Three!" I yelled. Cedric and Harry grabbed the handles of the cup while I latched onto the base. There was a jerking feeling behind my navel and I was ripped into darkness. The sensation was familiar… A Portkey, the cup was a Portkey, I realized dizzily as we spun through space. Taking us back to the entrance of the maze, perhaps? To show our victory to the crowd? Or on to a second phase of the task?

We slammed into the ground. The cup flew out of our hands and bounced to land a short distance away, glimmering among long, unkempt grass. Still dizzy I sat up and looked around. I could see a huge, empty house looming on a hill in the distance, but between it and us were rows and rows of gravestones. They all looked old, ancient really.

"You both okay?" Cedric asked.

"Yeah, you," Harry replied as I nodded.

"Yeah."

"Is this… another part of the task?" I said uncertainly, getting to my feet and brushing my robes off. I kept my wand held high as I looked around. "Harry?"

Harry drifted forwards towards a huge gravestone decorated with a winged Grim Reaper. It was easily twice as tall as I was and towered over the other gravestones. Whoever was buried here was clearly important. In fact, looking around, all the graves were lavish. The personal graveyard of a wealthy family, perhaps? The family that lived in the house on the hill?

"I've been here before," Harry said suddenly. I whipped around the face him. There was no way – I wasn't sure where we were but we definitely weren't anywhere close to Privet Drive. "In a dream…"

Cedric crouched down beside the cup, looking at it curiously.

"It's a Portkey," he said, coming to the same conclusion I had. "The cup is a Portkey!"

I looked around. Standing opposite the Grim Reaper statue, like the statue was looking down and observing it, was a large cauldron, easily double the side of a washtub. Kindling was arranged under it, ready to be lit, waiting.

"Do we have to brew something?" I wondered aloud, casting around for some sort of hint. "Because I can do that…"

"Lorena," Harry said. His voice was hoarse, more fearful than I'd heard it at any point during the tasks. I whipped around and saw him staring at the stone tablet at the Grim Reaper's feet.

"What is it?" I asked, burying over to him. I raised my wand, letting the light fall over the names. The words hit me like a punch in the gut. _"Tom Riddle,"_ I read aloud. I looked up at Harry in horror.

"We have to get back to the cup," Harry said loudly. "Cedric, get back to the cup!"

"What are you talking about?"

The sound of a creaking door made both of us whip around. A shed, partially concealed by a tree, swung open, spilling orange light onto the ground. From inside the shed stepped a watery-eyed, balding man in worn, dirty clothes. In his arms was a bundle of robes, it seemed.

"Who are you?" I hissed, and made to step forward. but I couldn't breathe suddenly, like the air was being blocked from my throat. I'd felt this way before.. when Voldemort swooped down on us in the Forbidden Forest. No, it couldn't be, could it?

Harry suddenly screamed and dropped to his knees. I whipped around and fell beside him. That sealed it, then. Voldemort was the only thing that ever affected Harry like that, that ever dropped him so quickly and completely.

"Harry? Harry!" I wheezed worriedly, trying to pull his hands away from his scar and to drag in breath around the lump in my throat. "What's wrong, what's happening?"

Harry continued to scream and roll on the ground, seemingly barely able to open his eyes. I curled myself around him, holding him tightly and trying to comfort him as best I could even as my own eyes started to water. "It's okay, it's okay, shh…"

"Kill the spare," said a high, cold voice.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a blaze of green light and something fell heavily next to me. I stared in disbelief at Cedric's face, surprise coloring his features even in death. His mouth was open slightly and his eyes stared up at the sky, reflecting the stars above. He was… _gone._


	42. Graveyard

"Kill the spare," said a high, cold voice.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a blaze of green light and something fell heavily next to me. I stared in disbelief at Cedric's face, surprise coloring his features even in death. His mouth was open slightly and his eyes stared up at the sky, reflecting the stars above. He was… _gone._

Just like that. In a second, less than a second really.

Harry was ripped away from me. I screamed in surprise as he was slammed against the Grim Reaper's chest. The statue flared its feathery wings and raised its scythe, holding Harry in place with the shaft of the weapon across his chest.

" _Incarcerus!"_

The ropes snapped closed around me, carrying me backwards and wrapping me tightly to the base of the statue. Harry's feet dangled above my shoulders. The ropes bit into my robes. Thankfully, they weren't directly on my skin, which would keep them from drawing blood. They were still painfully tight though, cutting into me. There was a lump in my throat, blocking my breath. I could hardly breathe…

"Wormtail," I snarled as light flared under the cauldron and revealed the face under the hood. Wormtail looked down at me. I'm not sure what my face looked like, but he seemed afraid of me. Good, I thought viciously, he should be. He reached down and shoved a cloth into my mouth. I choked and nearly vomited as the lump rose higher in my throat, still blocking most of my air. I panted frantically through my nose, trying to stay conscious.

"Do it now!" hissed the high cold voice. The bundle of robes began to move and I realized that whatever was speaking was inside those robes. And the horrible part was that I _knew_ that voice. I'd heard that voice not even an hour before as my worst memory. That was the voice of the man who had killed my parents. That was the voice of Voldemort.

A large snake slid past me, a constrictor as thick as my thigh slithered past me and into the darkness beyond and cauldron as Wormtail approached it. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. I heard the high, cold voice again.

"Hurry!"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

"It is ready. Master."

"Now..." ordered the cold voice.

Wormtail raised the bundle of robes over the cauldron. They unraveled, spilling their contents into the cauldron. The creature inside could only be seen for a moment before it broke the surface but I screamed. It was like a bald, shriveled child, its skull too big for its shrunken limbs. It was reddish-black, like it had been flayed. And it's face… god, it's face was like a snake's.

The body of the thing hit the bottom of the cauldron with a dull thud. _Let it die,_ I begged as my jaw worked frantically, trying to spit out the cloth Wormtail had jammed in. I could see my wand and Harry's lying at Cedric's feet. If I could get to them, if I could get my way, maybe… _Please let it drown._

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, I watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed. It sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

Now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.

"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

I realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened. Even if I had tried, I wouldn't have been able to look away. I was frozen in fear, struggling to breath are the cloth in my mouth and the lump in my throat. My ears rang with the scream that pierced the night. There was a gut-churning squelching and sawing sound, then a sickening splash as the hand fell into the cauldron. The potion turned a burning red, the light of it hurt my eyes.

Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. His eyes were manic with pain and devotion and fear as he turned towards us. I thrust out my tongue, frantically working my jaw, and was rewarded as the cloth slid out of my mouth.

"No, stay back!" I screamed as Wormtail advanced. "Stay back! Get away! _Get away!"_

"B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect your foe."

I saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. Wormtail ignored me and dug the point into crook of Harry's right arm, blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, rumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

I screamed again.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened...

 _Let it have drowned_ , I begged silently, tears streaming down my face. _Let it die_

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of us for a moment. AS the steam began to fade, a form hovering in midair was revealed. It was covered in slime and bodily fluids as it expanded and writhed, bones growing and muscles strengthening, life returning to something that should be dead.

The thing… the man… hit the ground, his features still forming. Cheeks filled out from hollowed sockets and ears appeared and grew out. The man raised his hands, stroking the top of his head as though to confirm he was solid.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the remains steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The skeletal man stepped forwards, his face visible. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils... Lord Voldemort had risen again.

The lump in my throat was gone, replaced by dry-mouthed fear and shivering terror.

Voldemort began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders. His long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face. The red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling us again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too, and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where we were tied. I yelped as he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now - he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

"My Lord..." he choked, "My Lord... you promised... you did promise..."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh Master... thank you, Master..."

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master, please... please..."

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm. He forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and I saw something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. The image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.

"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know..."

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm. Wormtail let out a fresh howl. Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark and revealed that the mark had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He began to pace up and down before us, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool... very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death..."

Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn't like magic, my father...

"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name... Tom Riddle..."

I tried to find a trace of my boy from my dreams, a trace of the scared boy who had cowered in a corner. He was gone, replaced with a monster who knew nothing but blood and pain and death and despite the fact that it turned my stomach I felt _sorry_. I _mourned_ my boy and what he had become. He could have been so great, but here he stood before me as something out of my nightmares.

Voldemort still paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.

"Listen to me, reliving family history..." he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family returns..."

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward... slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master... Master..." he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same, each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave.. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years... thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" He tilted his head back and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. "I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench or guilt upon the air."

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare to step back from him.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact. Such prompt appearances! And I ask myself... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment ...

"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort... perhaps they now pay allegiance to another... perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

"It is a disappointment to me... I confess myself disappointed..."

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

 _"Crucio!"_

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked. I gaped in horror at a human being writhing under the torture curse. _That's_ what I had considered putting on Parkinson? It was… _monstrous!_ She was a bitch but she did not deserve this. No one deserved this… no one but the man standing on the other end of the wand.

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail, "please. Master... please..."

"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers..."

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Master... it is beautiful... thank you... thank you..."

He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.

"No, my Lord... never, my Lord..."

Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay...but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood. I snarled. That man… I hated him, with every fiber of my soul I hated him. Him and every other person standing there in robes and masks. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me-"

"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius... You have disappointed me... I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course... You are merciful, thank you..."

Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space large enough for two people that separated Malfoy and the next man.

"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me... When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us... they are our natural allies... we will recall the banished giants... I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear..."

He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

"Macnair... destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide..."

"Thank you, Master... thank you," murmured Macnair.

"And here," Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures, "we have Crabbe... you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master..."

"We will, Master..."

"The same goes for you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Mr. Goyle's shadow.

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful -"

"That will do," said Voldemort coldly. Nott receded and I felt sick. Nott was… maybe not a friend, but at least a good acquaintance. And his father was here?

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters... three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever... he will be killed, of course... and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service."

The Death Eaters stirred, and I saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks.

"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friends arrived here tonight...

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry and Lorena Potter have kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call them my guests of honor."

There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask.

"Master, we crave to know... we beg you to tell us... how you have achieved this... this miracle... how you managed to return to us..."

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins - and ends - with my young friend here."

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle.

"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him - and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen... I could not touch the boy."

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek.

"His mother left upon him the traces other sacrifice... This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it... but no matter." Voldemort surged forwards, his mouth open in a sickening joker's smile. "I can touch him now."

Harry screamed as the finger touched him. I screamed as well.

"Get your hands off of my brother, damn it!" I screamed before I could even think about whether or not it was a good idea to draw Voldemort's eyes to me when I'd been ignored thus far. The red stare pinned me in place and I shuddered under his stare. Voldemort laughed softly in Harry's ear, then took the finger away.

"Wait your turn, little one," Voldemort chided, and continued addressing the Death Eaters.

"I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends. Nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand...

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body…. But I waited in vain..."

The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

"Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me.

"I sometimes inhabited animals - snakes, of course, being my preference - but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic… and my possession of them shortened their lives. None of them lasted long...

"Then... four years ago... the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard - young, foolish, and gullible - wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of... for he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school... he was easy to bend to my will... he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted... thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter..."

Silence once more. Nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry.

"The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been," Voldemort continued. "I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn't then fear that I might never regain my powers... Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour... I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess... and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me..."

One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice.

"And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last... a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumored I was hiding... helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them...

"But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food... and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic.

"Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him - convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her... he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams... for - with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information.

"She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things... but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Wormtail's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth...a spell or two of my own invention... a little help from my dear Nagini," Voldemort's red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, "a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided... I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.

"There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer's Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower... I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength.

"I knew that to achieve this - it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight - I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant...

"My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe... Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me... as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potters blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago... for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too...

"But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy's protection as long as he is in his relations' care. Not even I can touch him there... Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup... I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him?

"Why... by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament - that he touched the Triwizard Cup first - the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is... the boy you all believed had been my downfall..."

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.

 _"Crucio!"  
_  
 _"No!"_

My scream was covered by Harry's as he writhed helplessly against the statue, his eyes closed and his jaw open as wide as it would go in his agony. I sobbed aloud at the sight of my brother like that.

And then the spell was gone. Harry was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," said Voldemort. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini," he whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching.

"For we have another guest."

Voldemort's eyes latched onto me and I knew that we were done with Harry. Now I was his focus and all that entailed. He flicked his wand at me but unlike Harry, I did not writhe in pain. Instead I was dragged upright, still tied tightly, my toes just brushing the grass. I drifted forward a few feet so that I hovered in front of Voldemort.

"And now here we have the unexpected part of my story, the child I did not foresee," he said, tilting his head to observe me. I stared back, my breath coming in pants, my face twisted in horror. I was afraid to stare at him but I was even more afraid to look away. If I looked away he'd kill me.

"Miss Lorena Potter, who has grown up to be a Slytherin, a member of the house of my forefather. The child I allowed to live as an act of mercy. I considered killing you, did you know?" Voldemort asked conversationally. He opened his mouth to continued but I instinctively answered his question.

"I did."

Voldemort seemed vaguely surprised. "Did you now?" he whispered. "That's interesting… Tell me, little one, _how_ did you know?"

I shook my head, biting down on my lip. I wouldn't tell him. I'd trusted Cedric with the information with the hope that he'd take it to his grave – I just hadn't intended for that grave to be so soon. And Harry was right behind me, listening intently. He couldn't know, he just couldn't.

"No," I said weakly, shaking my head.

"No?" Voldemort said slowly. "Fine then, let us continue the tale. I let you live, but before I turned my wand on your brother, I laid it on you." His wand came up and rested against the upper curve of the S on my cheek. "So that you would always know that the mercy of Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, was the reason you still breathed. A permanent reminder, etched into your face, one that cannot be concealed by a potion or a charm. _A Reminder."_

Voldemort smiled sickly. "Perhaps, if you do not wish to answer my question, I shall give you another reminder." His wand drifted from one side of my face to the other and laid against my unscarred cheek. My eyes widened as I realized what he meant to do.

"No!" I screamed, writhing frantically in the ropes. "No please! Please! Not again," I sobbed. "Not another… I can't…"

"Answer my question," Voldemort snarled, digging his wand into my cheek.

" _Dementors!"_ I screamed in fear. "Dementors! When they come near me, I can… can hear… _your_ voice… that night… You're deciding whether or not to _kill_ me… It echoes i-in my head. _Harry, I'm sorry!_ " I screamed, trying to look over my shoulder at Harry, to apologize for lying.

Voldemort grabbed my chin in his hand and kept me facing him. "How nice to know I made a lasting impression. For that, I believe you deserve a gift. Lord Voldemort is generous…" The tip of his wand glowed and I felt pain sear into my cheek and spread into my blood as he opened a cut on my cheek. I felt his wand trace the S-shape onto my cheek and I screamed. My honesty hadn't saved me, it had only doomed me to yet another mark.

When Voldemort had finished with me, he flicked his wand. I flew back into the statue and slid down to the ground, moaning as my back and legs throbbed from impact. Against my will, drops rolled thick and fast down my cheeks, stinging the new scar, and I cursed myself. Why did I have to be like this, why couldn't I be the brave one, the Gryffindor, just this once? Why couldn't I be strong in front of all of these faceless enemies who delighted in seeing me weak?

Voldemort pinned me with his eyes, staring deep into my soul. I stared back. His voice echoed in my head, but it wasn't the old memories. It was new words, terrible words.

" _You may wonder why I let you live. It was not an act of mercy but a curse upon you. When I rise to power once more – and make no mistake, I shall rise even farther than I did before – when your brother is dead at my feet, when Dumbledore and all who would oppose me have been crushed… When that day comes, you will still be alive._

" _Do you know why? You're a bright girl, I can see it here in your mind. You are intelligent. Can you guess? No? Then Lord Voldemort will tell you. I allow you to live so that when I stand at the pinnacle of Wizardkind no one will dare oppose me again. You will be the symbol of my supremacy – the last of the hopelessly brave and good Potters alive, kneeling at my feet. You will be my prize, my trophy, the head mounted on the wall. You, kneeling at my feet, will be the sign of my triumph."_

I threw back my head and screamed my denial to the sky. The sound was abrupt cut off as Voldemort flicked his wand at me, silencing me. I slumped against the tombstone, panting wildly, as the spell was removed.

I was… I was not a _person_ to this monster. I was an object, something shiny for him to show off. I was alive only so that he could break me over and over for his own pleasure, bend me to his will and then hold me up as an example of his will. It made me angry. It made me want to hurt him for that.

"You like… trophies?" I panted out. Voldemort paused, his eyes flicking to me. "D'you… d'you like mine?" I laughed harshly. "Haven't even noticed yet, have you? Some genius…"

"What," Voldemort said slowly, dangerously, "are you talking about?"

I lunged forward against my bonds, nearly overbalancing and face-planting on the ground, but I managed to get myself into a kneeling position, leaning forwards as far as I dared. "Your pet basilisk!" I screamed in his face. "Your _ancestor's monster_ , your _inheritance!_ I'm _wearing_ it!" Voldemort's eyes widened as he combed over the familiar acid green scales of my robes. A spark of true anger flared in his eyes. Startled by my success – I had touched him, I had made him feel something of what he made me feel – I fell back against the statue, laughing madly, hysterically, as tears streamed down my face.

There was a burst of red light. I heard Harry scream, and then the world around me went dark.

* * *

When I awoke again it was to a scene I couldn't comprehend at first. Harry and Voldemort floated in a cage of golden light several yards away, the Death Eaters prowling the edges. Their wands were connected by golden light and I saw ghostly shapes drifting around inside the cage. Cedric, an older Bertha Jorkins, an old man, and…

My breath caught. I could see my mother and father there, talking to Harry. Talking to Harry… neither of them came to me.

"Mum!" I screamed as I thrashed against my bonds. "Dad! Please! Please!"

I was begging them for something. For some acknowledgement, for some kind of help getting free, for something. I didn't really know what it was. But neither of them looked at me. Their attention was only on Harry, whose face was a mask of fear and determination and a hundred other things.

"Now!" Harry roared, and wrenched his wand. The golden light faded and he dropped to the ground as the shades of Voldemort's victims gathered around the man himself. Harry shot to his feet and tore through the gravestones towards me.

"Harry!" I screamed. "Harry, help!"

Harry pointed his wand at me. I don't think he even used a spell, just terror and determination and intent. The ropes holding me burst apart. I scrambled to my feet and followed him. We charged towards Cedric's body and the cup – _of course, the cup could get us away from here!_

"Stun him!" Voldemort screamed.

Ten feet from Cedric, we dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it.

Harry dashed out with me on his heels.

" _Impedimenta!"_ he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.

Again I wasn't so nice. _"Reducto!"_

A gravestone exploded behind me and I smirked as a Death Eater yelled in pain but we weren't home free yet. I heard more wand blasts behind us. More jets of light flew overhead as we fell. I grabbed one of Cedric's wrists and Harry grabbed the other.

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort. His red eyes flamed in the darkness. I saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.

 _"Accio!"_ I yelled just as Harry did the same, pointing our wands at the Triwizard Cup. It flew into the air and soared toward us. I caught one handle as Harry seized the other. Voldemort's scream of fury began the same moment that I felt the jerk behind my navel that meant the Portkey had worked - it was speeding us away in a whirl of wind and color, and Cedric along with us... We were going back.

* * *

 **A lot of the dialogue Voldemort says is taken directly form the books. Why? Because I'm not going to try and rewrite what's already perfect. Just anything you recognize here isn't mine.**


	43. Back at Hogwarts

The ground slammed into me and everything was a blur of sound and noise and sensation. I could feel Cedric's rapidly-cooling body under me contrasting with Harry's heat against my side. I smelled dirt and grass and sweat and blood and magic and then the world exploded into cheers and sound and my head hurt and _oh god Voldemort was back…_

Surprisingly it was that thought that jerked me to my senses. Voldemort was back. Voldemort was alive and he had Harry and I in a graveyard and he had given me a mark… a new mark…

I reached up and ripped the hairband out of my hair so harshly it came away with several long red strands still attached. My hair fell over my right cheek and I sighed in relief as the mark was covered.

There was a blood-curdling scream and then another. I glanced up through tear-blurred eyes and saw Cho, her pale, horrified face standing out in the crowd. Fleur had also seen from her position near the entrance to the maze.

"Harry! Lorena!"

Dumbledore rushed forwards and grabbed Harry, trying to lift him off of Cedric.

"No! No!" Harry shouted, thrashing next to me, and that's what broke me. I scrambled away from Cedric's body – his body, not him, he was gone – and knelt a short distance away, doubled over. I screamed, the sound ripping through my throat as the horror of the night washed over me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sobbed, doubled over so far that my forehead touched the ground. I clutched at my stomach, trying not to be sick as I only dimly processed what was happening around me.

"For god's sake Dumbledore, what's happened?" That was the Minister, the Minister was here.

"He's back!" Harry wailed. The sound of his sobbing voice cut me to the core and I cried harder. "He's back, Voldemort's back! Cedric, he asked me to bring his body back! I couldn't leave him, not there!"

"It's alright, Harry," Dumbledore soothed him. "It's alright, you're home, you all are."

"Keep everybody in their seats!" Fudge shouted. "A boy's been killed."

Shocked murmurs ran through the crowd and sobs started as people realized that Cedric was there but only his body. He was gone, _gone_ … and Voldemort was back.

"The body must be moved, Dumbledore!" Fudge hissed. "Too many people!"

"Potter? Lorena, are you injured?" I'd never heard Snape sound so concerned and I'd never heard him use my first name. He dropped to his knees in front of me and I felt his hands on my shoulders urging me to sit up. Through watery eyes I saw the shaky outline of my black-clad professor.

"No," he whispered as he saw my face. I turned away, clutching my hand over my newly-ruined cheek.

"Can't… Don't want to… To show… I can't…" I sobbed, unable to get a clear thought out between my tears no matter how hard I tried.

"Of course," Snape said, and tapped his wand against my hair. It braided itself over my shoulder, the braid starting low so that my hair covered my cheek. I'd worn it this way several times when I first started school, but not in years… I was touched he remembered.

"Let me through, let me through!"

I looked around as I saw Mr. Diggory tearing through the crowd towards us. "That's my son!" he wailed, agony in his voice as he saw Cedric's sightless face. "That's my boy!" He threw himself down at Cedric's head and clutched desperately at his son. He wailed wordlessly, Dumbledore turning away to give him the privacy to mourn but putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The teachers were gathered all around. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Hagrid, they were there. They would have been the closest as the patrollers. Snape was with me and I could see Trelawney and Sinistra holding hand supportively in the crowd as they cried quietly. Moody was dragging Harry up and away from Cedric's body.

"He said there was a faithful servant," I muttered dizzily. "A faithful servant at Hogwarts…"

"What?" Snape snapped at me. "Who said that? Albus!"

Dumbledore looked up and saw me sobbing in the hands of my Head of House. He abandoned Diggory to the Minister as he hurried over to us.

"What is it, Severus?" he asked. Snape nodded to me. I looked up at the Headmaster, but only for a moment. Dumbledore crouched down beside me with surprising ease for a man his age, taking my hand supportively.

"What's happened?"

"V-Voldemort," I stammered. "H-He said there was a faithful servant… one at Hogwarts… one who had already re-entered his service."

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged worried glances over my head as I sobbed again. I felt pathetic, breaking down like this in front of the whole school, but there was no way I could stop, no possible way I could get myself together after everything that had happened.

"You did well telling me this quickly," Dumbledore encouraged me. "We'll find the servant Miss Potter, we will. Harry… Where's Harry?"

"M-Moody," I stammered. "Moody took him away. Hospital Wing probably…"

Dumbledore froze. "Alastor Moody would not have taken Harry out of my sight. Severus, Minerva, with me!"

In a flash the Headmaster was on his feet and so was Snape. McGonagall was apparently used to responding to such out-of-the blue orders because she didn't question the Headmaster, just fell in step behind him.

It was obvious that Dumbledore believed Moody – or whoever was pretending to be Moody - was the servant. I'd have time to feel vindicated later, but until then I needed to know Harry was safe. I needed to make sure he was alright, because Cedric wasn't and I sure as hell wasn't so he had to be…

"Potter, stay here," the Minister shouted after me. "We need-!"

I ignored him as I sped after the professors with my wand drawn. McGonagall's eyes widened when she saw me fall into step beside Snape.

"Miss Potter, you shouldn't-"

"Don't," I said shortly, glaring at the head of Harry's house. "Don't bother, professor, because I'm not going to listen."

McGonagall seemed taken aback by the determination and fierceness in my voice, but she looked at me pityingly and said no more as we hurried through the castle.

"Nott," I said suddenly.

"What?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was short but I knew it was because Harry was in danger.

"Nott," I repeated. "Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. Avery. Macnair. And… And he said the Lestranges would come back once he broken open Azkaban. Those were the Death Eaters who were there," I jabbered, trying to get out all the details before they faded from mind. "And Wormtail… Pettigrew. He's the one who did it, who brought Voldemort back. We were in the graveyard, the graveyard where Tom Riddle Sr. is buried."

"Miss Potter," McGonagall said gently. "You don't have to…"

"And Wormtail did this ritual. He put… He put the re-remains of Voldemort into a cauldron. Then… then did something. _Bone of the father, unknowingly given. Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken._ Wormtail took a bone from the grave and cut off his own hand and took some of Harry's blood and then… then Voldemort came back."

"Potter," McGonagall tried again, a little firmer. "There will be time for that…"

"He called the Death Eaters," I continued, unable to stop myself as the images of the evening flickered before my eyes. "They came and he talked to the ones that were there. He told them about his history and about how he existed after…" I swallowed thickly. "He said he was going to prove he was stronger than Harry and then he turned to me. H-He told me why he let me live and I… I made him mad."

"What did you do?" Snape demanded. I smiled faintly, unable to hold the pride down. I had faced him down, I had outright insulted Voldemort... and I was _alive._ By dumb luck, no less. Maybe I was more like my brother than I thought.

"I pointed out that I was _wearing_ the basilisk his ancestor left in the castle," I said proudly. McGonagall gasped and Snape's lips thinned.

"Potter, you're suicidal…"

"I was angry. The things he said… I-In my head…" I sobbed again at the memory of the words echoing in my head. "I wanted… I needed to hurt him back, I needed to make him suffer just a little… for everything… everything, it's always him, always… Even now…"

"Imagine how the Dark Lord will reward me when he finds out that I have once and for all… silenced… the great Harry Potter."

We were at Moody's office and Dumbledore didn't hesitate to act. He pulled out his knobbly wand and pointed it at the door.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ he cried, blasting the door off its hinges. I tore into the office and threw myself at Harry, who was pressed into a corner behind Moody's huge trunk.

"Harry!" I wrapped my arms around him tightly and he hugged me back. I didn't care that we were sore and bloody and dirty, I just hugged my brother and felt safe in his arms like I hadn't in who knew how long, I couldn't even remember the last time, and how sad was that? But it couldn't be like that anymore, because Voldemort was back, and I needed Harry, I needed him to stay alive…

"Severus!"

I peeled away from Harry and the two of us crept closer, drawn by curiosity, as Snape poured a vial of clear liquid down the snarling Moody's throat, Dumbledore keeping him pinned to the chair where he'd landed. I guessed it was Veritaserum, it was the only potion I could think of that would be useful at the moment.

"Do you know who I am?" Dumbledore demanded, confirming for me that it was Veritaserum.

"Albus Dumbledore," Moody growled out, potion dripping from his lips as he glared at the headmaster hatefully.

"Are you Alastor Moody? Are you?"

"No…" Moody – or whoever was playing Moody – didn't seem to want to say it but the word was dragged out of his lips against his will.

"Is he in this room?" Dumbledore demanded. "Is he in this room?"

Moody's eyes tilted towards the trunk Harry and I were standing behind. Dumbledore released Moody and gestured for us to come away. McGonagall quickly pulled Harry behind her while I ducked behind Snape for protection. My Head of House brandished his wand, sending a jet of blue light at the trunk. It struck the luggage and there were a series of clicking sounds as the lid snapped open and a smaller trunk rose out of it. This happened seven times until finally the trunk went still and stopped its clicking.

"Brilliant," I whispered. "You'd need him close, to make sure he didn't get away…"

All five of us crept forward, peering cautiously down into the trunk. At the bottom of a very deep hole – the trunk was obviously bigger on the inside – there was a one-legged man with a hand pressed over his left eye. Or rather, where his left eye should be. Chunks of his hair were shorter than the rest. It was easy to guess why – glamours could be revealed but Polyjuice potion would stand up against all but the most intense scrutiny, and who would have reason to look that closely at Moody? Who would even be able to manage it?

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Dumbledore called down.

"I'm sorry Albus," Moody croaked wearily in response.

Harry wrinkled his nose in confusion. "That's Moody but then who's…?"

Snape lifted Moody's flask – I hadn't even seen him take it – and gave it a sniff. "Polyjuice potion," he confirmed.

"Now we know who's been stealing from your stores," Dumbledore murmured. "We'll get you up in a minute, Alastor!"

We all turned back to the chair where the fake Moody rested. His head lolled lazily and his features began to bubble and twist. He shouted in pain and I didn't blame him – the transformation back to himself looked incredibly painful. His hair shortened and turned dark and he lost weight in seconds, becoming so skinny he swam in Moody's clothes. The magical eye popped off as a new one grew in its place, the nose becoming whole and more aristocratic.

With a wild cry, the fake-Moody lunged at Harry. Dumbledore tugged him out of the way and Snape forced fake-Moody back into the chair. I stared at him in disbelief. I'd seen his younger form only a month or so ago. His tongue lashed out at the sides of his lips.

"Barty Crouch Jr," Dumbledore said quietly, a bit of disbelief in his voice.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Crouch growled, ripping up his left shirt sleeve. The tattoo of Voldemort's mark was coal black on his arm and the snake writhed around.

"Your arm, Harry," Dumbledore said, absently grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him forward. The bloody cut rested next to the Dark Mark on Crouch's arm. His eyes flicked to me as his tongue darted out once more.

"Show me both," he ordered. Dumbledore turned to look at me questioningly. I could see his mouth moving, forming the last word.

Clenching my jaw, I turned my head to the side and pushed the braid back behind my ear so that the bleeding S on my cheek could be seen. I heard McGonagall give a faint 'oh,' of sympathy and Snape snarled quietly.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Crouch said, eyes blazing with triumph. "He's back! Lord Voldemort has returned."

"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't help it!" Harry apologized.

"Send an owl to Azkaban. I think they'll find they're missing a prisoner."

McGonagall hustled off to do as ordered. Dumbledore wrapped an arm around Harry and I, guiding us towards the door.

"I'll be welcomed back like a hero!" Crouch yelled after us.

"Perhaps. Personally I've never had much time for heroes," Dumbledore said shortly as he forced Harry and I through the door. "See Madam Pomfrey," he ordered us. "Then return to your Common Rooms."

I gave a humorless smirk at that. Return to my Common Room? The Common Room full of the children of Death Eaters who now had a reborn boss to answer to? My life as a Slytherin had just become even more ridiculously complicated. I wondered if it was even safe for me to be in the Common Room anymore…

"Come on," Harry said quietly, taking my hand and tugging me out of my thoughts. I allowed him to drag me through the castle and up to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was already there dealing with a couple of hysterical students, passing out Calming Draughts like they were candy.

"Oh Merlin," Madam Pomfrey breathed when she saw us in the doorway. "Come here, the both of you."

She urged us towards the two beds at the end of the ward. People watched us as we passed, some even called out questions, but I didn't listen. I was trapped in my own head where Voldemort's words echoed. I was not a person, I was a trophy. I would be the symbol of his triumph…

" _You may wonder why I let you live. It was not an act of mercy but a curse upon you. When I rise to power once more – and make no mistake, I shall rise even farther than I did before – when your brother is dead at my feet, when Dumbledore and all who would oppose me have been crushed… When that day comes, you will still be alive?_

" _Do you know why? You're a bright girl, I can see it here in your mind. You are intelligent. Can you guess? No? Then Lord Voldemort will tell you. I allow you to live so that when I stand at the pinnacle of Wizardkind no one will dare oppose me again. You will be the symbol of my supremacy – the last of the hopelessly brave and good Gryffindor Potter alive, kneeling at my feet. You will be my prize, my trophy, my head mounted on the wall. You, kneeling at my feet, will be the sign of my triumph."_

"Miss Potter? May I see?"

Madam Pomfrey was standing in front of me, looking at me gently. In the bed beyond her I could see Harry looking at me worriedly. His arm was wrapped in bandages and a cut on his head was healing as I watched.

I yanked my hair out of the braid and pushed it back over my shoulders, closing my eyes so I didn't have to see the pity in Madam Pomfrey's eyes, or even worse, in Harry's. I felt her running her wand over the scar, felt the dried blood flake away, felt the faint prickle as the skin knitted together. I heard Madam Pomfrey mutter spell after spell but I knew it was no use. The cut could be healed, but the scar could not be removed.

"Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey said quietly. "Wait a moment, I… I have something for you."

She hustled off towards her office and Harry hopped off his bed, coming over to sit next to me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me rest my head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Rena," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have been there, it was all because of me…"

"No," I said thickly. I couldn't let Harry blame himself, not for this one. "No, Voldemort wanted me there. That's why the cup said Potter. He wanted us both. He has… He has plans for me."

I felt Harry stiffen slightly. "I saw… At one point he just stopped and stared at you for a minute. And then you… you screamed. Rena, what happened?"

I shook my head. "He talked to me, Harry. He said things inside my head and I… I can't…"

"What did he…?" Harry started to ask, then paused. "No, you know what? I'm not going to make you tell me."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't tell him. I physically couldn't. I was sure that if I tried my mouth wouldn't make the words. "Thank you," I whispered, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Why didn't you tell me about the dementors?" Harry asked instead, hurt entering his voice. I shook my head.

"I didn't want to worry you," I admitted.

"Miss Potter?"

I didn't pull myself away from Harry as Madam Pomfrey reappeared with something in her hands. Once I might have sat up for the sake of my reputation as a selfish snake, but I couldn't make myself care about that tonight. Damn it, I was upset and I wanted my brother to hold me. There was no shame in that, not here, not now.

"I began to experiment with this idea back in your second year," Madam Pomfrey explained slowly. "But you seemed comfortable with your scar by that time so I never offered. I… I made this…" She stretched out her hand, offering me what looked like a piece of skin. I picked it up, surprised when it felt like a bit of cotton.

"Your scar can be hidden by objects, but not by magic," Madam Pomfrey explained. "It's a patch with a sticking charm on it. It took some work to get it to appear flesh-like and blend in with your skin without showing the scar underneath but… I managed it in the end. I'm giving it to you now if you… if you want to use it."

 _God bless Madam Pomfrey._ She was giving me the chance to avoid all of the questions, all of the whispers, all of the stares. She was offering me the chance to deny part of the evening. I knew that denial wasn't healthy but at the moment I didn't care. I couldn't escape Voldemort's words, but maybe I could escape his actions, if only superficially.

I took the patch from her and lifted it up, placing it over my cheek. The fabric sealed itself against my skin. I sat up and stared at Harry. "Well?"

"Like it never happened," Harry assured me, hugging me tightly. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Thank you," I whispered in agreement as Harry wrapped his arms around me again.

"You're welcome, dears," Madam Pomfrey said kindly. "I have other patients to deal with, but you can sit here until you're ready."

She moved off, closing the curtains behind her to give us privacy. Something about the gesture made me mad. That Harry and I needed to be hidden, that we needed private time to get ourselves back together and that we had to hold each other to keep from falling apart. That we had been reduced to this and that we hadn't deserved any of it. Not one bit. I was covering my face with a patch and Harry had a scar on his arm for no reason but some psychopath wanted to spread his evil.

I was jealous too. Jealous that Harry had seen our parents, that he had spoken to them. Why did he get to do that? I had screamed for them, had begged them, but they hadn't even looked at me. Why did he always get the best end of the stick? Why was I always the one beaten to hell and left with more bitterness than when I started?

It. Wasn't. Fair.

And it had only happened because of one man. One man who was only a few stories down and who would now be going to Azkaban. Not exactly a reward but not the punishment he deserved. I wanted him to hurt for what he'd done, but I couldn't get away with that. I'd be caught with him writhing and screaming at my feet, and I didn't want to go to Azkaban for him.

I'd settle for Crouch dead.

"There's something I need to do," I said softly as I stood up. Harry looked at me questioningly.

"Rena?"

"I need… I need to do something," I repeated as I took a couple steps away from the bed. My head was swimming. My wand was still in my hand, or had I just pulled it out? I couldn't remember. "I'll be alright Harry, don't worry," I said quietly.

Harry still looked hesitant. "Let me walk you to the dungeons."

I shook my head. "Not going to the dungeons."

"Dumbledore said-"

"Hang Dumbledore," I said shortly. If he'd been smart enough to know that our DADA professor wasn't actually his old friend none of this would have happened. How had Crouch slipped by when Dumbledore had so easily realized he was a fake just from one action?

Harry's eyes widened. "Lorena-"

"Don't worry, Harry," I said, and somehow I found it in me to smile. "I'm fine."

That was an utter lie and Harry knew it, I could see it on his face. But he also knew that he wouldn't change my mind – he was rarely able to. So he nodded and let me go. Once more I ignored the stares and the whispers as I walked the length of the Hospital Wing.

I made my way through the halls. They were empty, surprisingly empty. I chuckled. I didn't know why I was surprised. The students would have been confined to the Common Rooms until things were dealt with, after all.

I arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait before consciously realizing I'd even headed in that direction. My mind was planning for me without my even realizing it. The Fat Lady stared at me. I stared back.

"You don't know the password, do you?" she asked slowly. I shook my head, allowing some of the trauma of the night to wash of the mental dams I was trying desperately to use against it. My eyes watered and my voice came out strained as I stammered,

"I-I j-just… I-I need… I n-need…"

As I had hoped, the Fat Lady's Gryffindor chivalry wouldn't let her leave me standing pitifully in the hallway. She was friends with many of the portraits around the castle and the portraits gossiped worse than Lavender Brown. She would already know what had happened tonight.

She swung open and let me inside of Gryffindor Tower. All eyes flicked to me. Ron and Hermione stood up quickly, as did Fred and George. They all rushed me with a babble of questions.

"How's Harry?"

"Is he okay?"

"Lorena, what happened?"

"Are you okay?"

Bless those twins for caring about _me._ I smiled slightly as I drifted past them, calling absently, "Harry sent me to get something. Dumbledore's still talking to him. I've got to hurry…"

I made my way up to Harry's dorm and moved to his trunk. I pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and draped it over myself, breathing in the familiar scent of forests and animals. Now I understood the scents. Would my father be proud of what I was going to do? Who cared, my father hadn't even acknowledged his daughter. I'd feel guilty, later. For now, the anger simmering through my veins demanded sating.

I tossed the cloak over me and slipped unseen out of the Common Room, making my way down to Moody's office. This was war now. Voldemort was back and with him the war. And in war, murder wasn't wrong. It was something to be proud of, in a way. You took out the enemy yourself. I was a Slytherin – preemptive attacks to lower enemies numbers made strategic sense. What I was about to do was justified, right?

There was an Auror posted outside of the office where Crouch was being held, probably an advance guard sent ahead to keep Crouch where he was until an escort to Azkaban was arranged. The Auror was wary, peering up and down the hallway for any sign of trouble. He couldn't see me though. I slipped behind him silently and prodded him in the back with my wand.

" _Stupefy."_

He fell like a puppet with his strings cut. I turned to the door.

" _Alohamora."_

I stepped into the office. Crouch straightened up when the door opened, trying to face his fate bravely. His expression turned to confusion when seemingly no one came in and cunning when he saw the downed Auror. He stood up and made for the door.

" _Petrificus Totalus."_

He snapped stiff as a board and toppled to the ground. I stayed under the cloak as I walked over to him and flipped him over with a kick. His eyes, the only part of his body he could still move, darted around fearfully in search of whoever had gotten him with the spell. But I was invisible. He couldn't see me.

I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to see the rage on his face and know that what was about to happen he'd brought on himself. I ripped off the Invisibility Cloak and tossed it aside, pointing my wand at Crouch.

" _Avada Kedav-"_

" _Expelliarmus!"_

I looked up, startled and afraid, as my wand leaped from my hand. Framed by the door was my Head of House, staring at me in disbelief. I stared at him right back.

"He needs to pay, sir," I said thickly. "It's because of him that Voldemort's alive. It's because of him everything happened. He needs to die," I said viciously, kicking Crouch in the side as hard as I could. Snape surged forwards, wrapping his arms around me and dragging me away from Crouch. I thrashed in his arms and let out a strangled sob.

"Why won't you let me do it?" I cried. "He _deserves_ to die, sir, _let me kill him!"_

" _No,_ Potter!" Snape hissed in my ear, ducking slightly to avoid my flailing hand as I tried to reach around and grab him. "You have no idea what killing will do to you!"

"I don't care!" I screamed. "I don't care, I want him dead! Let me kill him!"

"Why should he be allowed a painless death when a life spent languishing in Azkaban is so much harder?" Snape challenged.

"He said he'd break open Azkaban," I snapped. "He said he'd get his faithful out. Azkaban won't hold him. He needs to die!"

"But you won't be the one to do it," Snape growled as he hauled me bodily out of the room, pausing only to snatch up the cloak from the floor before he hit me with a Silencing charm. I opened my mouth and tried to shout fruitlessly as he dragged me down the hall and into a secret passageway. I thrashed and tried to shout all the way down to the dungeons and into his office. Snape shut the door behind us and locked it with his wand before tossing me down into the chair on one side of his desk.

I tried to rise, mouthing curses at him, but Snape pointed his wand at me again. Ropes lashed my arms to the chair. My eyes widened in horror as I flashed back to the graveyard, to the ropes binding me to the statue, being dragged to float in front of Voldemort. I'd have bruises…

Snape knelt before the chair. I stared at him hatefully as tears streamed down my face. Summoning every bit of strength to keep my lips from twitching and making my meaning indistinguishable I mouthed, 'Traitor,' with every bit of venom in me and watched in delight as Snape winced.

"Listen to me, Potter," Snape insisted. "You don't know what killing does. It rips the soul apart." I rolled my eyes. "I am not being metaphorical!" Snape snarled. "Killing _literally_ rips your soul apart. You would have done more damage to yourself than you can possibly imagine, Potter. I cannot let you do that to yourself. God help me, I may be ruined, but _I will not let you do the same to yourself!"_

The intensity in Snape's voice startled me, made my eyes widen and made me rear back from him slightly. Killing would have… have ripped up my soul? That could happen? I was never spiritual or religious and I'd never given much thought to souls. I suppose I'd assumed I had one but I'd never considered beyond that. And killing Crouch… would have ripped mine?

I could still smell the scent of the Invisibility Cloak lingering around me. My dad's scent. Oh god… Him and mum… If they could see me now they would be so ashamed. I had been ready to kill a man, I hadn't even hesitated, I had planned it out to cover my tracks without even really thinking about it. I was sickened by my own actions and by how easy it had been.

I slumped forward in the chair, tears rolling down my cheeks as I sobbed silently, my mouth opened wide in a silent scream. I had cried and screamed more in the past few hours than I ever had in my entire life. I felt worn out, thin, like a fraying thread stretched too tight. I was about to snap.

"Potter… Potter look at me."

I shook my head, unable to face my Potions Master. I was ashamed of my actions, ashamed of my tears, ashamed of myself, ashamed even of how I'd frozen helplessly in the graveyard and simply let it all happen around me. I didn't want him to see me, I didn't want anyone to see me.

"I will kill him for you."

My head snapped up and I stared at Snape in disbelief. I read no lies on his face, only cool determination and detachment. He would. He'd do it, he'd kill Crouch for me. I didn't even have to say anything, I'd just have to nod and he'd end Crouch's life for me. He'd do to himself what he'd stopped me from doing to myself. He'd tear his soul for me.

I had no idea what I'd ever done to deserve loyalty like that from my professor and I was staggered by my unworthiness. I was blown away by what Snape had just offered me and horrified by his willingness to do it.

Frantically I shook my head, mouthing 'no' over and over. Snape's wand twitched and the words spilled out.

"-sir no, please don't. Don't do that to yourself, not for me, god, I don't deserve that, don't… please don't…" My protests trailed off as Snape's eyes lit with pride.

"Despite everything you have endured," he said softly, "you still care. You are… remarkable."

I smiled faintly, flushing in pleasure at the praise like I always did. "Thanks sir. For the compliment, for the offer, for… for stopping me." I cringed, embarrassed and appalled by what I'd almost done. "I'm not… I wasn't really myself earlier and now I am. Thanks."

"It's nothing," Snape said firmly, looking as uncomfortable as ever with anything remotely emotional. "Are you… alright?" he asked uncertainly.

"Alright?" I repeated blankly. "No sir, I'm not. I'm very far from alright. I am functional though. I'm just… I'm sad, I'm tired, I'm… I'm afraid," I admitted quietly.

"I would consider you a fool if you weren't," Snape said softly. "There is a war coming, Potter, make no mistake. And someday you may have to kill another human being to save your own life or the lives of others. Only you can know how that will affect your soul. But until it becomes necessary…"

"Maybe try and keep my soul intact, huh?" I said wryly. Snape chuckled.

"Yes, that seems like an excellent idea."

I shifted in my chair, wincing as the ropes pulled tightly on my arms. Snape immediately removed them and stood, stepping back to give me room to rise as well. I rubbed my wrists, getting the blood flow back.

"You tie up all your students, sir?" I asked weakly. Snape smirked.

"Only the incredibly difficult ones."

I laughed softly. "Sorry to be so much trouble."

"I would hope this will be the end of the trouble you cause for a while, Potter. Come, let us return you to the Common Room."

I nodded and let Snape guide me out of the office and down the hall, receding back into my thoughts. AS determined as I'd been to kill Crouch before I was now doubly as happy I had been stopped, particularly now that I knew what it could have done to me. I wanted Crouch to suffer, that hadn't changed – but not at my expense. Azkaban wasn't what I would have chosen but it was… acceptable.

"Serpentine," Snape said to the wall and it slid open. He gave me a light push through the door. I went willingly, waiting until the wall ground shut behind me to step fully into the Common Room. Instantly, all eyes were on me. I hated it.

I wouldn't be able to take the questions. I wouldn't be able to relive the night anymore than I already had. I needed something to pull me out of the night, something I could concentrate on. I was tired but I was dreading sleep – I knew the nightmares would come then. I needed to lose myself in something that required all of my focus, I needed a challenge, I needed…

A flash of platinum blonde hair caught my eye.

Malfoy. Oddly enough, I needed Malfoy.

Malfoy sat at a trio of tables that had been pushed together in a corner. The rest of our year sat with him. Their eyes were on me as I approached. Lily made to rise and greet me but Tracey grabbed her hand and shook her head, stopping her. I was grateful for that.

"You look like hippogriff shit, Potter," Parkinson sneered as I approached. "What happened? Did Diggory-?"

I didn't care to listen to whatever filth she was going to spew. My wand flicked up and there was a flash of red light. Parkinson slumped back into her chair, stunned. I tipped her out of it onto the floor ruthlessly and sat down in her place across from Malfoy. He stared at me uncertainly, cautiously.

"I need you to play chess with me," I said stiffly. Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise but almost immediately softened in understanding. Bless him for deciding not to be an ass at this exact moment.

He raised his wand and Summoned his chess set from his room. The others around us watched in silence as Malfoy set up the board. This was the first time we'd played against each other in years.

"Your move," Malfoy said as he twisted the board to face me. I moved a pawn forwards without much thought. Malfoy did the same. I moved a piece, he moved a piece. I paid more attention to every move than I ever had before, thinking three moves ahead before I even lifted my hand to move a piece. I threw myself whole-heartedly into the game play, only pausing to Stun Parkinson again when she began to stir. The prefects watching us said nothing, just Summoned Parkinson to them and passed her off to Amelie to put to bed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daphne looked visibly stressed. Nott looked unnerved. Crabbe and Goyle were more fearful than I'd ever seen them and Malfoy had lines of worry etched into his forehead. I knew what they were worried about.

"They're fine," I said quietly, the first time I'd spoken since the game began. "He didn't hurt any of them." I bit my lip as the children of Death Eaters leaned forwards. They were the spawn of those who served the man who had killed my family, who had marked my face… I didn't owe them any kindness.

But they were afraid for the safety of their parents and I couldn't begrudge them that. You didn't choose your family – look at the Dursleys. They couldn't be blamed for who their parents had sworn allegiance to.

"Daphne, your father wasn't there – I don't think he was Summoned." Daphne sagged back in relief. "Crabbe, Goyle, he didn't hurt them. Nott, he didn't touch your dad either. And tell Avery when you see him next that his dad's fine too."

"My father?" Malfoy asked, a hint of desperation on his face. "Is he… Was he…"

I looked up at him. Once I might have been tempted to lie and say his dad had been tortured but this wasn't the time for petty rivalries and even I wasn't that cruel. Instead I just shook my head.

"Your dad's fine," I said and Malfoy sagged in relief.

"Thank you, Potter," Nott murmured. "I was… We were all… We were worried. I know they're… You didn't have to… Thanks."

"You are not them," I said quietly.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" Lily asked uncertainly. I shook my head.

"No, I don't. I just… I want to play." I didn't know how to explain my need without sounding pathetic.

Lily nodded in understanding and grabbed Tracey by the arm, pulling her up. "Then I think we should all leave you alone and let you do that. Night, Potter."

I murmured a goodnight back as Nott moved off to tell Avery the news, urging Crabbe and Goyle along as well. Bulstrode went off to the dorms, presumably to look in on Parkinson. Zabini clapped Malfoy on the shoulder and whispered something before moving off to bed as well. Daphne moved to her sister to tell her the news about their father.

"Don't let me win," I said quietly as Malfoy placed his knight down within easy reach of my knight. It was a dumb move and he was better than that. He paused, his hand still on the piece, and looked at me questioningly. "That's not why I'm doing this."

Malfoy smirked slightly, but it wasn't superior as usual, more like amused. "Of course, Potter," he said, replacing his knight and taking out one of my bishops. "Don't know what I was thinking."

I managed a weak upward twitch of my lips in response as we continued to play, the Common Room emptying out around us as people went to bed. The fire in the grate faded to nothing and the only thing keeping the Common Room lit were the torches on the wall.

"Checkmate," Malfoy said simply as he placed his pawn next to my king. I knocked my piece over obligingly. "Again?" he asked, and I nodded. He set the pieces back up and once more gave me the white pieces and the first move. The game started all over and we continued to play as the night wore on. When that game was over, we started a third, then a fourth as night turned into the next day. Malfoy won every single game as I grew more and more tired, my eyelids starting to slump.

I must have fallen asleep over my rook because the next thing I knew I was curled in someone's arms and being laid down on my bed. Through my barely-open lashes I could dimly see the gleam of platinum hair in the moonlight and the burn of grey eyes. Malfoy was putting me to bed. Now if that wasn't unexpected I didn't know what was.

I was asleep again before he'd even pulled the blankets over me.


	44. Summer Again

"Today we acknowledge a really terribly loss."

Dumbledore's words echoed around the silent Great Hall. Cedric's funeral would be held privately over the summer but the school was holding a wake for him. I was glad. He deserved it. He deserved a full life, but that had been cruelly snatched away from him. If this was all we could do to honor him, so be it.

"Cedric Diggory was, as you all know, exceptionally hardworking, infinitely fair-minded, and most importantly… a fierce, fierce friend. Now I think therefore you have the right to know how he died. You see… Cedric Diggory was murdered, by Lord Voldemort. The Ministry does not wish me to tell you this, but not to do so I think would be a great insult to his memory.

"The pain we all feel at this dreadful loss reminds me – reminds us – that while we may come from different places and speak in different tongues our hearts beat as one. In light of recent events the bonds of friendship we have made this year will be more important than ever. Remember that, and Cedric Diggory will not have died in vain. You remember that and we will celebrate a boy who was kind and honest and brave and true, right to the very end."

* * *

I left the wake and went to the apprentice's lab. The train would be arriving soon and I had things to pack. The books I'd stored down there, the basilisk skin, the potions I'd brewed. Maybe I'd find some use for them over the summer…

I wasn't pleased with how Dumbledore had handled the wake. He was using Cedric Diggory. It was subtle yes, but he was holding Cedric up as a symbol, as a martyr, do draw others to his side. He was doing exactly what Voldemort wanted to do to me and I couldn't forgive him for that. Cedric deserved to have his death told, but not to be used like that. He was too good for that.

Silas was curled around my shoulders supportively, hissing every now and then to remind me he was there for me. We'd decided he needed to stay at Hogwarts instead of coming to Privet Drive with me. I didn't like the idea of him anywhere near Aunt Petunia's hatred of animals. He'd offered to come, even offered to bite my cousin if he tried to mess with me. He was doing his best, but I was more worried about him than me.

After the graveyard, there wasn't much my cousin and my aunt and uncle could do to me that would leave much of an impact.

"My offer still stands," Silas said as I began boxing up the potions from the shelves. "I'll poison them for you, I don't care."

I smiled faintly and shook my head. "I think there would be legal ramifications for that one."

Silas let out a hiss. "I could bite them too?" he offered. I chuckled, the first time I'd really laughed even a little since the graveyard.

"No, you're safer here," I said. I planned to spend the summer researching different protective enchantments so that even if someone did attack him he'd have a chance of holding off spells long enough to slink off into a hole and get back to the apprentice's lab.

I closed my personal potions book and tucked it into the box before turning to face the shelves. I headed to grab all the Animagus books but paused as the door ground open behind me. I turned and wasn't surprised to see Snape standing in the doorway.

"Minerva would like to speak with you," he said bluntly. "She wants to review what you've learned about Animagi for the year."

I raised an eyebrow, honestly surprised. I'd assumed that plan was gone to the wayside considering how the year had ended. I was pleased it hadn't though. At least I might have something to look forward to next year.

"Thanks for telling me, sir," I said. "I'll be up in a minute, I've almost packed everything up."

"Why are you packing?" Snape asked bluntly. I blinked.

"It's… the end of the year," I said uncertainly. "You told me I only had the lab for the tournament. The tournament's over, Fudge gave us our winnings…" And Harry and I had agreed to turn right around and hand them over to the twins for a joke shop.

"Things have changed," Snape said shortly. He winced and rubbed at his left arm – the arm I now knew bore the Dark Mark. I remembered Dumbledore's memory – Snape was a spy before the first war ended. I had no doubt that he would be a spy again – of everyone, my mentor was one of the ones most likely not to make it through this war. My gut turned at the idea.

"You have expressed an interest in beginning a brewing business," Snape reminded me. "You will need a place to do so as well as a place to practice privately if you still intend to become and Animagi. This lab is perfect for such tasks."

My face split into a wide grin – it had been so long that it actually hurt. "Fair warning sir," I said, unable to contain my excitement.

"Warning for wha- urf!"

I threw myself at Snape and hugged him tightly around the middle. "Thank you, sir," I breathed into his robes. "You're really my guardian angel, you know."

Snape sniffed but didn't push me off. "Potter I am hardly angelic in any aspect. Now get off before you start blubbering on my robes."

I smirked slightly as I pulled away. "So I can keep using the lab?" I asked for confirmation. "For brewing and practice?"

Snape nodded. "You may. As I said at the beginning of the year, no one else has need of it. Rest assured that the moment someone else does you shall be tossed out."

I snickered. This sounded like Amity's statement that if there was nothing for me to do around the shop she wouldn't hire me. It sounded like a threat but I didn't believe either of them. Amity… I missed her. I wished to god I could tell her everything that had happened but we had the Statute of Secrecy for a reason. It would be good to see her again…

"Of course, sir," I said. "I should go see McGonagall, I guess…" I moved towards the door, pausing as I realized Silas was still draped around my shoulders. Maybe not the best way to go traipsing around the halls. I lifted him off and set him down on the counter.

"Happy summer," he offered. I nodded and hissed the same back to him, reaching for the door. A memory from the graveyard danced behind my eyes and I froze as I recalled the snake circling Harry and I, the way it slid through the grass and the rustling sound it made. This was happening a lot – some random memory would strike and leave me frozen in place.

"What's wrong?" Snape asked from behind me. I bit my lip. I didn't want to tell him how much of an impact the graveyard had on me but I did have a question.

"I told you Voldemort spoke into my head," I said quietly. "Do you know how?"

Snape sighed. "It is a mental art called Legilimency. The ability to invade another's mind and search through the memories. The more powerful can even create new memories. The Dark Lord was often fond of invading the minds of his enemies and torturing them into madness."

I snorted. "Sounds like him," I said bitterly. "Don't suppose there's a way to block him?"

"There is, as it happens." I spun around towards Snape, eyes wide. I'd just assumed that would be a resounding no. Nothing was ever that convenient for me.

"Seriously?" I asked eagerly. "What is it?"

"Occlumency is the art of guarding one's mind against interference by an outside party," Snape explained.

"Do you know how to do it sir?" I asked desperately. "Can you teach me?"

Snape hesitated. "I am capable. Teaching you, however… yes, perhaps it would be prudent. But once again you are taking on ridiculous amounts of work for the coming year," Snape scolded. "Animagi, Occlumency, Patronus, beginning a brewing business, not to mention your OWLs. I will not be responsible for you working yourself into illness."

I shook my head. "I won't start anything on a brewing business beyond building contacts until the end of the year," I explained. "And I'm not _too_ concerned about OWLs, considering my grades have held consistently at the top of the school for years. And… I've actually managed a corporeal Patronus," I said with a smile.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Have you now?"

I was proud as I pulled out my wand and cast, " _Expecto Patronum_!" The silver phoenix burst from the end of my want in full form, feathers gleaming and trailing silver mist as it did a lap of the room and then vanished at my request. Snape looked at me approvingly.

"Well done Potter. I see underestimating your abilities is foolish. Very well… I will owl you a list of books to read once you return to school and I will teach you Occlumency."

"Thank you, sir," I said gratefully. Snape raised a hand.

"Should I see evidence that you're falling behind in your studies, I will end the lessons immediately," he said sharply. "And you will have to work around Animagi lessons with Minerva, should she agree to teach you. Speaking of, she is likely growing very impatient by now. Go speak to her," Snape insisted.

I nodded. "Right. Thanks sir," I said again before I turned and left the lab.

I got several looks in the halls on my way to McGonagall's office. I wasn't surprised. The school didn't seem to know what to make of Cedric's death or Harry and I being involved in it. I was grateful to Crouch for one thing – my reaction to people asking me about the Reminder after his lesson kept people from coming up to bother me with questions now. They were too afraid I'd send them to the Hospital Wing.

"Professor, it's Potter!" I called as I rapped on McGonagall's door.

"Come in."

I entered the office and sat down in the seat across from McGonagall. She clasped her hands together in front of her desk and looked at me very seriously.

"Miss Potter," she began. "I will understand if you no longer wish to study Animagi, or simply wish to wait until your thoughts are in order-"

"Professor, that's the last thing I want," I said hastily. "My thoughts are the last thing I need to be left to. I need a project, something to throw myself into."

McGonagall nodded in understanding. "I can accept wanting a distraction. But you should know that if you choose to do this it has to be for reasons other than that. Becoming an Animagus is a long and difficult road. You must commit fully to it."

"Professor," I said seriously, "I want this, I really do."

"Why?" McGonagall challenged me. "Explain it to me, Potter."

I blinked. "If you're waiting for me to spill my guts it's not going to happen, Professor," I said bluntly. "I want the advantages that come with having a magical form. I want the power to change my shape. Am I doing this to be closer to my father? Maybe, but that's more of a side-effect than a real reason."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and looked faintly amused. "At least you're honest," she said slowly. "In that case, we will begin. Who was the first Animagus?"

"Falco Aesalon."

"What is the most common Animagus form?"

"A bird."

McGonagall quizzed me for over an hour on everything from basic information like the definition of an Animagus and famous Animagi in history to the differences between Animagi and transfiguration and the steps it takes to become an Animagi. I answered as completely and concisely as I could and was gratified to watch the pleased light in McGonagall's eye burn brighter and brighter.

"Well done, Miss Potter," McGonagall finally said. "You are, as always, as well-researched as one could possibly be before going into a task."

I smiled, pleased at the praise. It didn't thrill me quite as much as getting a compliment out of Snape but McGonagall was still one of the toughest teachers in the school. A compliment from her, particularly as a Slytherin, was something to be proud of.

McGonagall reached into her desk and pulled out a small vial, holding it up. I could see a leaf curled up inside. "Do you know what this is?"

"Mandrake leaf," I replied immediately.

"Of course you do." Not only was I the resident Potions prodigy but I had just spent the last several months reading about Animagi transformations, the first step of which involved holding a mandrake leaf under your tongue for a month. "Does this mean-?"

"Yes, I agree to teach you," McGonagall confirmed. She passed the mandrake leaf over to me. I took it gratefully and tucked it into my pocket. "A month before school begins again, place that under your tongue. Once you arrive you'll be ready to begin."

"Any advice?" I asked as I patted the mandrake leaf in my pocket.

"Eat foods with strong flavors," McGonagall said, making a face. "The things taste rancid."

I winced. "Of course it is."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to…" she said leadingly.

"No that's fine," I said hastily. "Don't worry about me. Anything else I should know?"

"Be careful not to swallow it," McGonagall advised. I nodded. "Enjoy your break, Miss Potter. Try… try to have fun," she said, a bit of pity appearing in her expression as her eyes drifted towards my covered cheek. I turned my head so that my cheek was hidden.

"Yes Professor. Enjoy your summer," I returned quietly as I stood up and left the office.

* * *

McGonagall stood up from her desk and moved to her fireplace. She tossed a handful of Floo powder in and watched as the flames burned green. "Severus," she called into the fireplace. "May I have a word?"

"Certainly," was the reply from the flames and there was a burst of green flame as Snape Flooed to her office. He stepped out of the fireplace and quickly Vanished the ashes that came with him. McGonagall nodded in approval and sat down behind her desk once again.

"Potter just left, I assume?" Snape guessed as he sat himself down in the chair his student had vacated barely a minute before. "Are you going to teach her?"

"I am," McGonagall admitted. "She shows potential despite Transfiguration not being her best subject." She nodded to her colleague in recognition to his field. "She's certainly clever enough."

"She's too clever by half and, even worse, she knows it," Snape replied bluntly. McGonagall smiled slightly.

"Well, there's also that," she allowed.

"If you're going to teach her you should know that I've also agreed to teach her Occlumency," Snape admitted. McGonagall had to actively restrain herself from throwing up her hands in disbelief.

"Is there anything that girl won't try to learn before her time?!"

"She expressed concerns after what happened in the graveyard. The Dark Lord spoke directly into her mind. She hadn't confided in me what he said but she's been… deeply shaken." Snape's expression became more dour than usual. McGonagall's lips thinned.

"There's no telling what he could have said to her," she said bitterly. "I imagine anyone would be shaken. She's handling it better than many would. She's already had to handle too much."

Snape scowled. "She's not handling it as well as you might think," he grit out. McGonagall blinked at him, surprised.

"What does that mean?"

"First I want your word that nothing of what I'm about to tell you will reach Albus."

Now McGonagall was outright suspicious. "And why should the headmaster not know?"

"Because as much as Albus might like to think of himself as the champion of the underdog he does not, in fact, always know what is best for a person," Snape replied shortly, and the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. "I don't like to think of what he'd do if he knew what Potter tried to do."

"What did she try to do?" McGonagall pressed, but Snape shook his head.

"No, Minerva. Your word first."

McGonagall had known Snape since he was a student. She knew when he was being serious.

"Alright, you have it," she sighed. "Now tell me."

"You recall finding the Auror guarding Crouch Stunned and Crouch himself under a Full-Body Bind," Snape began. It wasn't a question but McGonagall nodded anyway, her lips pursed.

"And thanks to Fudge and his dementor we'll never know what happened," she said tartly, still beyond angry that the Minister had brought one of those monsters onto school grounds.

"It was Potter."

McGonagall stared at Snape in disbelief. "Miss Potter did it? But… why?"

Snape's grip on the arms of his chair tightened until his knuckles were white. He scowled as he said, "She intended to kill him."

"Potter?" McGonagall laughed in disbelief. "Kill Crouch? She wouldn't…" She trailed off as she saw the grim look on Snape's face. "She… she wouldn't?" This time McGonagall wasn't so sure.

"I found her standing over Crouch with her wand out, halfway through an Avada Kedavra," Snape said shortly.

"But… Miss Potter is advanced, certainly, but… but the Killing Curse Severus… it's more than knowledge, it's…"

"I know very well what goes into a Killing Curse, Minerva," Snape said tetchily. "Better than you in many ways, in fact. I saw the look on Potter's face. Had I not stopped her, she would have done it."

McGonagall was very pale. "I-I'm sorry Severus, but Dumbledore must be told of this… If Miss Potter is playing with Unforgiveables…"

"You swore," Snape said sharply. "And I said she would have done it. I Silenced her and dragged her down to my office. Once she'd come out of it a little she was horrified by what she'd almost done. She… she cried." Snape shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

McGonagall was well aware of Snape's problems dealing with emotional situations, situations involving women and most especially situations involving Lorena Potter. McGonagall was one of the few who were well aware of the feelings Snape had for Lily Evans when they were at school. At first she'd worried when Snape expressed such an interest in the Potter girl, but it was quickly proved that he had no dishonorable intentions towards her – in fact, he wanted to help her in any way he could.

"Unless her life is directly threatened I don't think we need to worry about Lorena Potter becoming a murderer," Snape said shortly. "But… the possibility is something we should be aware of," he admitted grudgingly.

"You care for the girl," McGonagall said. Snape nodded, not even bothering to deny it. "I do as well. She has been through quite a bit, our Miss Potter, but she is still striving to better herself. It's… rather admirable."

Snape gave her a dark look. "Don't try and poach my protégé, Minerva. I shall have to turn very nasty if you do."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Are you not already?"

* * *

As usual, I boarded the train and immediately swapped from Slytherin bitch into Harry's sister and sat with him. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had managed to get a compartment to ourselves. Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him from hooting continually. Hedwig and Artemisia were dozing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion.

When Hermione returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she dislodged a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had been carrying in there. I stared at it in distaste. I hadn't seen a copy of the Daily Prophet for days. Not exactly wise, but I couldn't bring myself to see what kind of hack job they'd do on the events of the third task.

Hermione saw Harry and I looking. She said calmly, "There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me. Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," said Harry. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione in an oddly tremulous. "As a matter of fact," she added, her voice now trembling slightly, "Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione in a rush.

"How was she doing it?" said Harry at once.

"How did you find out?" said Ron, staring at her.

I grinned manically. "Oh, please tell me it's illegal," I cooed.

"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea. Harry," she said.

"Did I?" said Harry, perplexed. "How?"

"Bugging," said Hermione happily.

"But you said they didn't work -"

"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see... Rita Skeeter" - Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph - "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn -"

Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out other bag.

"- into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "You haven't... she's not..."

"Oh yes she is," said Hermione happily, brandishing the jar at us. Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle.

"That's never - you're kidding -" Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes.

"No, I'm not," said Hermione, beaming. "I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

I snatched the jar from Ron and held it up, peering inside. The beetle was looking incredibly put out. I smirked.

"Well well Rita," I whispered. "What to do with you?"

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry recalled suddenly.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

"When we saw Parkinson under that tree..." said Ron slowly. I blinked, not having recalled hearing about this.

"She was talking to Skeeter, in her hand," said Hermione. "She knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid."

"Pardon," I said shortly. Hermione cast me an apologetic look and I huffed.

Hermione took the glass jar back from me and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass.

"I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London," said Hermione. "I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."

"Alternatively, we could just chuck her out the window and let her find her own way out," I offered, jerking a thumb at the countryside as we whizzed past.

Hermione scowled. "Lorena, that's a little harsh," she chided. "She'd starve!"

"Technically she'd be dehydrated first," I countered. "And you say that like it's a problem…"

The door of the compartment slid open. In came a platinum blonde head flanked by two boulders.

I hadn't spoken to Malfoy since the night of the third task. In fact, I had been actively avoiding him. My other friends, even Daphne and Nott, had been kind. Admittedly, they couldn't do much considering who their parents were but they found small ways to thank me for telling them that their families were safe. Zabini sent me his usual bouquet and Nott chipped in to send me a couple of poppies. Daphne had even contributed an array of lilies. Of course, the usual white tulips had appeared. One of each had been dried and added to my box. It was getting quite full these days.

"Very clever, Granger," sneered Malfoy. "So," he continued slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favorite boy again. Big deal."

His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered.

"Trying not to think about it, are we?" said Malfoy softly, looking around at all of us. "Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," said Harry.

"Draco," I said sharply. I don't know what possessed me to use his first name. I couldn't remember if I ever had before. It was always an annoyed 'Malfoy' or some kind of insult, usually about his hair or his family. It worked though, drawing all eyes in the compartment to me.

I stood up, facing Malfoy. "Please," I said quietly. "Please don't do this. Not now."

I didn't have any desire to watch a throw down between my brother and the boy who had been… there was no way around it this time, he'd been kind to me the night after the third task. He sat up until nearly three in the morning playing chess with me and then carried me to bed when I passed out over the board. There was no other way to explain the gesture.

Malfoy stared at me hard, his eyes flickering over my face like he was looking for some kind of reason he should or shouldn't listen to me. Whatever it was he found it, because his eyes shut briefly and he let out a sigh.

"As you wish, Potter," he huffed. "Come on boys, let's go raid the trolley," he said, gesturing for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him as he turned to the door.

"Malfoy!" I called after him, startling myself. He paused by the door, glancing over his shoulder.

"What, Potter?" he demanded irritably. I offered him something like a smile – one corner of my mouth quirked up, at least.

"Thanks," I said softly. "I… appreciate it."

I might have been crazy, but I'd have sworn that Malfoy's eyes softened slightly. Then it was gone and he tilted his head up and smirked. "Any time, Potter," he said smugly and strutted from the compartment. I smirked as I watched him go. Same old Malfoy, arrogant as ever… but maybe not as bad as I thought.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron demanded the omen the door shut behind them.

"Since when does Malfoy listen to you?" Harry agreed, narrowing his eyes at me. "Did something happen? What were you thanking him for?" he fired off.

I rolled my eyes. No way was I telling them what happened the night of the third task in any detail. "He's just been more decent than usual lately. I'm trying positive reinforcement. Maybe he'll be less of a prick?" I said with a shrug, sitting back down. I noticed Hermione watching me carefully, like she was trying to work something out.

The twins made an entrance then, bless them. They came in for a game of Exploding Snap. I joined in, absently wondering in the back of my mind if either of them were decent at chess. My mind kept going back to Malfoy. He was decent to me. Actually decent. And I couldn't get my head around that. Had I been wrong about him all these years? No, he was still arrogant and a bully and a coward… but maybe there was something more going on in that pretty platinum head of his.

The train pulled into King's Cross. Hermione eagerly grabbed her trunk and headed out to meet her parents while Ron stuffed his dress robes in his trunk to hide them and struggled out of the compartment. Harry and I exchanged glances as the twins stood up and nodded.

"Wait a moment," I called out to them before they could leave. They paused in his trunk and turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out our Triwizard winnings.

"Take it," he said, and he thrust the sack into George's hands.

"What?" said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

"Take it," I repeated firmly. "We don't want it."

"You're mental," said George, trying to push it back at Harry as he stared between the two of us.

"No, I'm not," said Harry.

"You take it, and get inventing. It's for the joke shop," I clarified. "Think of it as payback for all your tutoring."

"They are mental," Fred said in an almost awed voice.

"Listen," said Harry firmly. "If you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it."

"We could do with a few laughs though," I added darkly. "We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

"Guys…" said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"There better be, or Fudge shortchanged us," I said with a smirk.

Harry grinned. "Think how many Canary Creams that is."

The twins stared at us.

"Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it..."

"Harry," Fred began, but I pulled out my wand.

"Take it, or I hex you," I said shortly.

"Just do me one favor, okay?" Harry put in. "Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you."

We left the compartment before they could do anything more than gape at us, dragging our trunks and owls behind us. I looped my arm through Harry.

"Well that was my good deed for the year!" I announced brightly. "Glad I've got that out of the way." I made a face. Harry snickered and nudged me with his elbow.

"You know you're soft."

I glared. "Why would you even say such a horrible lie?"

Uncle Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier. Mrs. Weasley was close by him. She hugged Harry very tightly when she saw him and whispered in his ear, "I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry."

"You're welcome too, of course," Mrs. Weasley said as she released Harry to hug me. "Maybe I can teach you a new stitch? I'll have you making Weasley sweaters if it's the last thing I do," Mrs. Weasley said, stroking my hair fondly. I smiled back, resisting the urge to flinch as her hand brushed the edge of the patch on my cheek. She didn't notice though.

I was wearing the patch constantly. The only people who knew about the new scar were Harry, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey, and Snape. Possibly Ron and Hermione, I didn't know if Harry had told them. It could go either way. I wanted to keep it that way too. I didn't need people looking at me with pitying eyes.

"Maybe," I hedged, making a mental note to grab Mrs. Weasley some nice yarn from Amity's shop.

"See you. Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Harry, Rena - thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry winked at them as I went up on my toes to kiss them both on the cheek. We turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station.

* * *

 _Lorena,_

 _I have never been very good at goodbyes. I don't think you'd appreciate one, either. I have enjoyed our conversations this year immensely and it has definitely been an interesting year. If you don't mind, I would like to count you among my friends from now on. I understand if you feel differently, or even if you simply need time to process recent events. But if you ever have questions about Mediwizardry, feel free to send me an owl._

 _I wish you all the best,_

 _Iliya_

I smiled as I tucked the letter into my pocket. It had arrived shortly after we had at Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had grumbled and groused, leaving us to handle our luggage while he joined Dudley in front of the TV. Harry and I had dragged our things up the stairs. Harry had passed out gratefully on the bed we shared.

I was heading out when the owl arrived. I'd taken the letter with me and read it on my way to my destination.

I pushed open the door to Raincrow Crafts and listened to the bell jangle overhead.

"Siyo!" I called out as I shut the door behind me. A startled-looking Amity poked her head out from the back.

"Who the-" A wide smile split her face as she realized who I was. "Lorena! You're back from school! Come here!"

She stepped out from behind the counter and spread her arms. I had to resist the urge to run towards her. Instead I strode over and wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. She grinned down at me, squeezing me back so hard I lost my breath for a second. I wondered vaguely if this was what it felt like to have a mother hug you, this safe and happy feeling.

"Welcome back, doll," Amity said, pulling away from me, still grinning widely. "Let me take a look at you!"

That was said figuratively. What it meant was that Amity cupped my cheeks between her palms. I froze as her fingers curved around the edge of the patch. Of course she'd notice. The patch blended almost seamlessly into my skin thanks to Madam Pomfrey's magic but I'd seen proof before of just how sensitive Amity's fingertips were. Of course she noticed. Amity frowned slightly.

"Lorena?" she questioned. "What's this?"

I considered lying, saying I banged my face on something in the dark one morning, or I tripped going up the stairs. Instead I told the truth. "It's a bandage covering a cut that's going to scar," I said bluntly. Amity winced, her fingers absently stroking the scar on my other cheek. I didn't mind her touching it, strangely. Probably because it was her way of seeing the world around her and I couldn't begrudge her that.

"Sorry about that," she said simply, and didn't press for any more details. She jerked her head towards the back. "I've got Arnold Palmer and cookies, you in?"

I nodded eagerly, my mouth watering. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed Amity's random food. The pair of us headed back to the office. Amity sat down behind her desk and kicked her feet up. I retrieved the drink from the fridge and the cups and cookies from a cabinet. I poured a glass and pressed it and a cookie into Amity's hands.

"So you're here about a job," Amity said seriously, like we weren't sitting there stuffing our faces with cookies like children. "It'll be tough, but I think I can find you something." She winked at me before heaving a sigh and continuing the charade. "It'll be a huge imposition, of course."

"Of course," I agreed. "I promise I do good work."

"I have is on good authority that you do or I wouldn't bother," Amity said dramatically. "Guess I have no choice but to hire you."

I grinned. "Am I irreplaceable?"

Amity wrinkled her nose. "Actually, yeah. The girl I hired after you left had some kind of deep religious aversion to scrubbing the toilet, apparently. I had people complaining about it a lot. I fired her a month later and got some other guy. Every time I turned around he was trying to help me with something or asking what I needed him to do."

"And I'm better?" I asked. Amity rolled her eyes.

"You're fishing for compliments," she accused correctly. "But yes. You're self-sufficient, you do your job, and you don't try and coddle me." Amity scowled. She hated people trying to pander to her almost as much as I did.

Amity shook her head. "So… tell me all about your year?" she requested as she leaned forwards to claim another cookie.

"Well for starters, we had some exchange students this year."

"No kidding? Where from?"

"Well, they were from Bulgaria and France. There was this one girl, totally gorgeous, had all the boys drooling…"

* * *

I talked with Amity until dark, reminiscing about what I could tell her about my year and working out my hours and pay for the summer. I left as Amity was locking up and heading to the flat over her shop. The walk back to Privet Drive was muggy and I was glad when I finally stepped into the house again.

"Where have you been?" Aunt Petunia demanded, pinching her thin lips together until they were almost nonexistent.

"Skinning the neighborhood cats, of course," I replied innocently as I mounted the stairs, heading to our room. Harry was lying back against the pillows as I walked in.

"I'm guessing you were at Amity's?"

"Yeah, I got my job back," I said as I snatched a pair of pajamas out of my trunk – the holey ones, not the nice ones. Those were kept hidden away with all of the jewelry and nice stuff I owned for fear Aunt Petunia would confiscate it.

I ducked into the closet and shut the door, stripping and pulling on my pajamas. When I stepped out, Harry was staring at the ceiling with his hands folded behind his head thoughtfully.

"I still can't get over it," he said quietly. I winced. We were going there, huh? It had to happen sooner or later, I guess.

"I know," I said softly, unable to deny the twinge of fear in my stomach as I glanced at the window, like I was afraid I'd see Voldemort looming under the streetlight. I shuddered and closed the blinds before sliding into bed next to Harry.

"Things are going to change," Harry continued. I nodded as I set my glasses on the nightstand and switched off the lamp.

"We'll beat it though, we always do," I said supportively, but inside I wasn't as confident as I pretended. These were people who hated us for no other reason than our existence. How did you fight hate like that?

"We'll just meet it when it happens," Harry agreed. "Like Hagrid said."

"Yeah," I agreed wearily as my eyes started to sag. "Like Hagrid said."

Except I hadn't met what came. I'd frozen up and been knocked out. While I laid on the ground and snored Harry had dueled with Voldemort and come out alive. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. I was younger but I was always the one who took care of Harry. I'd been next to useless. All I'd done was gotten myself cut up.

I had to get stronger, there was no other option. I began mentally reviewing my plans for next year. Animagus studies, Occlumency with Snape. Probably some higher-level potions. Also, I had made up my mind to plunge deeper into the Dark Arts. One couldn't fight what they didn't understand, right? Learning new spells, new potions…

It was a lot and already I felt myself slumping under the weight of it. There was a time when I would have talked this over with Harry. But I couldn't, not now. I'd been weak, I'd been worthless, and he'd had to step up and do something he shouldn't have had to. I had to get stronger, then I could be close to Harry again, then I could protect him.

* * *

 _I was in the graveyard again. Harry was at my feet, writing in pain as Voldemort towered over him._

" _Bow to me!" Voldemort ordered me. "Bow!"_

" _Harry!" I screamed, and dropped to my knees beside him. Suddenly it wasn't Harry I was kneeling beside but Cedric's body. I reared back from it in fear._

" _Cedric… no… I'm sorry… you shouldn't have…" I panted, eyes wide with fear. Suddenly Cedric sat up, twisting to look at me with those glassy, dead eyes._

" _You did this to me," he said, his voice hollow. "I died because you and your brother brought me here!"_

 _Crouch loomed out of the darkness behind him. "You almost killed me," he hissed. "Murderer! Monster!"_

" _No, no, I didn't… Snape stopped me… I wouldn't…"_

 _I stood up and started running away from them. I could feel red-hot blood gushing from my right cheek and feel the burn. From the corner of my eye I saw Voldemort smirk at me as I reached up to touch the spot on my cheek._

 _I tripped suddenly, sprawling at black-robed feet. Looking up, I saw Snape towering over me, disgust and loathing on his face._

" _Murderer," he accused. "Monster!"_

" _No, no please!" I begged as I scrambled back from him. My hand landed in something wet. I looked down and realized my hand was in a puddle of blood. I looked up in horror and saw Amity lying there, her throat slit wide open, sightless eyes staring. The Dark Mark hovered over her head._

" _Bow to me," Voldemort taunted as he stood over Amity, twirling his wand in his spider-like fingers. "Be my trophy, Lorena Potter!"_

" _No!" I screamed. "No! No no no!"_

"No… No… Not Cedric, don't kill Cedric…"

I came awake with a slap to my face. I jerked upright, instinctively reaching for my wand. It wasn't there though. I wasn't in the Slytherin dorms, I was in our room in Privet Drive. Harry thrashed next to me, moaning pitifully.

"No, not Cedric… please no…"

"Harry," I said, leaning over and grabbing his shoulders. "Harry, come on, snap out of it! harry!"

Harry came awake with a strangled yell, bleary green eyes staring up at me. I dragged him to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulder.

"Nightmare," Harry panted as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I know."

"Felt… so real…"

"I know."

"I… couldn't save… couldn't stop…"

"I know," I whispered as I pulled him closer. I wasn't sure how it happened but Harry was the one that took care of me during the year. At Hogwarts he was the strong one, the one who did amazing things, the one everyone knew. Then we came here and it was like we'd never left. He was my older brother but I was his protector. I kept him safe and banished whatever nightmares came at him. I kept the Dursley's attention on me instead of him.

I liked it better this way.

"Tomorrow you're coming to work with me," I said quietly.

Harry shook his head. "Why?" he asked.

"Because Amity makes things better," I replied, stroking his bangs back from his face. "I don't know how but she does. Okay?"

Harry nodded shakily. "Okay. Go… Go back to sleep, Rena. I-I'm fine."

I scoffed. "You're not fine, Harry Potter, don't you lie to me. So we're gonna sit here like this until you are. Got it?"

Harry chuckled weakly. "Got it. Thanks Rena…"

"No problem."

* * *

 **And here officially ends year 4. I hope you all enjoyed it. This year I really focused on Lorena in the Triwizard Tournament, as well as her goals for learning and her personal feelings. Next year I want to really do a lot with her and Malfoy, since romance is the second genre of this story and aside from a couple of sweet moments we haven't seen much. I'm all for a slow burn and that's what I want this to be but there's a difference between slow burn and a sleepy snail and nothing infuriates me more than sleepy snail romance. So therefore I want to promise you all much Lorena/Malfoy next year, as well as moment with her and Sirius, her and Harry, her and Snape (of course) and her and Umbridge. *shudder***


	45. Dementors

That started the pattern for the summer. Whenever we had nightmares whoever woke up first woke the other one up. We'd hold each other and lie there in the darkness until we drifted back off. After particularly rough nights I'd take Harry to Amity's. She doted on him, setting him up with more sweets and drinks than he could possibly ever consume. Harry adored her in turn, even when she ruthlessly put him to work a couple of times.

On a rare occasion when neither Harry or I had nightmares, he decided to spend the morning listening to the news from outside in the hydrangeas, a strange habit he'd picked up. He listened to the news obsessively for news of Voldemort. I did too, checking through the paper in the morning when I arrived at Amity's for any strange murders or disappearances.

It was sweltering out, the hottest day in ages, and I was sweating when I pushed open the door to Raincrow Crafts.

"Siyo!" I called wearily as I stepped inside.

"Get back here!" Amity called from the office. I obligingly went to the back and found Amity standing with her arms and legs spread wide in front of a fan in her office, the AC on full blast. I was relieved at the coolness as I stepped inside and stood underneath the vent.

"This feels amazing," I groaned aloud.

"Uh huh. No Harry today?" Amity asked. I snorted.

"I'm starting to think you like him more than me."

"Never, doll," Amity promised, reaching out unerringly to loop an arm around my neck and drag me into a hug. Both of us immediately recoiled.

"Too hot," we agreed.

"I've got a bag of ice cubes in the fridge," Amity said, nodding to the mini fridge. "We got a shipment last night which will be hot work. Suck on them to keep yourself cool."

"Thanks," I said gratefully, retrieving an ice cube from the fridge and popping it in my mouth. We both looked up as the bell on the door rang.

"To work," Amity sighed, leaving the fan regretfully as she went to man the shop. I popped another ice cube in my mouth before grabbing a box cutter and the inventory log. There were about a half-dozen large boxes to be unpacked and shelved. I tied up my hair and rolled my short sleeves up onto my shoulders before getting to work.

I slit open the first box and opened it up. It was full of canvases of varying sizes packed tightly. I sorted through them all and logged the different sizes in the inventory before carrying a pile out. Amity was advising a customer on how to work with satin as I put the canvases out. It took two trips to get them all put out.

The customer was leaving as I headed back to the next box. I slit the tape on that one and opened it up, revealing a shipment of yarn. I groaned aloud. Yarn was hard to manage because the moment it touched the floor of the inventory room it was covered in a fine array of dirt, dust, glitter, Styrofoam, and tiny beads. I left the back and went to grab a shopping cart, dragging it back to the inventory with me. I sorted through the yarn, making down the amounts of every kind and setting some aside for Mrs. Weasley in a bag in Amity's office.

An older couple was in the shop as I dragged the yarn out and started shelving it. They were browsing through the selection of fabrics and the older lady hailed me as I passed.

"Excuse me miss, can you help us? You see, we're having our first grandchild soon and I want to make a pillow for the crib!"

The older couple was glowing with delight. I smiled back at her kindly and helped her find something soft but strong. She and her husband were grateful as they picked out a bolt of cotton and carried it to Amity to check it out.

"You're learning," Amity said as the older couple left. "I'll turn you into a crafter yet!"

"I can knit a scarf, that's all you're getting out of me," I retorted, grinning as I put up the yarn. "By the way, I pulled out a couple of skeins for the mother of a friend."

"Ron's mom, right? Molly?" Amity recalled. "You said she knits you a sweater every year… I thought he was more Harry's friend."

"Whose friend he is depends on how he's been acting lately," I replied with a smirk. "Usually he's an idiot, so usually he's Harry's friend."

"Speaking of, how are those other twins doing? You said they want to start a joke shop?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Harry and I actually gave them some start-up money."

Amity raised an eyebrow. "Wait wait, if you have the money to finance people's start-up businesses then why the hell am I paying you so much?" she whined.

I snickered. "Because I'm the only person that can tell cashmere from angora?"

"That," Amity allowed. She waved a fist teasingly. "Get to work! I don't pay you to sit around and chat!"

I smirked. "Right, boss."

I pushed the cart back into the rear and used it to haul out the contents of the next box. Amity retreated to the office to make some calls and place some orders while I shelved bolts of fabric. She tugged a strand of my hair as she passed me, she on her way back out to the front while I made my way back for the next to last box.

It was glad I wasn't spending the day lying in hydrangeas like Harry was. At least Amity's place had AC and was reasonably cool. Granted I still had worked up a nice sheen of sweat working. But at least it was cooler in here than it was outside. I was already not looking forwards to going back to Privet Drive for the evening. Our room didn't have AC.

Of course, we wouldn't have to be there if Ron and the Weasleys had kept their word and invited us for the summer. I'd gotten bits of news from Lily and Tracey and my usual Daily Prophet but Ron and Hermione had been completely useless. Even the twins weren't spilling, they just talked about us coming 'soon' and they 'couldn't say much.'

I scowled at the memory, feeling incredibly down-heartened. Even Amity's wasn't providing a bright spot all of a sudden if I still had to go back to Privet Drive. Oh well, at least it was cool in here… Actually, it was getting outright chilly.

I frowned, pulling myself out of a box of tubes of paint and straightened up, rolling down my sleeves and rubbing my upper arms. Had Amity kicked up the AC sometime when I wasn't paying attention? No, because I could hear voices mumbling – someone had to be out front.

It was right about the time Amity screamed bloody murder that I realized the noise wasn't out front, it was in my own head.

" _I allow you to live so that when I stand at the pinnacle of Wizardkind no one will dare oppose me again…"_

I choked. No way was Voldemort here. I was hearing the past, horrible memories. That coupled with the chill and the depression pointed to yet another impossibility.

I pulled my wand out of my shirt and came flying out of the back, staring in disbelief. The lights were dim and flickering, a layer of frost spreading out across the floor. Amity cowered against the counter as a ten-foot tall hooded figure loomed over her. It was already raising its hands to its hood, its horrible rattling breaths sending Amity into shivering sobs.

"Amity, turn around!" I roared. Amity gave a little yelp at the sound of my shout but turned so that her back was to the dementor. I grabbed a pair of scissors off the rack and hurled them like a knife. The scissors struck the dementor and pieced its flesh, the bright orange handles sticking out almost comically from it.

It wasn't hurt though, just distracted. The dementor turned on me.

" _You, kneeling at my feet, will be the sign of my triumph…"_

"Shut up," I growled at the Voldemort in my head, summoning a happy memory. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

The phoenix burst from the end of my wand and dove for the dementor. It raised its arms in a feeble attempt to fend the Patronus off. My phoenix banked around and came at it again, flying over its head and pecking at it. The dementor fled, barging through the door and soaring into the sky.

I panted, sweaty and shaking, as I stared at the door, the bell still jingling cheerily. A dementor? Here? Why? What would a dementor possibly be doing here? They were under the control of the Ministry and they were careful not to let them get out of hand… Crouch being a notable exception… It was too early for Voldemort to have moved to take the dementors, so that would imply…

I narrowed my eyes. Someone at the Ministry had sent dementors after me. And not only me, but likely Harry as well. I trusted he could handle the dementors though – he'd been casting a Patronus long before I had. My main priority was…

"Is it gone?" Amity asked shakily. Her face was paler than I'd ever seen it and there was a clammy sweat on her brow. "What… I felt so sad… so hopeless… And I was so cold… Lorena, what was that?"

I stood staring at my boss, my friend, cowering against the counter terrified out of her mind by a threat she couldn't see, could only hear and feel. I knew how a dementor made a person suffer. Lying to her about what she'd just experienced... seemed wrong. Just like Snape, I'd never been able to lie to Amity.

"It's called a dementor," I said softly, my head spinning as I considered what I was revealing. I was effectively taking a dump on the Statue of Secrecy but at the same time it delighted me. If Amity knew about the wizarding world then I could have someone to talk to aside from Harry during the summers.

"D-Dementor," Amity repeated softly. "I've never… how did it…"

"They're Dark creatures that suck the happiness and warmth out of everything and every one around them," I said softly, kneeling beside her. "They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban."

"St-Stop joking. Wizards… aren't real…" Amity stammered, shaking her head in denial. It hurt a little.

"But they are," I replied quietly, reaching out and taking her hand. I pressed my wand into it. "Feel that? It's my wand. I'm a witch, Amity. The school I go to is a school for people like me, people who can do magic. They teach us to cast spells and brew potions and take care of magical beasts and defend ourselves from magical threats. Harry and I are wizards…"

Amity ran her fingers over the wand, tracing the carvings in the handle. She was silent for several minutes, just turning the stick over in her hands and biting her lip, sightless eyes darting here and there fearfully.

"That thing…" she finally said, "you made it go away… you said something…"

"Expecto Patronum," I repeated gently, and Amity nodded. "Yes. It's a spell that repels dementors. It makes a shield of happy emotions and drives the monsters away."

"You're… you're a witch," Amity said slowly, a bit of her color coming back. "That's just… that's… amazing…" she breathed. I stared at her, startled.

"You believe me?" I hadn't expected her to believe me that easily. "Just like that?"

"Why lie?" Amity countered swiftly. "I felt that thing, that _dementor_ ," she said uncertainly. "Whatever it was… it _wasn't_ natural."

"Well you're right about that," I replied softly. "Amity, I'm sorry to dump this on you but I need to get home. If dementors came after me there's a very good chance they came after Harry too."

"You said they guard the prison," Amity said warily. "Did you break a law?"

"Technically, by telling you, yes," I admitted. "But before that, no. I don't know why they're here, something's wrong."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more explanation," Amity said shortly. I nodded.

"I know, I know, and I'll get it to you eventually. But you need to listen – people like you aren't supposed to know about magic."

"People like me," Amity scoffed. "That doesn't sound derisive at all."

"I'll explain magical racism to you some other time," I said sharply. "The Ministry will know I did magic – that's illegal since I'm underage. They will be sending Obliviators to wipe your memory of the event."

"Wipe my memory?" Amity said in disbelief. "You can do that?"

"And a whole lot more," I chuckled. "Now I'm going to cast the spell so they'll register it at the Ministry, but not on you. I don't want to take your memories," I explained quickly. "But I do need you to act confused, dazed… just act slightly drunk for the rest of the day, okay? Any customers that come in, act like it's a normal day and you've had a bit too much, okay? That should convince them that I hit you with the spell and they'll leave you alone."

"Act drunk," Amity repeated. "I can do that. I've got a lot of experience."

I scoffed. "Seriously?"

Amity sniffed. "I'll have you know in my younger years I was quite the partier." She reached up and grabbed the counter, hauling herself to her feet. "So pretend like you drugged me and I'll be allowed to keep my memories?" she repeated.

"That's the best I can tell you, no guarantees," I admitted. "But I need to go check on Harry."

"Go," Amity said, waving a hand at me. I hesitated. "I can handle myself, go see to your brother," she assured me. A dopey smile stretched across her face. "Happy Easter!" she bid me with a dreamy wave.

I grinned. "Perfect. _Obliviate!"_ I cast, pointing at a random spot on the wall. The tip of my wand glowed and the spell worked but it had no target. I ended the spell and turned, stuffing my wand back into my pocket, hurrying out of the shop.

After the inside of the shop it felt blisteringly hot outside but I still sprinted to Privet Drive as fast as I could. The heat had driven most people inside which meant I didn't have to dodge many passers-by. It also meant that by the time I reached Privet Drive I was sweating buckets.

"Harry!" I shouted as I flew through the front door, my wand raised and ready. "Harry?"

I darted into the kitchen. Harry was standing there, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon clustered around a chair where a pale and sweaty Dudley slumped, staring blankly ahead of him.

"Rena, you're okay," Harry said gratefully, rushing to me and dragging me into his arms. "Did one come after you too?"

I nodded. "While I was with Amity," I whispered so the Dursley's didn't hear. Harry gripped me tighter.

"Is she alright?" he whispered.

I nodded. "I got rid of it and Obliviated her."

Harry nodded against my hair. "It's for the best," he whispered before pulling back.

"What did you do?" Uncle Vernon demanded furiously, his moustache bristling. "Were you in on this too? Did you use… you-know-what on my son?"

I stared at Harry, surprised. "He was with you when it happened?" I asked.

Harry nodded. "It had him for a while but my Patronus drove it off."

I scowled. "Then he'll need something done if he's going to pull out of this any time soon."

"And we can't use magic," Harry groaned aloud. I shook my head.

"No, but we can brew potions. An Invigoration Draught shot should pull him out of it…"

"You're not laying a hand on my son until you tell us what happened!" Uncle Vernon roared, stepping sharply in front of Dudley. I raised an eyebrow and my wand, directing it very calmly towards Uncle Vernon's chest.

"If you want me to fix your son, you will stand aside now," I said softly, dangerously. It was rare that I went 'full Slytherin' at Privet Drive and the shock of it was enough to make Uncle Vernon step aside. I moved forwards and crouched down in front of Dudley.

"Harry, explain," I said as I waved my hand in front of Dudley's face. There was a bit of a reaction, but not much of one. He was cold to the touch and sweaty. He looked a handful of seconds from passing out. "Yes, Invigoration Draught should do," I approved. "I may have to raid your kit for ingredients though, I'm running low on some things."

"Go ahead," Harry said, stepping forward to explain the situation to Uncle Vernon. I headed upstairs and grabbed my travel-sized cauldron – no need to make a full batch when I was already low on ingredients. I hauled it downstairs along with our potions kits and set it all on the counter beside the oven.

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, dropped another at mine, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

"OWLS!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. "OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!"

I rolled my eyes as I ripped the envelope open, my heart dropping at the Ministry letterhead. I assumed this was the Ministry owling to yell at us about using magic. And I doubted we'd get off with a warning, considering the current Ministry attitude towards us and the Aunt Marge incident.

 _Dear Miss Potter,_

 _We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm and an Obliviate at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle._

 _The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

 _As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August._

 _Hoping you are well,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office_

 _Ministry of Magic_

"We've got to move," Harry said thickly, drawing his wand and moving toward the stairs. I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't deny the sick swooping in my stomach.

"Where d'you think you're going?" yelled Uncle Vernon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. "I haven't finished with you, boy!"

"Get out of the way," said Harry quietly.

"You're going to stay here and explain how my son-"

"If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you," said Harry, raising the wand.

"Go brother dear," I whispered under my breath as I set my cauldron on the stove and turned on the heat. I added a measure of the standard ingredient into the cauldron and watched from the corner of my eye as Aunt Petunia stared at me in horrified fascination.

"You can't pull that one on me!" snarled Uncle Vernon. "I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!"

"The madhouse has chucked me out," said Harry. "So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One – two-"

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but I moved to the dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of 'OWLS!' I took the small roll of parchment that was tied to the owl's leg. It shook its feathers and took off the moment I had taken the letter.

"What does it say?" Harry asked, his wand still pointed vaguely in Uncle Vernon's direction. I held up a finger as I scanned through the letter.

 _Lorena and Harry -_

 _Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND._

 _Arthur Weasley_

"As expected," I said with a smirk. "Dumbledore's at the Ministry trying to straighten things out. It's from Mr. Weasley," I explained, holding up the letter. "He says don't leave and don't surrender our wands."

I wasn't certain of the amount of power Dumbledore had at the Ministry – they weren't fond of him these days. But I also knew there was no way in hell Dumbledore would allow Harry to be thrown out of school. Presumably that protection would extend to me. I was no Harry Potter but as Dumbledore had said last year I had some kind of connection to Voldemort. Thankfully, I hadn't had any dreams of his childhood since then. Considering nightmares had taken their place, I wasn't sure it was a fair trade.

"Right," Harry said, "I've changed my mind, we're staying."

He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.

"Who are all these ruddy owls from?" he growled.

"The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling us," said Harry calmly. "The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry."

"Ministry?" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs."

"Don't worry, we govern ourselves, we don't bother with Muggles," I replied shortly as I tested the heat under the cauldron.

Uncle Vernon glared at me, barking, "You stop right there! I won't have you cooking up some kind of… of _brew_ in this house!"

Brew? _Brew?!_ I was offended.

I turned and glared at him. "If you want your son to speak in complete sentences sometime in the next couple of days you'll shut up about things you don't understand and let me do this."

Uncle Vernon glared but even he couldn't deny that he didn't understand magic where I did. His face slowly went red, then he spat out, "And why have you been expelled?"

"Because I did magic."

"Aha!" roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open. Several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. "So you admit it! What did you freaks do to Dudley?"

"Nothing," said Harry, slightly less calmly. "That wasn't me-"

"Was," muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quiet him while they both bent low over Dudley.

"Go on, son," said Uncle Vernon, "what did they do?"

"Tell us, darling," whispered Aunt Petunia.

"Pointed his wand at me," Dudley mumbled.

"Yeah, I did, but I didn't use-" Harry began angrily.

"Shut up!" roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison. I reached over and smacked Harry across the back of the head with one of my longer stirring rods.

"Idiot," I scolded. "Don't get out your wand unless you're going to use it!" I chided.

"Go on, son," repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.

"All went dark," Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering "Everything dark. And then I h-heard... things. Inside m-my head."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

"What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?" breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

I scoffed. I couldn't believe Dudley had suffered nearly as much as Harry and I did around dementors. What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?

"How come you fell over, son?" said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

"T-tripped," said Dudley shakily. "And then-" He gestured at his massive chest. Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you. "Horrible," croaked Dudley. "Cold. Really cold."

"OK," said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. "What happened then, Dudders?"

"Felt... felt... felt... as if... as if..."

"As if all that was happy and light was gone from the world," I said darkly as I placed a couple of dead scarabs into my mortar and began to grind it to powder, tossing in a spring of dried mint as well. "And all that was left was the darkness and the worst of you."

"Yes," Dudley whispered, still trembling.

"So!" said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. "You put some crackpot spell on my son so he'd hear voices and believe he was - was doomed to misery, or something, did you?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" said Harry, temper and voice both rising. "It wasn't me! It was a couple of Dementors!"

"A couple of – what's this codswallop?"

"De - men - tors," said Harry slowly and clearly. Two of them."

"And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. I smirked. I knew Aunt Petunia knew more about our world than she ever let on. Snape had hinted as much over the years.

"How d'you know that?" Harry asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

"I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago," she said jerkily.

"If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?" said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

"I'm not entirely sure she does," I said with a sneer from where I was pouring the crushed mixture into the cauldron. It turned a cool blue as I lifted a stirring rod and began to mix it. I tipped in a few drops of fire seed oil with my free hand and watched as the potion began to bubble and send up grey steam.

"I told you to stop doing that!" Uncle Vernon roared at me. He stood up as if to storm towards me. Very calmly I held the glass bottle out to the side.

"If I drop this the whole house goes up in flames," I said calmly, daring him to come closer. "Your decision."

"Don't worry," Harry advised. "Lorena's the best in the school when it comes to potions – Snape said she's a natural."

"Snape?" Petunia whimpered. My eyes snapped to her and she recoiled like she'd given something away. I smiled triumphantly. So she did know my potions master… what a coincidence.

"Yeah, he teaches potions and he's Lorena's head of house," Harry explained, thinking Petunia was questioning him. "He absolutely adores her," he scowled. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You're just jealous I'm brewing a potion we're not supposed to learn until later in the year from memory while you still struggle with a Wiggenweld Potion," I taunted as I added some drops of flobberworm mucus to thicken the potion.

"So - so - they - er - they - er - they actually exist, do they - er - Dementy-whatsits?" Uncle Vernon was still staring at his wife like he couldn't quite believe her. Aunt Petunia nodded ashamedly.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry to me as if hoping somebody was going to shout 'April Fool!' When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and tossed the other one to me. I ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.

"Enough - effing - owls," muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.

 _Dear Miss Potter,_

 _Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

 _Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from- school pending further enquiries._

 _With best wishes,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office_

 _Ministry of Magic_

"At least that's been handled," I said, tossing the letter aside and lifting the honeywater from Harry's kit. I tipped four drops in and stirred. We were not out of the woods yet though. By law, Harry and I had a right to do what we did. However, the Ministry wasn't always keen on following its own laws. Dumbledore may not have the power he used to but he was still a formidable force, and despite the fact that I wasn't fond of the man I was confident that he would pull Harry out of trouble.

Hopefully he'd spend time on me as well.

"Well?" demanded Uncle Vernon. "What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?" he added as a hopeful afterthought.

"We've got to go to a hearing," said Harry.

"And they'll sentence you there?"

"I suppose so."

"I won't give up hope, then," said Uncle Vernon nastily.

I slammed down the stirring rod, leaving the potion to set. Once it stewed for a few minutes it would be ready. All eyes turned to me as I stormed towards Uncle Vernon.

"I don't need a wand to hurt you," I said shortly. "I have potions – which the Ministry can't track, by the way. A misbrewed potion is just as dangerous as a true potion and the ingredients themselves can be toxic if consumed. How many years have I made your food since I started school?" I asked sweetly. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went ashen as they realized what I was implying.

"Keeping that in mind, watch your mouth in the future or my hands might just slip over your morning eggs," I said with a saccharine sneer as I turned on my heel.

"Rena," Harry said warningly.

"Oh like you've never considered it," I said shortly, returning to the potion. "It would be only too easy to kill them and get away with it if I really wanted to. I don't think I'd even feel very bad about it." It was almost the deep green color it was supposed to be – not as effective as it would be if left to sit another few minutes but good enough for Dudley. I wasn't keen on remaining in the kitchen any longer anyway.

I dragged a mug out of the cupboard and scooped the potion out, moving to the table and slamming it down in front of Dudley.

"Drink it," I said shortly.

"Don't touch anything she gives you!" Uncle Vernon said immediately. I barely snatched the mug away before he swiped at it with the back of his hands. I rolled my eyes and tilted the mug back, taking a sip, then placed it in front of Dudley.

"You want to warm up and pull out of the depression?" I snapped at him. "Start chugging."

Dudley looked between the steaming potion and me uncertainly before reaching out.

"Dudley," Aunt Petunia said faintly, but she didn't stop him. Dudley raised the potion to his face and took a long gulp. He spluttered and made a face.

"Most potions taste like dung," I said shortly as Uncle Vernon's face began to go red again. "He's fine."

"Well, if that's all," said Harry, getting to his feet.

" _No, it ruddy well is not all!"_ bellowed Uncle Vernon. " _Sit back down!"_

"What now?" huffed Harry impatiently.

" _Dudley!"_ roared Uncle Vernon. "I want to know exactly what happened to my son!"

" _Fine!"_ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.

"Harry," I said warningly as I poured the last dregs of the potion down the sink. It would probably eat into the pipes a little, but that was Aunt Petunia's problem, not mine.

Harry took a couple of deep breaths before speaking. "Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk," said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. "Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two Dementors turned up-"

"But what _are_ Dementoids?" asked Uncle Vernon furiously. "What do they _do_?"

"I told you - they suck all the happiness out of you, and if they get the chance, they kiss you-"

"Kiss you?" said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. "Kiss you?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth."

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream. "His soul? They didn't take – he's still got his-" She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside hint.

"Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had," said Harry, exasperated.

"Fought 'em off, did you, son?" said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. "Gave 'em the old one-two, did you?"

I laughed mockingly. "Dementors are ten feet tall and impervious to physical harm. You don't _beat one up_ , you pray someone can cast a Patronus or you run like hell and hope for a miracle."

"Why's he all right, then?" blustered Uncle Vernon. "Why isn't he all empty, then?"

"Because I used the Patronus-"

With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.

"For god's sake!" roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. "I will not have owls here, I will not tolerate this I tell you!"

But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. I moved to his side, reaching over his shoulder and ignoring Uncle Vernon's ongoing rant about owls. I recognized Sirius's handwriting.

 _Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do._

It was short and incredibly underwhelming. After the night we'd had I wanted someone to, instead of acting like we were idiots, say 'nice going, fighting off dementors' or 'good thing you knew what to do.' It's not as if Harry and I had a better option in the moment.

"-a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, I won't-"

"I can't stop the owls coming," Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.

"I want the truth about what happened tonight!" barked Uncle Vernon. "If it was Demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!"

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. I placed a hand on his shoulder and turned to face them.

"We did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the Dementors," I said slowly, as if I was speaking to exceptionally stupid children. I was, in a way. "It's the only thing that works against them."

"But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?" said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.

"Couldn't tell you," put in Harry wearily. "No idea."

"It's you two," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "It's got something to do with you two, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only - the only-" Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'wizard.' "The only you-know-whats for miles.'

"I don't know why they were here," I said shortly.

It did bring me back to my earlier thoughts though. Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the Dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would? Or was this some elaborate kind of plot form the Ministry to get rid of Harry and I?

"These Demembers guard some weirdo prison?" asked Uncle Vernon.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Oho! They were coming to arrest you!" said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. "That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from the law!"

"Of course we're not," I scoffed.

"He must have sent them," said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon. I snapped around to look at him.

It did make the most sense. Dementors were naturally attracted to the Dark Arts and Voldemort was steeped in them. His very flesh was Dark now. It was possible he had sent the dementors after us as a way to cast blame upon the Ministry, further dividing the wizarding world and making it easier for him to seize control. It was a big move to make so early in the game but it made more sense than the Ministry coming up with something the underhanded and intelligent.

"What's that?" Uncle Vernon snapped. "Who must have sent them?"

"Lord Voldemort," I said bitterly, reaching up to touch my newly-scarred cheek. The patch covered it still but I knew it was there. The graveyard flashed in my mind and I winced, shaking my head to clear it. I couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts – hopefully those Occulmency lessons would help block some of my thoughts from myself as well.

"Lord - hang on," said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. "I've heard that name... that was the one who-"

"Murdered my parents, yes," Harry said dully.

"But he's gone," said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of our parents might be a painful topic. "That giant bloke said so. He's gone."

"His name is Hagrid, and at the time that was true," I said quietly. "He rose again at the end of last term."

It was strange to hear words like Voldemort and dementors tossed around in the surgically clean kitchen of my childhood hell. Something had shifted suddenly and the magical and Muggle parts of my life were slipping and sliding together sickeningly.

"Back?" whispered Aunt Petunia.

She was looking at us as she had never looked at us before. She was our mother's sister. That meant that Harry and I were not the only people in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia's large, pale eyes were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful.

"Yes," Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. "He came back a month ago. We saw him."

Her hands found Dudley's massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.

"Hang on," said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry to me and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. "Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back, you say."

"Yes."

"The one who murdered your parents."

"Yes."

"And now he's sending Dismembers after you?"

"Looks like it," said Harry.

"I see," said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to us and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before my eyes. "Well, that settles it," he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, "you can get out of this house!"

"What?" said Harry.

"You heard me – _out_!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. " _Out! Out!_ Should've done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling with great boils all over and that flying Ford Anglia – _Out! Out!_ You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us. If you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! _Out!"_

Harry and I didn't move. Harry looked torn between surprise, nerves, and disbelief. I just raised an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed by Uncle Vernon's bluster. Time in Slytherin had taught me that the men who had to be loud to get the power they needed were far less frightening than those who stayed quiet.

"You heard me!" said Uncle Vernon, bending forwards now. "Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I'm right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place, I don't know, Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage. We were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you've been rotten from the beginning and I've had enough - owls!"

The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight back up the chimney.

Harry darted forwards to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it.

"You can open it or not," I said with a shrug, "but we'll hear what it says anyway. That's a Howler," I added with a wicked smile.

"Let go of it, Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!"

"It's addressed to me," said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. "It's addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs. Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive-" She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.

"Open it!" Harry urged her. "Get it over with! It'll happen anyway."

"No." Aunt Petunia's hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late - the envelope burst into flames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.

" _Remember my last, Petunia."_

Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smoldered into ash in the silence.

"What is this?" Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. "What - I don't - Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly.

"Petunia, dear?" said Uncle Vernon timidly. "P-Petunia?"

She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed. "They - They will have to stay, Vernon," she said weakly.

"W-what?"

"They stay," she said. She was not looking at us. She got to her feet again.

"They... but Petunia..."

"If we throw them out, the neighbors will talk," she said. She was rapidly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, though she was still very pale. "They'll ask awkward questions, they'll want to know where they've gone. We'll have to keep them."

Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tire.

"But Petunia, dear-"

Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry and I "You're to stay in your room," she said. "You're not to leave the house. Now get to bed."

Harry didn't move as I went to gather the cauldron and potions kits.

"Who was that Howler from?"

"Don't ask questions," Aunt Petunia snapped.

"Are you in touch with wizards?" Harry pressed.

"I told you to get to bed!"

"What did it mean? Remember the last what?"

"Go to bed!"

"How come - ?"

"You heard your aunt, now go up to bed!" Uncle Vernon roared. I grabbed Harry and tugged him towards the door. I wanted out of that kitchen. The stupidity and prejudice that radiated off the Dursleys was even more smothering than usual.

I paused in the doorway and delivered a parting shot. Glancing at Aunt Petunia slyly I said, "I'll give Professor Snape your best, shall I?" I chuckled as she went deathly pale and followed Harry back up to our room.


	46. Grimmauld Place

Harry explained to me about his incident with the dementors. I was shocked to hear that Mrs. Figg was a Squib, less so that Dumbledore was keeping an eye on us. I'd expected it, to be honest, considering that Voldemort was back and we were going into a mostly-defenseless Muggle neighborhood.

Honestly, I was not surprised that Harry was guarded while I wasn't. I wasn't the priority, or at least not Dumbledore's priority. If I got jumped by a Death Eater in a dark alley it wouldn't ruin years of his planning. It didn't make me feel any less spiteful about the fact though, just not surprised.

The Dursleys were now determined to ignore us. They locked us in our room and three times a day Aunt Petunia pushed food through the cat flap in the bottom. I smirked whenever this happened and wondered if the Dursleys would ever let me cook for them again. I hoped not – one less thing I had to do for them.

Despite the warnings from Mr. Weasley and Sirius, I didn't have the luxury of staying in the house. I owed Amity an explanation for what had happened at the shop and be damned if I wasn't going to give her one. I waited until late at night when Harry and the Dursleys were asleep and opened the window. The Dursleys seemed to think we weren't brave enough to jump out just because it was on the second story.

They were wrong. I covered myself in the Invisibility Cloak and hopped on my Firebolt, flying out the window and into the night sky. It was slightly cooler at night and as I rose higher and picked up speed there was a pleasant breeze. My exposed limbs almost felt chilled as I soared through the sky towards Amity's place.

The flat could be accessed from the back of the store or from a set of stairs. I ignored both of them, flying around the building and up to the second level. I hovered on my broomstick and peered in the window. I could see Amity inside, lying on the couch with her eyes closed and the radio playing in the background.

She was listening to Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns. I winced, remembering Amity one mentioning the piece calmed her down when she was stressed. I had a funny feeling I knew what she was stressed about.

I tapped on the glass and watched as Amity sat up sharply. She stood up and moved slowly in the direction of the window. I called out, "Amity, it's Lorena!"

"We're on the second floor," I heard her say faintly through the glass before she hastily scrambled with the latch and opened the window. I flew in and landed on the carpet, leaning my broom against the wall and tugging off the Invisibility Cloak.

"How did you get up here?" Amity demanded, shutting the window behind me and locking it.

"I flew," I explained with a shrug.

"Flew," Amity said faintly. I nodded.

"On a broomstick."

"You… seriously do that?" she asked, lips quirking in amusement. I nodded, chuckling slightly.

"Yeah, that was my reaction as well."

Amity frowned. "But… didn't you grow up like this? Or are random people just magical for some reason?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I hadn't considered how much of the magical world I now took for granted that would need to be explained.

"I think I'm going to have to start with some family history," I said with a groan. I sat down on the couch. "Come on, sit, this'll take a while."

"Just a second," Amity said, and skipped off to the kitchen, bare legs flashing in her shorts as she moved. She returned only minutes later with a large tub of ice cream and two spoons before kneeling on the couch facing me and setting the tub between us. She tossed me a spoon and dug in with her own.

"Okay, go," she bade as she licked ice cream off her spoon.

I started at the beginning. At least, my beginning. I explained that I grew up with the Dursleys and that I hadn't known I was a witch until Hagrid broke down the door with a Hogwarts letter. Amity was appropriately enraged for my sake and horrified when I explained to her about Voldemort and what happened to our parents.

"That's terrible," she breathed, setting her spoon aside. "How can a person go that... bad?"

"Power corrupts," I said with a shrug. "Voldemort wanted more and more. He was… he was angry and hateful and bitter because of his own childhood."

From there we skipped around a little. I explained about my dreams of Voldemort's childhood and from there we jumped to facing him and the basilisk in my second year. Amity had listened in fascination as I hissed in Parseltongue. From there we went back to first year and I held nothing back – I told her about feeling torn away from Harry and how many of my year mates didn't care for me because I was a Potter.

"Kick him in the balls and hex the bitch," as Amity's elegant response when I told her about some of the things Malfoy and Parkinson had said that first year.

From there I told her about third year and the horror of finding out that Sirius Black was my godfather when, from what I knew, he had sold out my parents. Then I went through the dementors, telling Amity was I recalled. She had paled and actually reached out and hugged me when I told her what Voldemort whispered in my head back them. Surprisingly, I didn't mind it coming from her.

Amity was utterly silent as I told her about last year. Her eyes widened at the mention of me fighting a dragon and she smiled at the mention the Yule Ball and of mermaids, but then I got to the maze. I had to stop several times to get it all out as I explained what had happened in the maze and then in the graveyard. Amity actually pushed the ice cream away from herself and looked green when I explained the ritual Wormtail had completed to raise Voldemort. I told her what he'd said to me and Amity cried silently for me.

Finally I explained about the dementors and the various reasons they might have come after me. I told her about the Ministry's denial of the truth and smear campaign they were running against myself, Harry, and Dumbledore. I explained what the dementors were and what they did.

"So let me get this straight," Amity said faintly. "Those things… can suck out souls?"

I nodded darkly. "They call it the Dementor's Kiss. They draw every bit of warmth and happiness out of a person with just their presence. They can't be fooled by disguises because they don't have eyes and they can fly. You can see why they're the perfect prison guards. Sirius is the only one to have ever managed it."

"Because he turns into a dog?" Amity recalled.

I nodded. "He's an Animagus."

"Which is something you're trying to become?"

"My form would be a phoenix," I confirmed. Amity smiled slightly.

"I'm jealous – flying sounds amazing. I'd probably run into everything though," she chuckled.

I shifted on the couch, observing her. She was a woman in her mid-thirties and was sitting on the couch in shorts and a tank top, her feet folded under her like a child listening to a bedtime story. I was crushing some of her ideas about the world and she was taking it all in stride even as I told her what kind of evil was on the rise and what had almost happened to her.

"You're taking all of this rather well," I said slowly.

Amity shrugged and sighed. "I try to take what comes at me with as much grace as possible," she explained. "You say you have magic. Okay, fine. It's thrown a few things on their head for me and I'm scared for you beyond belief now that I know the kinds of things you get up to, but I can't do anything but believe it. I felt what that dementor did and men showed up afterward like you said they would?"

I perked up. "Did they? Did they buy your act?"

Amity smirked. "Oh yes they did," she said smugly. "They didn't realize I could hear them talking when they were pawing at my yarn pretending to be customers. They kept mumbling about dementors and Muggles and me being blind and you casting an… _Obliviate?"_

I nodded. "Yeah, that's the memory wiping spell. The Ministry has record that I cast one and considering you're blind and Muggles can't see dementors anyway they probably assumed that was good enough. Let it never be said our Ministry doesn't do just enough to skate by," I sneered.

"Yeah they sound like bastards," Amity agreed, then frowned worriedly. "So this trial… they might kick you out of school and snap your wand?"

I nodded. "I don't think they will though. Dumbledore isn't as popular as he used to be but he's still a powerful man. He'll definitely get Harry off and I think he knows better than to leave me hanging as well."

"I don't know," Amity said skeptically. "He sounds like he risks you kids quite a bit."

I smirked. "Noticed that, did you?"

Amity snorted. "It's obvious! This Dumbledore… he's like your resident in-house Merlin, right?"

"Not hardly," I corrected. "Merlin was a Slytherin and Dumbledore was a Gryffindor. Completely different."

Amity choked. "Merlin was…!" She shook her head and muttered, "Don't know why I'm surprised… Fine then, he's your resident in-house Gandalf?"

I snickered at the image of Dumbledore with a staff smoking a long pipe. "Something like that."

"Then if he's anything like you've explained him, he's smart enough to realize everything that's been going on in that school of yours and has turned a blind eye to some of it."

Amity had lots of questions – about Hogwarts and the classes and curriculum, about magic in general. I told her all about Snape – who she now knew taught Potions and not chemistry – and McGonagall agreeing to tutor me and the presumed curse on the DADA position.

I also told her I wouldn't be back at work for several days, maybe the rest of the summer depending on what happened from here on out. Amity completely understood and didn't blame me, considering I'd used magic to save her soul and was now on trial for it. I took off from Amity's window as dawn was breaking with a promise to send her a Howler – the only letter she could receive and understand from me – when I knew more about how my summer would be going.

* * *

Neither Harry nor the Dursleys had any idea I'd ever left Number 4, which was how I liked it. Harry had slipped into a depression after sending letters demanding answers to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione and hadn't received a reply for days. He spent most of his time pacing irritably or sprawled on the bed glaring at the ceiling.

On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was laying on the bed glaring at the ceiling while I lounged on my stomach on the floor reading a book. The door opened revealing Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

"We're going out," he said.

"Sorry?" Harry sat up.

"We - that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I - are going out."

"Fine," said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.

"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."

"Okay."

"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."

"Right."

"You are not to steal food from the fridge."

"Okay."

"I am going to lock your door."

"You don't seem to be picking up on the extreme amounts of apathy in this room," I drawled.

Uncle Vernon glared at us, clearly suspicious, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. We heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later we heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.

"Oh no, whatever shall we do without them to entertain us?" I said dispassionately before going back to my book. Harry lay back, staring at the ceiling. Neither of us moved, Harry absorbed in his thoughts and me in my book, one of the ones McGonagall had made me read. Night fell around us and the only move we made was when I scooted closer to the window to take advantage of the moonlight.

Then, quite distinctly, we heard a crash in the kitchen below.

Both of us sat upright, books and thoughts forgotten.

"Too early for them to be back," I murmured, standing up and drawing my wand. Using it would probably get me tossed in Azkaban at this point.

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.

Harry jumped up and grabbed his wand as well. The pair of us crept closer to the door, listening closely. Whoever was speaking wasn't making an effort to go unnoticed. Overly-confident burglars who knew the Dursleys were out?

The next moment the lock gave a loud click and our door swung open. Harry and I both froze, staring out into the dark landing. It was quiet downstairs now.

"Let's play a nice round of 'Is It Death Eaters,'" I whispered as we moved to the door and out onto the landing. We crept towards the stairs and I flinched at the sight. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door, eight or nine of them. All of them were looking up at us.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice.

I knew that voice. I hated that voice, although maybe less now that I knew the person I'd heard it from wasn't who they said they were.

"Professor Moody?" Harry said uncertainly.

"I don't know so much about 'Professor,'" growled the voice. "Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

"On that note, why don't you tell me who was in the room when you were found?" I said, not lowering my wand. I heard a hacking chuckle come from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good girl. You and Potter, the headmaster, Snape, and McGonagall. And that scum was there too, I suppose."

"Who's down there with you?" I demanded, still refusing to lower my wand. It was Moody alright, but he'd proven fallible before.

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away."

"P-Professor Lupin?" Harry stammered disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said an unfamiliar woman's voice. "Lumos."

A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. I blinked. The people below were crowded around the loot of the stairs, gazing up at us intently, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to us. He had more grey hairs and patches on his robes than when I last saw him but he was smiling brightly. I grinned back at the professor – I couldn't wait to tell him I'd managed a corporeal Patronus.

"Oooh, they look just like I thought they would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there, with a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Potters!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing furthest back - he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "He looks exactly like James and she's the spitting image of Lily."

"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes all 'round."

Mad-Eye Moody was squinting suspiciously at us through his mismatched eyes.

"Are you quite sure it's them, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eaters impersonating them. We ought to ask them something only the real Potters would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked.

"A stag?" said Harry uncertainly.

"And Lorena, what does yours take?" That was a trick question. Last time he'd seen me my Patronus didn't have a proper form.

I smiled proudly. "The answer you're looking for is a standard non-corporeal shield form, but recently it's become a phoenix."

Lupin beamed at me proudly. "Good for you! I knew you could do. That's them, Mad-Eye," he added.

Harry and I headed downstairs. I was safe from most of the stares while Harry shifted uncomfortably under the majority of the cluster's attention. He slid his wand into the back pocket of his jeans while I slid mine up my sleeve.

"Don't put your wand there, boy!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"

"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.

"Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" growled Mad-Eye. "Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more." I wondered what Moody's rear looked like and immediately regretted it as he stumped off towards the kitchen.

"And I saw that," he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"How are you?" Lupin asked, looking closely at Harry as he shook his hand. He opened his arms and I hugged him gently, wary of any bruises or cuts under his clothes.

"F-fine…" Harry stammered. "I'm – you're really lucky the Dursleys are out..." he mumbled.

"Doubt it," I said with a snicker. No way would Moody be a part of an operation that had more to do with luck than planning. As expected, someone spoke up.

"Lucky, ha!" scoffed the violet-haired woman. "It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now... or they think they are."

Harry and I exchanged grins and I knew we were both imagining Uncle Vernon's face when he realized he'd been had.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" he asked. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," nodded Lupin, "we're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Not The Burrow, no," said Lupin, motioning us towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed like they were moths drawn to a Harry-shaped flame. "Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while…"

Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys' many gleaming appliances.

"This is Alastor Moody," Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.

"Yeah, we know," I said.

"And this is Nymphadora-"

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder, "it's Tonks."

"Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin.

"So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora," muttered Tonks.

"And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt." He indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed. "Elphias Doge." The wheezy-voiced wizard nodded. "Dedalus Diggle-"

"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-colored top hat.

"Emmeline Vance." A stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head. "Sturgis Podmore." A square-jawed wizard with thick straw-colored hair winked. "And Hestia Jones." A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.

I raised an eyebrow at the number of people. Diggle and Tonks didn't look like much – then again neither did Harry and I. But still I was certain that Moody could have handled us by himself, maybe with some help from the intimidating Kingsley.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you," explained Lupin, answering the obvious question on my face.

"Yeah, well, the more the better," said Moody darkly. "We're your guard."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," clarified Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?"

"Er - yeah," said Harry. "Look-" he turned back to Lupin, "what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol-?"

Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises. Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again and Moody growled, "Shut up!"

"Oh, grow up!" I snapped at the assembled witches and wizards. "If you're that scared just do what I do and call him Tom."

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," growled Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. "Damn it," he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, "it keeps getting stuck - ever since that scum wore it." With a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.

"Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Tonks conversationally.

"I don't believe he cares," I replied shortly.

"Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry," requested Moody.

Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards.

"Cheers," said Moody when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down. The eye whizzed around, staring at us all in turn. "I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey."

"And how will we be going on this journey?" I asked. "Brooms, I assume?"

Lupin nodded. "Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey."

"Remus says you're good fliers," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.

"They're excellent," nodded Lupin, who was checking his watch. "Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," offered Tonks brightly. She followed us up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

"Funny place," she said. "It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better," she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light. Unsurprisingly our room had gone to the dogs. Most of the books Harry owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Our owl's cages needed cleaning out and were starting to smell. Our trunks lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards' robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk while I scooped mine off the shelf and began piling them neatly around my cauldron and potions kit. I opened the window and turned Artemisia loose into the night. Tonks paused at our open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think violet's really my color," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er-" said Harry helplessly, glancing at me. I rolled my eyes – he'd never understand girls despite living in the same room as one for all of his life.

"Maybe just a bit," I allowed.

"Yeah, it does," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"You're a Metamorphmagus," I said, impressed. Tonks smiled at me through her reflection and turned her head so that she could see her hair from all directions.

"A what?" Harry said blankly. I sighed.

"One of these days you will figure out how much you can learn from the Hogwarts library," I moaned. "It means she can change her appearance at will."

Tonks nodded. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"You're an Auror?" said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.

"Yeah," said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well, he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"

"Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?" Harry asked her eagerly, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.

Tonks chuckled. "Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?" Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Harry mumbled, turning away.

"Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid," said Tonks. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand or potions to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, we're supposed to be packing," she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

"Oh - yeah," said Harry, grabbing a few more books as I dumped my clothes into the cauldron.

"Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I - pack!" cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunks.

"It's not very neat," said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside Harry's. Mine, having already been mostly packed, was still decently neat. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly - she even gets the socks to fold themselves - but I've never mastered how she does it - it's a kind of flick-" She flicked her wand hopefully.

One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.

"Ah, well," said Tonks, slamming the trunks shut, "at least it's all in. Those could do with a bit of cleaning, too." She pointed her wand at the cages. _"Scourgify."_ A few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better - I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right - got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! - A Firebolt?"

Her eyes widened as they fell on our broomsticks. It was a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.

"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," said Tonks enviously. "Ah well... wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let's go. _Locomotor trunk."_

The trunks rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made them hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. I grabbed Artemisia's and we followed her down the stairs with our broomsticks.

Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made me feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

"Excellent," said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry-"

"They won't," said Harry.

"-that you're safe-"

"That'll just depress them," I sang.

"-and you'll see them next summer."

"Do we have to?" Harry and I whined.

Lupin smiled but made no answer.

"Come here, you two," said Moody gruffly, beckoning us towards him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

"You need to what?" said Harry nervously.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying. This'll disguise you better. Here you go."

He rapped me hard on the top of the head and cold trickles seemed to run down my body from the point the wand had struck. Moody did the same to Harry and I saw him shudder slightly before began to blend with the counters behind him. I looked down and saw the same thing had happened to me.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.

"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand. We all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.

"Clear night," grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you two," he barked at Harry and I, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed-"

"Is that likely?" Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

"-the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom. Lupin did the same with my things.

"I'm just telling them the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver them safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt-"

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky. Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry and I both swung up onto our broomsticks. I grinned, gripping the handle. The flight to Amity's hadn't been long – I was looking forward to a real flight.

"Second signal, let's go!" said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

I kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through my hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks. All worries faded away, trapped on the ground below me and I was free. I laughed.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and I followed her, watching Harry's trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. "We need more height... give it another quarter of a mile!"

My eyes watered in the chill as we soared upwards and I was glad my glasses took most of the sting out of the wind. I could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. It was beautiful, like a circulatory system of light sprawling under us.

"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!" We soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spider's web of lights below. "Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" shouted Tonks angrily, "we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

We altered our course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. My ears started to ache about thirty minutes in from the cold wind and they were numb by the forty-five minute mark. They were nearing an hour in the air before Moody called again.

"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody "We want to avoid the motorway!"

It was freezing. I hoped wherever we were going, they had hot showers. A hot bath would be even better. Hell, I'd even settle for just a fireplace at this point.

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouted.

My hands were numb on my broom. Flights this cold and this long usually came with cold weather gear and spells. Gloves, at least. "You try it and I will commit violent bloody homicide!" I shrieked.

"We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!" Tonks shouted.

"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice. "Follow Tonks!"

Harry and I followed Tonks into a dive. We were heading for the largest collection of lights yet, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower we flew, until I could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys and television aerials.

"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.

I touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk as Lupin did the same to mine. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming. Some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Heat," I said, and launched myself at Harry. He yelped as I ruthlessly buried my hands under his shirt and writhed away from me. Harry gave me a dark look and took several steps away. I pouted.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, still shooting me dirty looks.

"In a minute," Lupin said quietly.

Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold. "Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again and the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick."

He took Harry and I each by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement. Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying our baggage between them. The rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanked them.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."

I peered over Harry's shoulder at the parchment. It said: _The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

"What's the Order of the - ?" Harry began.

"Not here, boy!" snarled Moody. "Wait till we're inside!"

He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, I looked around at the houses again. We were standing outside number eleven. To the left I saw number ten. To the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's - ?"

"Think about what you've just memorized," said Lupin quietly.

I thought.

No sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Unsurprisingly the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.

"Come on, hurry," growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.

We walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox. Slytherin décor.

Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. I heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open. All that protection? Definitely Slytherin. Which begged the question… what were we doing in a Slytherin house?

"Get in quick," Lupin whispered, "but don't go far inside and don't touch anything."

With that somewhat ominous warning I followed Harry over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. I could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell. The place had the feeling of a derelict building. The others filed in behind us, Lupin and Tonks carrying the luggage. Moody paused on the top step, releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps. They flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

"Here-"

He rapped me hard over the head with his wand. I felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.

"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here," Moody whispered.

I heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Something scuttled behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

I grinned at Harry and nodded to the candelabra.

"Home sweet home," I said fondly and Harry made a face at me.

There were hurried footsteps and Mrs. Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though I noticed that she was thinner and paler than she had been last time I had seen her.

"Oh, you two, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling Harry into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. She looked me over as well. "You're looking peaky. You need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."

She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started."

The wizards behind us all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past us towards the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come. Harry and I made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held us back.

"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

"Why?"

"I don't want anything to wake up."


	47. Summer with Sirius Part 1

**You get a double update today because the Grimmauld Place stuff just kept going and going until it was pushing 15000 words so I split it in half. I don't like splitting up posting chapters, especially when they're supposed to be the same chapter anyway, so here ya go!**

* * *

Pressing her finger to her lips, Mrs. Weasley led us on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains. After skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg we started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.

Harry stared at them in horror. "Mrs. Weasley, why -?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. There-" they had reached the second landing, "you're the door on the right. Lorena, you'll be with Hermione and Ginny. I'll call you when it's over."

And with she hurried off downstairs again.

Harry and I crossed the dingy landing. He turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door. There was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and Hermione launched herself onto Harry in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round our heads.

"Harry! Ron, he's here, Harry's here, and so's Lorena! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you both? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us - The Dementors! When we heard - and that Ministry hearing - it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations-"

"Let them breathe, Hermione," said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind us. He seemed to have grown several more inches during our month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.

Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!"

The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers. I saw Artemisia perched on a wardrobe, looking rather put-out at Pigwidgeon.

"She's been in a right state," said Ron. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this-"

He showed us the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know-"

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron earnestly. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us-"

"-swear not to tell me," said Harry dully, annoyance starting to building his eyes. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."

"And of course you listened," I said graciously, although my smile was acidic. Hermione's grin faltered slightly at the sight.

There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.

"He seemed to think it was best," Hermione said breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," said Harry.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles-" Ron began

"Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows.

"Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?" I asked with faux innocence. "Goodness I had no idea, poor things," I cooed.

"Well, no - but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time-"

"Trailing him," I muttered.

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, clearly doing his utmost to keep his voice even. "Had to look after ourselves after all, didn't we?"

"He was so angry," said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."

"Well, I'm glad he left," Harry said coldly "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."

"Aren't you... aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" said Hermione quietly.

"The Ministry makes exceptions for life-threatening circumstances. Dementors are life-threatening, and despite what they might wish, if Dumbledore was as angry as you say, he will not let them overlook that," I said coolly.

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asked in a voice of forced calm. "Did you - er - bother to ask him at all?"

I raised an eyebrow as Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. I saw the rage spark in Harry's eyes.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron slowly. "We did. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted."

"He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry said shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."

"Fawkes being only the most obvious choice," I said coldly. "The thing can Apparate."

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, "I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything."

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," said Harry, watching their expressions.

"Don't be thick," said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

"Or that I can't take care of myself."

"Of course he doesn't think that!" said Hermione anxiously.

"So how come Lorena and I have to stay at the Dursleys while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young-"

" _So you haven't been in the meetings, big deal! You've still been here, haven't you? You've still been together! Me and Rena, we've been stuck at the Dursleys for a month! We've handled more than you two ever have and Dumbledore knows it- Who saved the Philosopher's Stone? Who got rid of Riddle? Who saved both your skins from dementors?"_

I'd never heard Harry sound so bitter and angry – I didn't approve. He had every right to be angry with them but he also needed to understand the situation. They weren't at fault – they were just doing what Gryffindors did: listen to Dumbledore. It was Dumbledore himself who was the problem.

Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again. Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around our heads.

" _Who had to get past dragons and mermaids and every other foul thing last year? Who saw him come back? Who had to escape him? Me!"_

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

"But why should we know what's happening? Why should anyone tell us what's been going on?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did-" Hermione began.

" _Can't have wanted to too much, can you, or you'd have sent an owl – but Dumbledore made you swear!"_

"Well, he did-"

" _Four weeks I've been stuck in Privet Drive, nicking papers out of bins to try and find out what's been going on-"_

I'd kept my Daily Prophets and the articles in them a secret from Harry. This was the spark that ignited the flame I'd been waiting on all summer. If he'd seen the hack jobs the Prophet was spitting out he would have lost it much sooner and on me. I was perfectly happy to let Ron and Hermione take the brunt of my brother's rage. It was a rare but vicious creature.

"We wanted to-"

" _I suppose you've been having a real laugh, haven't you, all holed up together!"_

"No, honest-"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry - I'd be furious if it was me!"

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.

"What is this place, anyway?" he shot at Ron and Hermione.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix - ?"

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.

"Quite a few people-"

"We've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more."

Harry glared at them. "Well?" he demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

I held up a hand to forestall another rant from Harry and looked at his friends. "I do believe my dear wrathful brother is wondering about the mass murderer who would like to kill us," I said shortly.

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously "So we don't know the details - but we've got a general idea," she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. They're really useful."

"Extendable - ?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know-"

"Some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order-" said Hermione.

"And some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been us, could it?" said Harry sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.

I sneered.

"So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?" Harry demanded. "You said you'd been busy."

"We have," said Hermione quickly. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo- _argh!"_

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones. Lovely to see you too, Rena."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?' asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-colored string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," groused Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which was trailing out on to the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the Ear, "if Mum sees one of them again..."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared. "Oh, hello, Harry, Rena," said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I thought I heard your voice." Turning to Fred and George, she added, "It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" asked George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," answered Ginny proudly. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape!" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds. Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us."

"Bill doesn't like him, either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

"But I do," I said sharply, drawing my wand and twirling it pointedly. "And I will hex every single red-headed one of you if you say anything against him."

"Is Bill here?" Harry interjected. "I thought he was working in Egypt?"

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," explained Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish-"

"And Bill's been giving her a lot of _private lessons_ ," sniggered Fred. I smirked, recalling the appreciative looks I'd seen Fleur casting Bill last year before the third task.

"Charlie's in the Order, too," said George, "but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" I asked. He was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic, after all.

The Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron advised tersely.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said bluntly.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shot of him," said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

"Percy and Dad had a row," explained Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry aloud.

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself - even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that - and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see," Fred added. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," repeated George. "Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession."

"But what's that got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family - and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Bet Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way. "He went completely berserk. He said - well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been - you know - 'not had a lot of money, I mean-"

"What?" said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he - Percy - knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now.

"Mums' been in a right state," continued Ron dully. "You know - crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work - ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof."

"Yeah, well, your names got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry and I a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and... I dunno... he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily, me even moreso.

"Haven't - haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.

"Have you - er - been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked, still more anxiously.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?"

The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they - um - they mention you a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen-"

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."

"What d'you - ?"

"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff. They haven't been so rough on Lorena. Someone got a shot of her… after you got back from the maze," Hermione said delicately.

I knew what she was talking about. A picture had run of my with a tear-streaked and blood-stained face, curled on the ground holding my robes around me with a haunted expression on my face, looking like a victim of war. Ever since then I had somehow become the victim to Harry's madman.

"But she's not writing for them any more, is she?" Harry confirmed.

"Oh, no, she's kept her promise - not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.

Rita's hack job of him had turned into the foundation of turning him into a collapsing madman running around trying to get attention. And somehow, the bit about Malfoy having feelings for me had stuck. There were rumors being vaguely perpetuated by the paper that Malfoy and I were involved and that Harry disapproved of our relationship.

"Okay you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry tartly.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, 'A tale worthy of Harry Potter,' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, 'Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next-'"

They had been easier on me, like Hermione said. After that picture of me ran and I had become a victim in the public's eyes the Daily Prophet had been forced to ease up on me or face the public's displeasure. Ministry-controlled press or not, they still had to worry about ratings.

"I don't want anyone to worship-" Harry began hotly.

"We know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask - I didn't want - Voldemort killed our parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never-"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the Dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control Dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy. We thought they would, it would be in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off. We think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town - I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily. "You really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

Footsteps sounded on the landing, cutting off conversations.

"Uh oh." Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug. There was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meetings over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please."

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry and I alone with Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them looking so nervous made him look slightly ashamed.

"Look…" he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, "We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try to persuade Dumbledore-"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry shortly.

"To be honest you're taking this better than expected," Ron said, looking at me. I sneered in reply.

"Don't let my quietness fool you, I'm furious. But you both just followed the Gryffindor party line: Dumbledore is always right. Even when he's wrong, he's right. I've gotten used to your blind faith in the man," I said shortly. Hermione winced and Ron scowled.

"Who's Kreacher?" Harry asked quickly.

"The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him."

Hermione frowned at Ron. "He's not a nutter, Ron."

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on plaque just like his mother," said Ron irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Actually, it's completely normal for the house elf of an old Slytherin family," I replied with a shrug.

"Well - well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault," Hermione said hastily.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione still hasn't given up on SPEW."

"It's not SPEW!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too."

"Probably because it's not wise to piss off the caretaker of your secret lair," I said pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "C'mon, I'm starving."

He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but be ore they could descend the stairs-

"Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop us walking any further. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something."

We looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of our guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very center of the group I saw Professor Snape. I would have called down a hello, but I was distracted.

A thin piece of flesh-colored string descended in front of our eyes. Fred and George were on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Fred whispered as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again. The front door opened and closed again.

"Snape never eats here," Ron told us quietly. "C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall," Hermione whispered.

As we passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, we saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. "If you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here-"

 _Crash._

"Tonks!" cried Mrs. Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over-"

The rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech. The moth-eaten velvet curtains had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. Behind them was a realistic life-size portrait on an old woman in a black cap. She was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed. All along the hall behind us, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too. I clapped my hands over my ears to drown out the sound.

Lupin and Mrs. Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers-"

Tonks apologized over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. A man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut _up!"_ he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned.

The old woman's face blanched. "Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said - shut - _up!"_ roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence tell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Sirius turned to face us.

"Hello," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."

I smacked a palm to my forehead. "This explains so much!"

Sirius looked deeply offended. "Oi-" he began hotly, but I raised a hand.

"I meant the décor," I said, gesturing to the serpentine metals and dark woods. "Slytherin chic, circa 1980, am I right? This is House Black."


	48. Summer with Sirius Part 2

The basement kitchen was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry! Lorena!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet us, shaking our hands vigorously. "Good to see you!"

Bill was hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table. "Journey all right?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," I said darkly as Tonks moved to help Bill.

"Rena threatened homicide," Harry explained with a snicker. There was a scuffle at the table as Tonks apologized for knocking over a candle onto a piece of parchment.

"Here, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm I caught a glimpse of what looked like a blueprint.

Mrs. Weasley snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already over-laden arms. "This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered, _"Evanesce!"_ and the scrolls vanished.

"Sit down, both of you," said Sirius, beckoning Harry and I to the table. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

A pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore, then jerked awake. "Some'n say m'name?" Mundungus mumbled sleepily. "I agree with Sirius…" He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

"Haven't had the pleasure," I said with an unimpressed twist of my lips as Ginny giggled. This was Harry's guard?

"The meeting's over, Dung," said Sirius as they all sat down around him at the table. "The Potters arrived."

"Eh?' said Mundungus, peering bale fully at us through his matted ginger hair. "Blimey, so 'ey 'ave. Yeah... you all right, 'Airy?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"You might not be if you ever abandon your post guarding my brother again," I warned the stumpy little man viciously.

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds.

"Owe you a 'pology," grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs. Weasley, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly." The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. "No, you can stay where you are, dears, you've had a long journey."

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive. I didn't blame her – Tonks was a klutz.

"Er - no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today."

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry and I were left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.

"Seen old Figgy since?" he asked.

"No," said Harry tersely, "I haven't seen anyone."

"See, I wouldn't 'ave left," said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, "but I 'ad a business opportunity-"

Crookshanks made an appearance then. The cat jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to us.

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," said Harry.

I shrugged. "I worked at Amity's, that was the extent of my fun."

For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's free. "Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

"What?" said Harry incredulously.

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights... I've been stuck inside for a month."

"How come?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix... or so Dumbledore feels."

There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told me that he, too, was not very happy with the Headmaster. I loved him a little more for that.

"At least you've known what's been going on," Harry said bracingly.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time... asking me how the cleaning's going-"

"Hermione mentioned something about the drawing room," I recalled.

"We're trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist - hasn't cleaned anything in ages."

"Sirius," said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come orf, though," muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff. I was starting to figure out what line of work Mundungus was in.

"Fred - George – No, just carry them!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

We looked round and dove away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface. The flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere. The bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

"For heaven's sake!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "There was no need – I've had enough of this - just because you're allowed to use magic now doesn't mean you need to whip your wands out for everything!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred hastily, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. "Sorry, Sirius, mate - didn't mean to-"

Harry, Sirius and I were laughing. Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet. Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said sternly, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age-"

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer onto the table, and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy-"

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Lupin, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food.

I broke the silence. "So if anyone's wondering if dementors like being stabbed with crafting scissors, the answer is no."

That drew incredulous looks from everyone and then Fred, George, and Sirius doubled over laughing as Lupin repressed a smile.

"You didn't…"

"I did," I said with a grin. "They were handy and I needed a distraction. The scissors sort of stuck in it. It was sort of funny – this great tall, floaty thing with orange handles sticking out of it."

"There's nothing funny about a dementor attack," Mrs. Weasley chided. "You could have been seriously hurt!" She turned to Sirius. "I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius indifferently.

"The curtains in there are full of Doxys, too," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius sarcastically.

Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in our bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favorite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks."

Mr. Weasley, Bill and Lupin were having an intense discuss on about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends what they're offered," said Lupin. "And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," sighed Bill, "he hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know-"

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

"... and then," choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, "and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ' 'Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place-"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong."

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Mrs. Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer. George was hiccoughing. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. I looked at him questioningly.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus," said Sirius in an undertone.

"How come he's in the Order?" Harry said, very quietly.

"He's useful," Sirius muttered. "Knows all the crooks - well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you."

Desert was had and I stuffed myself full for the first time since summer had started. I savored the taste of good food because I knew that within days I'd be missing it. It was nearly time for the mandrake leaf to go in.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley with a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry and I. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed from sleepily relaxed to tense in a heartbeat. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so-"

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "You're too young." She was sitting bolt upright on her chair, her fists clenched on its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry and Lorena have been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. They've got the right to know what's been happen-"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come they get their questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

"'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "They aren't even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly, "that's your parents' decision. Harry and Lorena, on the other hand-"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for them!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. I didn't agree with that. On the contrary, Sirius was our godfather. By all normal reckoning, he was the only one in the room who _did_ have a right to decide what was good for us. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but I knew the signs of someone readying for a… _debate._

"The bit about not telling them more than they _need to know_ ," said Mrs. Weasley.

Ron, Hermione, Fred and Georges heads swiveled from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell them more than they need to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as they were the ones who saw Voldemort come back," people shuddered and I rolled my eyes, "they have more right than most to-"

"They are not members of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "They are only fifteen and-"

"And they've dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius just as shortly, "and more than some."

He had no idea. I didn't know how much of the graveyard the people around the table knew about personally. I did know, however, that not one of them had ever stared Voldemort in the eye as Harry and I had, Ginny being the obvious exception.

"No one's denying what they've done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But they're still-"

"They're not children!" said Sirius impatiently.

"They're not adults either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. "They're not James and Lily, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who my godchildren are, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?' said Harry, who had always been pleased to be compared to our dad, just as I'd always been proud to be compared to our mom. I wasn't pleased with Mrs. Weasley either – I had more right than most to know what was going on, Sirius was right.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" replied Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising. He wasn't wrong – Molly had just implied that even if she didn't mean to and someone who had grown up in the subtle world of Slytherins couldn't help but pick up on that. I felt the flicker of annoyance with Mrs. Weasley blaze higher.

"Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and-"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.

"Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry and Lorena will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that they are staying at Headquarters."

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting them to ask whatever they like!"

"Personally," said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that they get the facts - not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from... others."

His expression was mild, but I was confident Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come. I had taken it all away from her with a few clean sentences. "Well... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry and Lorena to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart-"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?" My fists clenched. That one was patently unfair. Sirius and I hadn't gotten off the best start – there had been several dirty words and a slap, in fact – but he was my godfather and one of the last remaining links I had to my father. He did care about Harry and me and we cared about him.

"He's got me!" Sirius said hotly.

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

"I can't help but notice," I said softly, "that you're discussing this like Harry and I aren't here. It may have escaped your notice, but we do in fact have brains and actual opinions on subjects. You might try asking us about them some time."

"Rena," Harry said warningly, but it was too late.

"Mrs. Weasley," I said sharply. "I'm sorry, I do appreciate you looking out for Harry and I – but Sirius _is_ our godfather. If anyone is going to have a final say regarding us, it will be him. Not you." Mrs. Weasley faltered and Sirius looked vindicated. My eyes snapped to him.

"Sirius, I understand you're going stir crazy and you're spoiling for a fight, but this is neither the time nor place to start one," I warned him. Sirius had the good grace to at least look a little abashed. I addressed the table at large as I continued.

"Now, you _will_ tell us some things, and I'll tell you _why_ – because in a little more than a month's time I will be walking into a castle and living in a house filled with the children of Death Eaters. For my own personal safety I need to know how the situation stands. Harry is the one who delivered all of you from Voldemort last time, and while he was only a baby at the time, he does deserve some consideration for that given he has since done it twice more. We may only be fifteen but we have both looked Voldemort in the eye and spoken with him, which is more than anyone at this table can say."

I leaned back in my seat, satisfied that all eyes were on me. I nodded to Sirius. "Don't tell us everything," I allowed. "But tell us enough to understand."

Sirius nodded, looking proud, and Harry squeezed my hand tightly under the table. I saw Hermione looked at me, impressed. The Weasleys didn't look thrilled with how I'd spoken to their mother and I couldn't blame them for that, but she was overstepping her bounds and she needed to know it.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Lupin quietly. "Sirius, sit down." Mrs. Weasley's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair. "Lorena's right – she and Harry have a right to know what's going on."

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny - Ron - Hermione - Fred - George - I want you out of this kitchen, now."

Predictably, no one was terribly thrilled with that arrangement.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to hear!" wailed Ginny.

"No!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes over-bright. "I absolutely forbid-"

"Molly you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They are of age."

"They're still at school."

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley, in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face. "I - oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron-"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't - won't you?" he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Course I will," Harry said after only a moment of hesitation. He was better than me. I would have denied them.

Ron and Hermione beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Ginny - bed!"

"Lorena," Ginny begged, looking at me. "I can stay, right?"

"You most certainly cannot!" Mrs. Weasley ranted. "You are the youngest one here and-"

"Mrs. Weasley," I interjected. Ginny looked at me hopefully. "I might have been wrong on one point." Mrs. Weasley looked just as hopeful.

"What's that, dear?"

"Harry and I aren't the only people in this kitchen who have faced Voldemort," I said, and the temperature in the room dropped as everyone simultaneously remembered Ginny had been possessed by Voldemort when she was younger than Harry and I were now. For some reason people always seemed to forget that.

Ginny lowered her eyes.

"If you kick her out I'll tell her anyway," I explained to Mrs. Weasley, who looked hurt. "She stays."

Ginny perked up slightly and before Mrs. Weasley could mount another defense, Sirius spoke.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

Harry took a deep breath and started asking questions before I could even organize my thoughts.

"Where's Voldemort?" he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. "What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything."

"That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet," said Sirius, "not as far as we know, anyway... and we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," agreed Lupin.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked.

"He's not ready," I guessed "He doesn't want to draw attention to himself, right?"

Sirius nodded. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you both messed it up for him," said Lupin, with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"We survived," I said darkly. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back," Sirius explained.

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," said Lupin. "And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you two, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So, what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, looking around at them all.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Sirius.

"How d'you know what his plans are?" Harry asked quickly.

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Lupin, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate." I sneered in response – I still wasn't pleased with the headmaster.

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one of the groups he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," said Lupin.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because Ministry-controlled press is a bitch," I said bluntly.

"You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back," Tonks agreed while Mrs. Wealsey and Lupin looked at me scoldingly for my language. "Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?" said Harry desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore-"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," said Tonks sadly.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Mr. Weasley. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want-"

"Of course he doesn't," said Mr. Weasley quickly. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," said Lupin. "But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?' said Harry angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up - that I'd make it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"You see the problem," said Lupin. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumor-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" confirmed Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin and Tonks. "You're letting people know he's back?"

They all smiled humorlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community. It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf." Lupin smiled weakly.

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," said Sirius, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Mr. Weasley. "Tonks here, for one - she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage - Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort's back-" Harry began.

"Who said none of us are putting the news out?" said Sirius. "Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"The Daily Prophet is trying to discredit him," I reasoned. "That way no one will believe him."

Lupin nodded. "Exactly. They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot - that's the Wizard High Court - and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards," said Bill, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," said Mr. Weasley sharply. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out of the way - well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" asked Harry desperately.

I snorted. "It's no wonder you aren't in Slytherin." I shook my head. "It's not as if he stands on street corners yelling 'come to the dark side, we have cookies!' He'll have to be subtle. He'll make promises he doesn't intend to keep and blackmail anyone else he needs. There's also the Imperious Curse. People may have pretended to be under it last time but many really were." Everyone looked at me, surprised. I shrugged. "If I was planning a revolution that's what I'd do."

Sirius looked at me sideways before continuing. "He's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asked swiftly.

Sirius and Lupin exchanged a fleeting look before Sirius answered. "Stuff he can only get by stealth. Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" said Harry. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra -?"

"That's enough!"Mrs. Weasley spoke up. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious. "I want you in bed, now. All of you," she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.

"You can't boss us-" Fred began.

"Watch me," snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. "You've given them plenty of information. Anymore and you might just as well induct them into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?" said Harry quickly. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight."

"No." It was not Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin. "The Order is comprised only of overage wizards," he said. "Wizards who have left school," he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you... I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough."

* * *

The next few days were a bit of a blur, looking back on it. Sirius pulled me aside a couple of sides for talks and advice about Animagi transformations. He seemed pleased to have something he could do – I never saw him happier than when we were discussing my project. He'd sit me down and tell me all about the early attempts at transformation, and one time when my dad had to go to the hospital wing with hooves instead of hands and tell Madam Pomfrey that some practice for class had gone horribly wrong.

I saw McGonagall and Snape as well and we set up times to practice at school. It would agreed that Monday and Thursday I would work on Animagi transformations during lunch with McGonagall and Tuesdays and Fridays I would work with Snape after dinner. I had Wednesday and the weekend off so that I could keep up with my homework.

McGonagall had been pleased to see that I had placed the mandrake leaf under my tongue. As a result even Mrs. Weasley's cooking now all tasted sour and herby and I had stopped eating as much as normal just to avoid the taste. Mrs. Weasley was offended at first, but she perked up and seemed to forgive me when I presented her with the cashmere yarn I'd gotten from Amity and let her teach me a new stitch and how to put fringes and bobbles on things.

Most of our free time was spent waging war on the house. The drawing room cabinets had to be cleaned of a variety of cursed or dangerous objects and the curtains and furniture were full of doxies.

Fred and George both smuggled out doxy venom for their Skiving Snackboxes, a project they'd told me they were working on with some of the Triwizard winnings Harry and I had given them. I told them I'd keep it a secret for some of the Wartcap powder from a silver snuffbox we found in the cabinets that they'd smuggled out. They agreed, on the condition that I taught them how to properly milk doxy venom. I did, keeping some for myself, and we all came away with a nice supply of ingredients.

With all the fuss going on in Grimmauld Place the hearing slipped my mind for days at a time until someone mentioned it or I saw Harry looking pensive. Oddly enough, I wasn't concerned. I was confident that the Ministry wouldn't toss me out for multiple reasons.

Dumbledore was one, a major one. There was also my newfound popularity with the general public. After that picture ran I'd suddenly become a media darling and someone to pity. I wasn't exactly happy about it but I did know it was useful. The public wouldn't hear a word against me, meaning that the smear campaign they'd launched against Harry couldn't be used on me.

I was also pretty confident in my plan. My pretend Obliviation of Amity showed a concern for preserving the International Statue of Secrecy, and I could add that it was in a stressful situation. I was a good liar and I was pretty sure I could con my way into a dismissal of the case.

I should come out fine so long as nothing unforeseen happened.


	49. The Trial

Something unforeseen happened.

Harry, Mr. Weasley, and I sprinted down the corridor and down the steps two at a time into the dungeon-like atmosphere of the courtrooms. We'd arrived and had just settled in to wait for the hearing in Amelia Bones's office when Mr. Weasley's coworker Perkins stormed in shouting that the time and place had been changed. We had immediately run for it, but we were still nearly ten minutes late.

"Courtroom… ten…" Mr. Weasley panted, pointing to the door. "It's here. Harry… Harry go…"

"Lorena…" Harry said, looking at me. Mr. Weasley shook his head.

"No, they're seeing you separately, she'll be next. Now go!"

Harry sent one last, pale-faced look in my direction. I gave him a smile and an encouraging nod. He gave me a weak grin back and pushed through the grimy courtroom door with a heavy iron lock. The door banged shut behind him.

I let out a breath and sagged back against the stone walls. For something to do I smoothed down the fabric of my skirt with my hands.

Even if Mrs. Weasley hadn't enforced presentation on us for the hearing, I knew the importance of it. That's why, instead of my usual jeans or shorts and a t-shirt I was wearing one of the nicer garments I'd bought with the money from working at Amity's. Blue enforced trust, so I was wearing a pale blue sundress with a flared skirt, thick straps, and a modest, square neckline. My hair was pulled into a side braid like Snape had spelled into it the night of the maze – an attempt to remind people of how I'd looked then and hopefully inspire pity.

"Headmaster!"

I looked up and saw Dumbledore striding down the hallway towards us, a faintly annoyed downturn to his lips.

"Arthur, Miss Potter," Dumbledore greeted. "To work!" he announced, and entered the courtroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

I took to pacing the hallway for a few feet in either direction, my mind working furiously. Harry was in more danger from me yet Dumbledore would be nearly obsessive in his desire to get Harry off. It all depended on how openly Fudge was willing to challenge Dumbledore yet. I doubted he was ready for such a bold move yet, especially within feet of the man himself.

I was further surprised when, minutes later, Mrs. Figg came hurrying down the corridor in her carpet slippers.

"Mrs. Figg?" I said blankly, but at that moment Dumbledore poked his head out and beckoned her in. Mrs. Figg gave me a half-hearted wave and ducked inside. I remembered Harry saying that Mrs. Figg had seen the incident. I wondered how the Ministry would take her evidence, her being a Squib.

Nearly thirty minutes later Harry came out with a dizzied grin on his face.

"Cleared of all charges!" he announced happily. I grinned, flinging myself at him. If he was cleared then it was extremely likely that I would be too. Harry was the one they wanted discredited – I was only a bonus.

"Once Mrs. Figg came in and gave her testimony it was all over," Harry said, pulling back. "You're gonna be fine, Rena," he assured me.

I nodded and we both looked around as the door opened again. Mrs. Figg came out and nodded to me.

"They're ready for you," she said. I nodded, steeling myself, and moved towards the door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

I gasped. I couldn't help myself – it was the tiered room from Dumbledore's memories. Black-robed figures were seated all over the place, rising high above me. The Wizengamot was there in full force. Dumbledore sat on a squashy chintz armchair next to the chained wooden chair. He was humming absently, seemingly entirely unconcerned by the Minister, who looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.

I sat down on the wooden chair in the middle of the room and smoothed out my skirt. Thankfully, the chains didn't wind up and go after me.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," snapped out Fudge, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Lorena Lily Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley-"

I jerked around and was surprised to see Percy scribbling down notes feverishly.

"Minister, I think considering the similarities of the spells cast between the two Potters it is very obvious what happened," Dumbledore said amicably.

"That remains to be seen!" Fudge snapped. "Miss Potter, did you or did you not perform a Patronus and an Obliviation on the second of August?"

"I did," I answered, looking shame-faced.

"Knowing that doing so was illegal while outside of school?"

"Yes, sir."

"And knowing that you were in the presence of a Muggle?"

"Yes sir," I said with a wince, dipping my head, the picture of repentance.

A witch with a monocle cut across the Minister's questioning. I guessed she was Madam Bones – Mr. Weasley had described her as tough but fair and this witch seemed the very definition of that.

"Was your Patronus fully-fledged, like your brother's?" she asked.

I nodded, deciding it was okay to allow a bit of pride to show. "Yes ma'am. I only just got it down at the end of last year but I can do it now. Professor Lupin taught us in our third year, when the dementors were…" I gave a delicate shudder and my blanching was genuine at the memory. "They're nasty, dementors," I murmured, looking at my feet.

"May I ask what shape your Patronus takes?" Madam Bones asked.

"Is that strictly necessary?" Fudge snapped.

"It's a phoenix, ma'am," I replied politely. I saw a bit of murmuring pick up and I knew I had won some points.

"And I suppose you were attacked by dementors as well?" Fudge asked shortly.

I nodded. "Just one, sir."

"Tell us," Fudge barked. "I'm sure we'd all love to hear this _story."_

I was gratified to see a couple of people shoot Fudge surprised, scandalized, or disapproving looks for his brusqueness. It seemed my prediction that the public being on my side was correct.

"Miss Potter could have provided a witness as well, but the Ministry had her Obliviated before she could present testimony," Dumbledore said swiftly.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, the Minister asked _me_ to explain," I said coolly. Dumbledore looked at me inscrutably, then nodded for me to go ahead. He knew what I was doing. By distancing myself from Dumbledore a little I was endearing myself even to some of the nay-sayers in the court. Fudge and the toad-faced woman in pink next to him seemed particularly pleased with me. Madam Bones looked faintly surprised. I think she was clever enough to figure out what I was doing.

"I pick up a shift during the summer at a craft store run by Amity Raincrow, a Muggle from America," I explained. "I went in for my shift that afternoon, like normal. I was in the back unpacking a shipment when I heard Amity scream. I went to the front and that's when… I saw it…"

I didn't have to fake the shudder this time as I remembered how my heart had plummeted to my feet when I saw Amity backed into a corner by the dementor. "It had my boss on the ground. She's a Muggle, and she's blind besides, so she couldn't see it, but she… she could feel it. It was lowering its hood, so I had to get its attention."

The witch in pink spoke up for the first time. She had a simpering, sugary voice. I hated her at once. "And how did you do that?"

I winced, offering a sheepish smile. "I… uh… Well, I chucked a pair of scissors at it. They stuck…"

The court seemed not to know what to do with that information. A couple looked horrified at the idea while others seemed to be holding in giggles. I couldn't blame them – after the fact, it was pretty funny.

"That's when I did the Patronus," I continued. "I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I had to get rid of the dementor. After it was gone, my boss was panicking about it. I knew all about the Statute of Secrecy and she was just so confused… I did the Obliviate hoping it would keep her from going into shock and keep her from remembering." I winced. "I… may have been a little overenthusiastic."

Madam Bones's lips thinned and she lifted up a piece of paper to observe. "Yes, the Ministry Obliviators mentioned that Miss Raincrow asked them 'if they'd like fries with their order' and wished them a 'Happy Kwanza' when they left."

I had to fight back a smile. That sounded like Amity.

"I know I shouldn't have used magic but I couldn't think of anything else to do," I said quickly. "I have no idea why the dementors were there, either. I know it sounds crazy, but…" I shrugged meekly. "It's the truth."

"We have already proven that dementors were in Little Whinging," Madam Bones allowed. "Given that… those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

My heart leaped as I watched nearly every hand in the chamber go up, Fudge and the witch in pink being only the most obvious of the handful of holdouts.

"Those opposed?"

Fudge raised his hand but I noticed that the witch in pink declined to vote. Instead, she stared at me intently as Fudge glowered and lowered his hands. He banged his gavel with the air of someone who was extremely fed up with everything.

"Cleared of all charges," he said bitterly.

* * *

The walk out of the Ministry was delightful – I felt lighter with every step, barring one incident. We stumbled upon Fudge talking to Lucius Malfoy, who had been as sneering and disdainful as usual. Last time I had seen him was in the graveyard. I had to restrain myself from hexing him bald, particularly when he made a passing comment about thinking he saw something on my cheek.

That was all wiped away in the celebration that occurred that night at Grimmauld place. Mrs. Weasley prepared a feast and several Order members dropped in to congratulate us and give us their best. Harry and I were all smiles as Fred, George, and Ginny treated us all to rousing choruses of 'They got off!' until their mother threatened to _Silencio_ them.

There was another party shortly afterwards. Hogwarts letters had arrived and several of us had been named prefect. Ron and Hermione, and, to my shock, I had as well. I couldn't deny a bit of pride when I pinned the badge to my robes. My mother was Head Girl, and prefects were a stepping stone to that, I thought fondly. I was following in her footsteps.

It was easy to guess why Dumbeldore had done it. I wasn't nearly as fond of him as Harry was, nor did I follow him as blindly, and I'd made no secret of that in the past. He hoped that by giving me a title, a position of power, he would endear himself to me. Sadly, the man was a Gryffindor and the tactic was a little too heavy-handed to be as subtle as he's probably hoped. No matter how sly a Gryffindor thought they were, chances were good it was about as blunt as a battering hammer to every Slytherin in the vicinity.

Seemingly in the blink of an eye we were on the Hogwarts Express and headed back to school. Sirius came to see us off, which, while I thought was ridiculously risky, I couldn't deny I enjoyed. I was wiping dog spit off of my cheeks and hands as the train started off.

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?' Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. I rolled my eyes at their hesitance.

"We have to go to the prefect's carriage and get briefed by the Heads," I explained to him, shifting my grip on Artemisia's cage.

"Oh," said Harry slowly, his eyes dimming a little. "Right. Fine."

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," said Hermione quickly. "Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine," said Harry again, which was a sure sign that he was anything but fine. "Well, I - I might see you later, then."

"Yeah, definitely," said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. "It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather - but we have to - I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy," he finished defiantly.

"I know you're not," said Harry and he grinned. It was a false grin though, and I knew it as I followed Ron and Hermione down towards the engine end of the train.

"He's upset, isn't he?" Hermione asked softly. I rolled my eyes.

"It's good for him not to get everything," I told her bluntly. "Besides, Dumbledore's already proved he's mad, giving this thing to me." I nodded to the badge pinned to my chest. "Harry gets into enough trouble on his own. Imagine what he'd be like if he thought he was _authorized_ to go investigate things."

The prefect's carriage was the first one behind the engine. It was large and spacious – it had to be, considering how many people had to fit into it. Two prefects per house per year plus the Heads if they weren't already prefects for. I caught sight of Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil in one corner, looking a bit uncomfortable as they glanced around at the older students completely at ease with their responsibility. Hannah Abbott approached them and struck up a conversation. Ernie Macmillan was talking to the sixth year Hufflepuff prefect.

"Let's go say hi," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm and tugging him towards Padma. Ron was understandably hesitant considering he'd been her less-than-stellar date to the Yule Ball last year.

"Potter."

We three turned around. Malfoy was sitting a short distance away in casual clothes – casual for him, that was. He still looked like he could be heading to a business meeting. He beckoned me over.

"Blow him off," Ron said instantly, Hermione observed me carefully.

"He's your fellow prefect," she said slowly. "You should try and get along with him."

"He's Malfoy," Ron said in distaste.

"You're Weasley," I replied absently as I moved towards Malfoy. I stared down at him, my head tilted suspiciously. Malfoy never sought me out unless he had some insult to spit at me. But he was actually looking… reasonably friendly.

I was blown away as Malfoy looked up at me and offered me a smirk that actually had a trace of a grin in it around the edges. He patted the empty space next to him. Uncertain, I sat down in the offered seat.

"What do you want?" I asked slowly. Malfoy shrugged and tossed me that same lazy smirk-grin.

"How was your summer?" he asked casually. I blinked, incredulous.

"And why, may I ask, do you care about my summer?" I demanded.

"I can't be curious?" Malfoy asked innocently. He didn't pull it off well. "Can you blame me? My father told me you'd been hauled before the Wizangamot for using magic. Said you were attacked by dementors." He frowned slightly.

"That's true," I admitted.

"Well, good thing you got off," Malfoy said carelessly. "Hogwarts would be a lot less interesting without you making trouble."

I gaped at Malfoy. Just who had grabbed the ferret and replaced him with someone who was… actually decent? Malfoy didn't care about me. He didn't ask about my summer. Was this because of what happened at the end of last year? It had to be. Did he think… we were friends?

Really though, were we? It could go either way at this point. No matter how many years we'd sniped at each other – which had been fun – he had been decent towards the end of last year, culminating in playing chess with me and carrying me to bed of all things! Maybe… was he trying to turn over a new leaf? Was Draco Malfoy actually trying to be better? The thought boggled the mind.

I saw Hermione beckoning me over from where she and Ron had sat down with Padma and Anthony. I started to rise and join them, abandoning the weirdness that was a decent Malfoy, when the Head Boy suddenly spoke up.

"If you'll all take your seats?"

I sank back into my seat with a groan as the other prefects who had been standing seated themselves around the compartment. The Head Boy and Girl introduced themselves and the boy, who seemed by far the most vocal of the two, proceeded to outline the duties and responsibilities of prefects. We couldn't dock points but we could give detentions, which was good to know. I'd already promised Fred and George a free pass if I caught them.

"Please tell you'll still be setting things on fire this year as usual?" Malfoy whispered. I jerked, surprised by the sudden noise. I was amused though – not a year had gone by where I hadn't set something on fire or blown something up – Malfoy's own cauldron being the most often exploded.

"I'll try to pencil it in," I smirked. "Now shut it, I'm listening."

Malfoy sniggered. "That prefect badge is going to your head Potter – since when do you listen?"

I rolled my eyes and smacked him in the arm, the gesture surprising both of us. It was friendly and teasing, not a real rebuke.

"That's better," Malfoy smirked, leaning back and settling deeper in his seat contently. He crossed his legs and tossed his arm over the back of my seat, not quite touching me but close enough to be a presence. I snuck a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Just what was he playing at?

The meeting ended after over an hour. The Head Boy really loved to listen to himself talk. It was finally the Head Girl who had to rein him in and dismiss us before he started extolling the virtues of past Heads.

"Shall we patrol?" Malfoy asked, standing up. He offered me a hand. I looked at it askance before blaming it on pureblood breeding. I took his hand and let him pull me up, muttering a thanks.

"I need to go see Harry."

A familiar sneer crossed Malfoy's place. "Ah yes. Can't help but notice the other Potter isn't here. Is he pouting?" As if he'd realized what he said Malfoy's eyes widened a bit and he glanced at me quickly. I smirked.

"I'll give you that one Malfoy, because he _is_ pouting a bit," I allowed. "But watch it," I warned. "He's my brother. You don't have to like him but you will accept that I do or I'll dye that pretty platinum hair of yours pink."

"Merlin forbid," Malfoy said drily.

"Rena?"

Hermione and Ron lingered nearby, obviously waiting for me. Hermione cast a dark glance at Malfoy while Ron glared.

"Are you coming to see Harry with us?" Hermione asked.

"Why are you talking to him?" Ron demanded much less subtly.

I rolled my eyes. "I can talk to who I want, Ron. Malfoy's my fellow prefect – I should at least try not to strangle him, don't you think? But yeah, I'm coming," I added to Hermione. I nodded to Malfoy. "See you around," I said.

Malfoy nodded. "See you." He nodded at the pair of Gryffindors behind me. "Weasley… Granger…" There was a distasteful twist to his lips, but Malfoy actually made a valiant attempt at civility. I stared at him and he stared back hopefully, like he was… was he looking for approval?

"Let's go," I said hastily, fleeing with Hermione and Ron on my heels.

"What the bloody hell was that, Rena?" Ron demanded.

"Hell if I know," I replied just as bluntly. "He was actually being civil…"

"He didn't even call me a mudblood," Hermione said in disbelief. "What did you do to him, Rena?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "I haven't dosed him or anything!"

Hermione looked uncertain. "I'm not sure that's a good thing, considering who his father was."

That was a fair point, actually. Was Malfoy perhaps coming off all friendly hoping to get close enough to me to… what, kidnap me and bring me to Voldemort? That would be a terrible plan. For one, Greengrass had a better shot at it and for another we were in Hogwarts where Dumbledore saw all.

We found Harry, Neville, and Ginny swapping Chocolate Frog cards in a compartment with a blonde-haired girl with her nose in a copy of the Quibbler.

"I'm starving," announced Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning.

"Charming, Ron," I sneered.

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house," said Hermione, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she took her seat. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's Slytherin's other prefect?" said Ron, still with his eyes closed.

"Malfoy," replied Harry at once. "Curse him, Rena," he advised.

I shrugged. "I dunno, he was being decent." Harry looked at me in disbelief. "Yeah, that was my reaction too," I approved.

"Who are Hufflepuff's?" Harry asked.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said Ron thickly.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said Hermione.

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma."

Taking a closer look I recognized the blonde as Luna Lovegood, who was gazing unblinkingly at Ron over the top of The Quibbler. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog.

"Yeah, I know I did," he said, looking mildly surprised.

"She didn't enjoy it very much," Luna informed him. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded," she added thoughtfully, "I don't like dancing very much."

With that she retreated behind The Quibbler again. Ron stared at the cover with his mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at Ginny for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. Ron shook his head, bemused, then checked his watch.

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," he told Harry and Neville, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something..."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!" said Hermione sharply.

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all," said Ron sarcastically.

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

"For heaven's sake, Ron-"

"I already promised Fred and George a pass." I shrugged and lay down with my head on Harry's lap, curled up on my side. He immediately started stroking my hair and I hummed in approval.

"The two of you…" Hermione groaned.

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," said Ron happily. He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. "I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's… backside."

Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughed so hard her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs and on to the floor.

"That was funny!"

Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching her sides.

"Are you taking the mickey?" asked Ron, frowning at her.

"Baboon's... backside!" she choked, holding her ribs. I chuckled too, watching as Luna doubled over. Harry leaned forwards suddenly, nearly knocking me off the seat. I quickly sat up, huffing indignantly as he picked up Luna's dropped magazine.

"Can I have a look at this?" Harry asked Luna eagerly. I saw an ad on the front for an article inside. Sirius Black: Villain or Victim? That must have been what got Harry's interest. It would have caught mine too, had I not known what kind of stories the Quibbler ran.

I lay back down and Harry absently stroked my hair with one hand while turning pages with the other. I closed my eyes, mentally running through my schedule for the year. Occlumency lessons with Snape, Animagi transformation with McGonagall, Quidditch, prefect duties, and trying to start on contacts for a brewing business. It was going to be a ridiculously busy year again… I loved it.

"Anything good in there?" asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.

"Of course not," said Hermione scathingly, before Harry could answer. "The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna. Her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. "My father's the editor."

"I - oh," said Hermione, looking embarrassed. "Well... it's got some interesting... I mean, it's quite-"

"I'll have it back, thank you," said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Riffling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside-down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time.

Malfoy made an appearance with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. His usual sneer was in place. I didn't know why I was surprised – this was who Malfoy was. Maybe I'd just really been hoping the children of the Death Eaters wouldn't be so bad.

"What?" Harry said aggressively, before Malfoy could open his mouth.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," drawled Malfoy. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah," said Harry, "but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville laughed. Even I had to chuckle a little at that. Harry was not sassy often, but he definitely had it in him. Malfoy's lip curled.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?" he asked. "To your sister?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione sharply.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Malfoy, smirking. "It's about time someone realized you're the second-best Potter."

I gaped at him. He was insulting my brother so I should be offended but he was recognizing me, recognizing what I could do, so I was also… well, I was a little flattered.

"Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Hermione, standing up.

Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. Hermione slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Harry and I.

I knew she had registered what Malfoy had said and been unnerved by it. I couldn't be very surprised though – Pettigrew had been a Death Eater. It was no surprise he had told his fellows all about how he and his school buddies became Animagi. Pettigrew would have needed any leg up he could get in Death Eater circles. It wasn't too much of a leap to think Mr. Malfoy had seen Sirius and recognized him from Pettigrew's description.

The rest of the train ride was fairly standard. As a prefect, I had to supervise the younger years disembarking and help guide the first years over to the boats. In true Slytherin style, I sneered answers to any students to asked questions, but I did answer.

"Aw, the poor firstie doesn't know where to go? What do you think Crabbe? Just leave him here?"

Malfoy was smirking down at a tiny blonde boy who looked terrified. I sighed. Well, the kid definitely wouldn't be a Gyffindor, that I knew.

"Malfoy," I said sharply as I strode over, robes snapping. I smacked him across the back of the hand. "That badge does actually come with duties, you know," I chided.

Malfoy grunted in response and rubbed the back of his head, shooting me a dirty look. He waved a hand at Crabbe and Goyle, who moved towards the nearest carriage. I watched as they tossed out a couple of second years who attempted to follow them.

"Head that way, look for the lantern," I told the blonde boy, pointing towards the lake. "First years go up in the boats."

He nodded at me thankfully, shot Malfoy a terrified look, and raced off towards the boats. Malfoy snickered after him.

"Look at him run," he laughed.

"I know," I sneered. "Like anyone would find a ferret scary."

Malfoy scowled. "Whatever Potter, let's just get to the school, I'm starving."

Normally I could have ridden up with Nott, Lily, and Tracey but by this point they were probably all long gone up to the castle. I'd settle for rising in stony silence with Malfoy and his guard dogs. I turned to the carriage Crabbe and Goyle had gotten and froze.

If I hadn't always known thestrals were pulling the carriages I would have been shocked. Hagrid had told me about them years ago though, so I knew about the skeletal horses. Knowing and seeing were different things though. They looked like skeletons with skin stretched over them, pupil-less white eyes, and bat wings.

"Potter?" Malfoy demanded, one foot on the runner. "What's your hold up?"

I smiled faintly. "I can see them now," I said slowly. Malfoy stared at me incredulously and followed my gaze.

"See what?" he asked uncertainly. "Potter, there's nothing there! Have you finally snapped?"

I smirked, pleased with a chance to alarm Malfoy and pay him back for earlier. "Oh no?" I reached out and snatched his hand, dragging him after me to the front of the carriage. The thestral observed us cautiously. Malfoy, surprisingly, didn't put up much of a struggle.

"Then what are these?" I challenged, and pressed his hand flat to the thestral's flank. Malfoy goggled at the sensation of warm skin under his hand.

"Potter," he said, his voice slightly higher than usual. He was frozen in place. It was funny. "What am I touching?"

"Thestral," I replied, stroking the animal's shoulder fondly. "They can only be seen by people who have seen death," I added quietly, keeping my eyes on the thestral. It flared its wing slightly and tossed its head. I took that to mean it wanted to get on its way.

"Come on, they've got a job to do," I said, gesturing for Malfoy to follow me into the carriage.

* * *

" _She's_ prefect?"

I smirked. As expected, Pansy Parkinson was beyond horrified to see that I was the female prefect for the year and that I would be spending all the time with Malfoy that she not doubt had planned for herself.

"Well they do have a certain demand for competence," I told her sympathetically. "Obviously, you couldn't do the job."

"That's not very prefect-ly of you," Lily snorted. I rolled my eyes.

"If only I cared."

"I told you before, Potter, keep your hands off of Malfoy!" Parkinson hissed.

I looked at her coldly. "And you'll remember what I told you, Parkinson. This is a new year but that much hasn't changed," I said as I dug into my dessert. Parkinson blanched and glared before prodding irritably at her pie.

"What did you tell her?" Tracey asked curiously.

"The usual – threats of violence and homicide," I replied brightly.

"You won't be able to pull things like that as a prefect," Nott warned. I raised an eyebrow.

"Watch me," I grinned.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore as the plates cleaned themselves off. "First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

I glared at the grey-haired witch. I didn't have a problem with her per say. It was that her presence was necessary that irked me. I vastly preferred Hagrid's dangerous but informative lessons even though Grubbly-Plank and the unicorns had definitely been a high point.

I had an even bigger problem with Umbridge. She was the pink-clad frog from my trial, the one who had been looking at me speculatively there at the end. It had only taken a moment to realize what had happened when I saw her sitting up there – the Ministry wanted an inside look at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the-"

He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, 'Hem, hem,' and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he stepped aside smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as I had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking. This woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

She moved out from behind the Head Table and stood in front of Dumbledore's owl-winged podium, addressing the student body at large. She really was absolutely tiny, and her stupid, sugary voice made my teeth ache from the falsity.

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!"

I gave the hall a cursory examination and couldn't see a single smiling face.

"I'm sure we're all going to be very good friends!"

"That's likely," said the Weasley twins, their voices carrying through the silent hall. Umbridge sent them both looks, her eyes sparking in annoyance though the rest of her polite, smiling mask didn't falter.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance," Umbridge continued. "Although each headmaster has brought something new to this historic school," she paused an inclined her head respectfully to Dumbledore, "progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected, and prune practices which ought to be prohibited."

She gave syrupy laugh before returning to her seat. Dumbledore started the hall in the applause and the rest of us fell into it, applauding once or twice politely.

"Well that was interesting," Lily said slowly, her eyes narrowed at Umbridge.

"Agreed," I nodded. "The Ministry doesn't seem to think Dumbledore can be trusted to run the school."

That was only the most interesting of the opening statements of the year. The rest were the standard fare. When we were dismissed, Malfoy appeared at my side.

"We have to lead the first years to the dungeons," he said. I nodded as I stood up.

"I know, I know," I huffed, then smirked. "Let me see… did it go something like this?" I cleared my throat and called, "Right, first years, follow Malfoy and I. We'll take you to the Common Room. Pay attention, because I won't show you the way again, and I don't care if you get lost. We've lost students in the dungeon before, we'll lose them again."

I turned and started walking out the Great Hall with Malfoy, a huddle of first years following behind us. Malfoy snickered as we walked.

"Nice impression," he said. "Although I don't know how you remembered."

"I remember everything about my first days at Hogwarts," I replied with a small smile. "It was the first time I'd ever been anywhere magical."

Malfoy looked at me sideways as we descended into the dungeons. I glanced over my shoulder to see the knot of Slytherins following us. There were two kinds – the ones that were visibly fascinated or the ones that were trying to cover their fascination with swagger.

"Let's see if you remember the next bit," I said as we stopped outside the Common Room. Malfoy smirked.

"Of course I do, Potter." Malfoy turned to address the first years. "The password changes every fortnight, so check the notice board. No password, no entry. Boy's dormitories are to the left, girls to the right. _Python,"_ he added to the wall and it ground open. Malfoy and I both swept inside, leaving the first years to cluster just inside the door as they gaped around.

Malfoy sniggered. "Please tell me we didn't look that ridiculous the first time we came in here."

"Well I know you did," I taunted. "I, of course, was the picture of decorum."

Malfoy snickered again and I realized what was happening with a jolt. That's what was bothering me ever since the train. We were… getting along. When Malfoy wasn't being an outright twat we actually got along. I remembered it vaguely from first year – our banter back then had been less biting and more teasing. Somehow, it had faded back into that.

And strangely enough… I didn't hate it.

I jerked. "Right, well… I'm off to bed," I said, and made a hasty escape, frowning to myself.

Was that really all it took? Malfoy was decent for a couple of minutes and I forgot years of bitter and hurtful taunts? Maybe it was because of Voldemort, but those things seemed… less important. They were, really. Who cared if Malfoy hurt my feelings a couple of times? I knew I'd done the same to him my fair share over the years.

I nodded to myself, coming to a decision. I'd give him a chance. Oh, I'd let him have it when he laid into Harry, but other than that I'd try and keep a civil tongue in my head when it came to Malfoy. Like I'd told my year mates after the maze last year – they weren't their parents. I could still hate Lucius Malfoy and be decent to his son.

"First years squared away?" Daphne asked as I entered the dorm. I nodded.

"Gaping in the doorway, as usual," I confirmed and moved towards my bed. I drew the curtains and changed into one of my nicer nighties from Lily before pulling back my sheets. Some people might have been horrified to see a snake coiled in the middle of their bed. I just grinned and silenced the area around my bed.

"Silas," I greeted, lifting him up and sitting down. I pulled the sheets over me and placed him in my lap. "It's good to see you."

Silas grinned. "Good to see you too boss," he said, sliding up my arm and ticking my ear with his tongue in a hello. "Good summer?" I sighed aloud. "That's not promising."

I shook my head. "No kidding." I told him all about the trial and the dementors and Umbridge and even about Malfoy being strange on the train.

"You want me to watch him for you?" Silas asked eagerly. I grinned. I think I had inadvertently turned my snake into a spy. He seemed to like gathering information for me.

"No, I'll handle him myself," I disagreed. "Thanks though." I bent down and kissed his scaly head. "How about you, how was your summer?"

Silas had apparently met a female adder in the Forbidden Forest over the summer and he was quite smitten with her. He kept going on and on about how pretty her scales were. I just grinned at the snake romance and encouraged him to bring her to see me.

"You're welcome to invite her to the apprentice's lab to stay safe," I offered.

"Thanks boss, you're a real princess."


	50. Arguements and Occlumency

I laughed along with the rest of the class as Padma Patil sent an origami bird flying through the air. It darted along the rows of desks. Seamus stood up and swatted at it. The bird retreated, circling the chandelier, before swooping back down. Crabbe nailed it with a rubber band launched off of his finger and the bird jerked before fluttering back towards Padma. Over her desk it suddenly burst into flames. The ash of the bird fluttered down onto her books.

"Good morning children."

We turned around to see Professor Umbridge standing at the back of the classroom holding her oddly short wand. She flicked it at the chalkboard and read aloud as she walked up to the front of the class.

"Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations," she recited. "OWLs. Study hard, and you will do well. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be… severe." Umbridge smiled brightly.

"I may vomit," I said faintly, and Daphne, Tracey, and Lily dipped their heads to hide their grins.

"Wands away and quills out, please!" Umbridge called. We scowled. That never meant anything fun. Defense, Charms, and Transfiguration could usually be relied on to be fairly magic-intensive classes and were thus some of the more popular. It would seem Umbridge didn't agree with that thought.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Umbridge with a commiserating pout. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

Umbridge tapped the blackboard. The first message vanished and was replaced by _Course Aims. 1: Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2: Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3: Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," cooed Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So: has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang dispassionately through the room.

"Good!" grinned Umbridge." I should like you to turn to page five and read Chapter One, Basics for Beginners. There will be no need to talk."

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing us all closely with her toad's eyes.

With nothing left to do, I yawned and opened my book to the first page. I forced myself to read the words so that my eyes would track but in reality I was focusing on the fact that later this evening I would be having my first appointment with Snape concerning Occulumency.

Also, the month for the mandrake leaf under my tongue was nearly up, which was a relief. The thing had been reduced to a mush under my tongue but I'd been careful and hadn't swallowed or chewed it any so it should be okay. If not, I would have to repeat the process, which I wasn't looking forward to.

I glanced up and blinked. Hermione had not even opened her copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. Umbridge was looking just as resolutely in another direction. I couldn't recall Hermione ever refusing to read for class. Then again, I didn't blame her. From the bit I'd absorbed Slinkhard's book was dull and useless for those of us who'd already dealt in fighting Dark magic.

After several more minutes had passed, however, I was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with Basics for Beginners.

When more than half the class was staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione. I perked up. Oh she wasn't…

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. Oh she _was..._ "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.-?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge saccharinely.

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a-"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.

"Harry," I hissed loudly. It was clear from who she worked for that she would already have a chip on her shoulder about Harry and would likely make his life as difficult as a pissed-off Snape could if only given the chance. He was going to utterly screw himself for the rest of the year before the first day was even over.

Harry ignored me and thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.

"And your name is?" Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" supported Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free."

"I repeat," said Umbridge, smiling determinedly at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but-"

Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever-"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-"

"No we haven't," Hermione said curtly, "we just-"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione put up her hand. Umbridge turned away from her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," replied Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practicing them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

Professor Umbridge looked up. "This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly. Shit, she was getting angry. Harry needed to watch himself or-

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"

And of course he wouldn't.

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, yeah?" demanded Harry.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

I stood up sharply at the back of the class, drawing several eyes. "Harry, don't!" I shouted, smacking my hands on the desk. He was about to crucify himself in the middle of class! Everyone who had even the slightest thought of believing the Prophet about him would do so if he got into a shouting match with a teacher insisting Voldemort was back.

"Hmm, let's think…" said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe... Lord Voldemort?"

Ron gasped. Lavender Brown uttered a little scream. Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. She'd gotten the in she wanted.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge, Harry, or me.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain…" Umbridge leaned towards us, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Harry, shut _up_!" I shouted furiously. Why did he always have to do this? Why did he always have to make things difficult? Why couldn't he just _think_ for once?

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,"  
said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is _not_ a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Damn it, Harry, why do you always have to _do_ this?"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, Basics for Beginners."

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him, her, or me. Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry or I talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"You leave him out of this, Harry!" I snarled from the back of the class. I would not let him use Cedric to support a fight that couldn't be won. Cedric didn't deserve to have his name bandied about like that. He deserved honor and dignity.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge said coldly.

"It was murder!" shouted Harry. He was shaking. "Voldemort killed him and you know it!"

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. It was all over.

Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand. It sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione. He cast me a betrayed and disgusted look before slamming the classroom door shut behind him.

"Take your seat, Miss Potter," said Umbridge softly. "And come see me before dinner tonight, please…"

I let out a heavy breath through my mouth before dropping down into my seat, shaking my head. Ron narrowed his eyes furiously at me before turning back to his reading at Umbridge's instruction. I stared down at my book. This time I actually did read, if only to give me something to focus on besides Harry's sheer idiocy…

When the bell rang for the end of class I stood and rose, taking long, quick strides out of the classroom.

"Oi, Lorena!"

I wasn't entirely surprised to hear pounding feet. I paused and Ron ran up to me, Hermione hot on his heels looking worried.

"How could you do that, huh?" Ron demanded. "You could have stood up for him!"

I scowled. "And what, pissed off the Ministry's plant? What good would that do me? Tell me, what did Harry gain by shouting at her? Detention and a reputation for belligerence? Do you even have any idea how hard Umbridge is going to be on him for that?"

"So?" Ron countered. "Merlin, Rena, he's your brother! You think maybe you should, I dunno, _support_ him?"

I snapped, fury flooding me. I snarled and grabbed Ron, throwing him against the wall. He was taller than me but I pinned him with a forearm across his shoulders like I had been pinned by Dudley so many times.

"Lorena!" Hermione shouted in surprise. I ignored her.

"Do you _know_ how many times I stood up for Harry when we were children?" I hissed. "Do you _know_ how many beatings I took from our cousin so that he wouldn't get hurt? Do you _know_ how many accidents I took the blame for so that Harry wouldn't be the one to starve?"

Ron stared down at me in horror and I heard Hermione gasp quietly behind me.

"I _broke bones_ and _starved_ for my brother, Ronald Weasley, so don't you _dare_ say I don't support him. I will be with him every step I can, but when he decides to let _stupidity_ rule him and hang himself… _no_ , I'm _not_ going to swing with him!"

"Potter!"

Strong hands grabbed me and dragged me off of Ron, shuttling me down the corridor and around a corner. I ripped myself away from the person, pressing my back against the nearest wall and panting in my rage.

"Potter, get a grip," hissed the person who had dragged me away. I smirked faintly. Malfoy, of course. I avoided him for four years and suddenly we made prefect and I couldn't escape him. "What do you think it's going to look like if Umbridge walks out of her classroom and sees you at Weasley's throat? Don't be as dumb as your brother, you're better than that."

I sagged, realizing that Malfoy was right. I'd let my temper get the better of me just like Harry had, and it could have cost me big time.

"Damn," I muttered, pressing a hand to my face. Malfoy smirked down at me, crouching slightly so that he could look me in the eye.

"Feel better?"

I nodded.

"Feel ridiculous?"

"A bit," I admitted grudgingly. "Thanks for that," I added, looking him up and down. I still couldn't figure out what had caused the abrupt mood swing in Draco Malfoy, but I was very close to just giving up on figuring it out for the sake of my sanity.

"No problem," Malfoy said, straightening up. "Come on, let's get to Herbology…"

I nodded and let him guide me through the castle. We'd just gone down a floor when Malfoy asked uncertainly, "That stuff you said back there? Was… was that true?"

"Was what true?" I asked wearily.

"About… about broken bones and… and not getting fed."

I smiled bitterly. "You grew up with parents who loved you," I said quietly. "You grew up spoiled and pampered. I wasn't so lucky. My aunt and uncle _hate_ magic. From the time we were old enough, Harry and I were responsible for cooking for them and cleaning the house, taking care of the yard… Dudley picked up on his parents' attitude towards us and started lashing out in the only way he knew – with his fists. His parents did nothing.

"I can't count how many times Dudley would come after Harry and I would say something nasty to get his attention on me. It got worse once he got friends who were willing to hold my arms while Dudley punched me. It's a miracle my nose is a straight as it is the amount of times it's been broken, and I'd imagine if you took a look at my ribs they'd be a mess too. I always took the beatings I could to protect Harry though.

"As far as starving… yes, that's true as well. That was my aunt and uncle's go-to punishment. They'd just lock us in our room for a couple of days and only let us out to use the bathroom. Haven't you ever noticed that I'm usually malnourished when we start a new term? That's why – I've been getting by on cold canned soup and whatever I can nick from the kitchen when they're asleep.

"Oh, and here's one of the best parts," I said bitterly. I didn't know why this was all spilling out and to Malfoy of all people. Maybe because he was the first person to actually ask? I'd dropped a few hints in my first year about the abuse and the purebloods had followed the patented 'it's someone else's problem' approach. I'd learned to keep it to myself but… what did it matter who knew? Dumbledore had proved that he wasn't going to let Harry and I leave. Might as well make everyone I could hate the headmaster along with me.

"That room I mentioned them locking us in? That wasn't a room, not at first. No, growing up Harry and I's 'room' was the cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys crammed a twin bed in there and that was it. It was only when we turned eleven and the Hogwarts letters started coming that they became scared enough of us to let us have a real bedroom. We still share a bed though, if you're curious, because that would be far too much luxury."

I glanced up. Malfoy was frozen, staring at me with a sickened expression on his face. "Merlin," he said hoarsely. "Potter I… I didn't know… I had no idea…"

"Why would you?" I asked shortly. "It's not like my child abuse is something I like to bring up. I don't even know why I'm telling you, really," I said with a small laugh. "Maybe it's because you were actually _decent_ last year, after the maze. I didn't know you had it in you, Malfoy." I laughed harshly. "You carried me to bed for Merlin's sake. And I don't know what this new nice thing you're doing is about, but I'm willing to trust you on it. Just know that if you turn out to be the bastard I've always thought you were I will make you regret lying to me," I said sharply, meaning every damn word that came out of my mouth.

Malfoy's eyes burned with something that looked almost like triumph. "Does that mean you're willing to be friends?"

I shook my head. "Friends is a little strong. We'll start with fellow prefects and teammates and see how it goes. I mean it though, Malfoy," I warned. "I want you to watch your mouth about my brother and if you turn into an arse on me, I will make you wish you'd never been born."

Malfoy smirked at me. "It's a deal, Potter." He offered a hand. I took it and shook. I was able to watch as a flicker of guilt sputtered in those grey eyes of his.

"All those times I made fun of you for being too skinny…" he said quietly. "If I had known…"

"You would have been an even bigger bastard about it," I said confidently. Malfoy winced. "I can't blame you for how you were raised. I can commend you on… on trying to be better."

Malfoy smirked. "Better than I already am? Careful Potter, you're feeding my ego."

I rolled my eyes and smirked back. "And of course, the infamous Malfoy swagger returns." I shook my head. "I knew you couldn't manage being that sweet for long."

"Sweet?" Malfoy said indignantly. I sniggered.

"As a marshmallow."

* * *

I had no idea what Umbridge wanted to talk to me about but I doubted it was anything good. I was bracing myself for anything as I walked towards her office, wishing I could be holed up in the library doing some reading on Occlumency before my lesson later in the evening.

I knocked on the office door. "Come in!" Umbridge called sweetly.

I got the sneer out of my system before schooling my face into the hesitancy common among students who were called to their teacher's offices and opened the door.

"You wanted to see me, professor," I said, stepping inside.

I nearly vomited. The whole room was pink. Pink lace doilies, pink curtains, pink walls, pink cushions, pink rugs. There were plates with cats on them covering the walls. They stared at me as I walked inside. Sitting behind her desk in her usual pink cardigan was Umbridge.

I instantly decided pink was my least-favorite color.

"Yes, Miss Potter," Umbridge said with a wide smile. She gestured to the seat in front of her. "Please, sit. Tea?" she asked, rising to prepare some from the table near her desk.

I sat down and though I didn't really want any tea I knew better than to say no.

"Thank you, professor, I'd love a cup," I said. Umbridge smiled and began preparing the tea. I watched her carefully, my brows knitting slightly at the wide, dramatic gestures she made while making the tea. I was immediately suspicious. It was a classic trick – misdirect with flourishes while doing something very simple. I focused hard on Umbridge's hands and my eyes widened as I saw her tip a few drops into my cup while her other hand fluttered wildly over the sugar tongs.

"Cream or sugar?" Umbridge asked accommodatingly.

"Sugar, please," I requested, thinking quickly. I knew it could be dangerous to drink the tea, but it could also be dangerous not to. I hadn't gotten a clear look at what she'd put in my tea. It could be anything. I couldn't fake drinking my tea if I didn't know what I was supposed to be faking.

"Thank you," I said as I took the cup from Umbridge. I brought it to my lips for a moment, poking my tongue out through my lips to taste the tea. Umbridge watched me carefully over the top of her own cup. I couldn't detect any odor or taste that seemed out of place, which weeded out a lot. I took a careful, small sip to try and work out what she'd put in.

"I couldn't help but notice your reaction to your brother's outburst today," Umbridge said slowly. "You didn't seem to agree with him."

My heart thudded as my mind raced. Sure enough, my words, to an outsider, could have been construed as a denial of everything Harry had said. And after the way I'd dismissed Dumbledore at the trial, Umbridge was probably starting to reconsider any initial assumptions she'd had that I was on my brother's side. She wanted to know where I stood.

And suddenly I knew what she'd put in my tea. Odorless, tasteless, clear, and it would make the drinker unable to lie – Umbridge had dosed me with Veritaserum. She wasn't willing to take the chance that I was on Harry's side and was deceiving her.

I hadn't drunk even a full dose, so it shouldn't have a full effect on me, but it would compel me to tell the truth and I didn't know if I could fight the compulsion without visible stress. The safest course of action would be to tell the truth and phrase my words as carefully as possible so that Umbridge believed I was against my brother.

"Harry shouldn't have spoken to you like that," I said slowly. He shouldn't have; it was stupid. "You're a member of the Minister's staff and a Hogwarts professor." Both facts so they were easy to say but it sounded like I was being respectful.

Umbridge's smile widened slightly. "Yes well… it's impossible to be liked by everyone. You said something today that interested me. 'You always do this…' What did you mean by that?"

I felt the potion compelling me to be honest. I fought against it. I was honest but deceiving, that was my mantra. "I mean… he's always in the spotlight. And I get it, he beat You-Know-Who" not Voldemort, "and everything when he was younger. But he's always sticking his nose in places he doesn't belong and making a spectacle of himself."

All of that was completely honest, but not the honest response to her question. The potion accepted the loophole and I couldn't help but breathe a sign of relief. Lying without lying – it was possible.

"Are you maybe a little jealous?" Umbridge asked sympathetically. "That he gets so much attention?"

"Yes," I replied shamelessly. "I mean, I'm the one with the better grades, I'm the one who tries harder, and he just skates by on dumb luck and other people's abilities!" I wished it was someone besides Umbridge who was hearing this bitter outpouring of emotion but at the same time I was glad I had these sort of feelings that I could use against Umbridge.

She smiled widely, eyes lighting in some kind of devious pleasure. Umbridge wanted to use me, I realized. She wanted someone on her side who could get close to Harry – who better than a bitter twin sister?

"Yes, I've seen your record," Umbridge cooed. "Very impressive. Why, you could even work in the Ministry one day!"

"I don't want that," I said instinctively. Umbridge's face hardened. "I mean it's just not for me," I corrected. "You're seen my potions grades. That's what I love, that's what I want to do – open a brewing company, maybe do some research."

"If that's what you want then I have many contacts that could prove very useful," Umbridge said slyly. "Certainly I would be willing to put you in contact with them, and for only a small favor in return."

"What?" I asked eagerly. Some of it was genuine. I felt a surge of savage pleasure at the idea of letting Umbridge use her Ministry clout to put me in contact with potential clients or suppliers and then turning on her and riding her kindness out.

"Well, I really don't want your brother alarming the other children with all these stories about risen Dark lords!" Umbridge tittered. "If you could tell me if you hear him spreading such lies, well… I'd be very grateful."

I nodded slowly, pretending to think it over. "I could do that." I added a bit of hesitation so she didn't get suspicious of the ease with which I agreed. "But Harry's my brother. Isn't that a bit… well, traitorous of me?" I asked with feigned uncertainty.

"Oh no, not at all!" Umbridge hastened to assure me. She reached out and put her hand over mine, curling her short, stubby fingers around my own. I had to resist the urge to wrench away from her. "After all, spreading things like that around could get Mr. Potter in trouble!" She chuckled. "Why, I'm a teacher! I'm only trying to look out for his wellbeing."

"I suppose that's true," I allowed. "Thank you professor, it really means a lot to be given this opportunity!" It did mean a lot to be given the opportunity to liaise with Ministry-approved brewers and ingredient importers. I didn't mean anything to me personally, despite the way it was said.

"It's no trouble," Umbridge said sweetly. "You're a very clever girl, Miss Potter. I have faith you'll do very well for yourself and make smart choices."

The implication being, of course, that siding with her was the smart choice. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's time for dinner and I have another engagement," Umbridge said, rising. "You should get going to the Great Hall."

I nodded, waiting for Umbridge to walk past before hastily dumping some of my tea into the vase of flowers on the corner of her desk. I set the cup aside and moved to the door. Umbridge held it open and turned back to me. I smiled at her brightly and left.

I did want to eat something but I had business to handle first. I went to the Owlery and called to Artemisia. I scribbled out a note to Harry and told her to wait until the morning before delivering it so she wouldn't be as obvious, then headed down to dinner.

"What did Umbridge want?" Lily asked as I sat down.

"Essentially, she wants me to spy on Harry," I admitted.

"Quelle surprise," Lily smirked. "Are you going to do it?"

I nodded. "She hinted heavily that she'd put me in contact with people who could help me as a brewer in the future if I did. She's a Ministry witch with a lot of weight – I'd be a fool to turn that down."

"No kidding," Tracey said, nodding approvingly.

* * *

"Enter," Snape said after I knocked. I pushed the door open and stepped into his office, peering around. There were a couple of new specimens floating in jars. I observed them carefully before sitting down in the seat across from Snape.

"You are here to learn Occlumency," Snape began. "We will begin with a basic explanation. Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency. It is ancient, and has existed since medieval times. It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or influencing them. A person who practices this art is known as an Occlumens."

"If it's so useful, sir, why don't more people learn it?" I asked.

"Occlumency is a subtle and demanding art," Snape replied. I smirked.

"As is everything you study, sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Quite. Many people find it too much trouble to learn as Legilimens of true talent are very rare, the headmaster, myself, and the Dark Lord being some of the few who would be capable of performing it without a wand. Eye contact is critical for most Legilimens – avoiding it is a simple and effective way to thwart most users."

"I see," I said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Others simply do not possess the ability. To defeat a Legilimens you must be able to remain focused and calm, keeping your thoughts ordered and preventing your emotions to take hold. The simplest method involves blanking and clearing your mind. More advanced Occlumens, such as myself, can suppress only the thoughts and memories they don't wish others to discover, making it less obvious to an intruder than anything is even hidden. The most advanced can even craft and display false memories to fool a Legilimens."

It was obvious why Snape was as good as he was at Occlumency – he was a spy. He risked his life every moment he stood before Voldemort – even when he was away he still had to be careful of his movements for fear they would be reported back. He wouldn't have lived half as long as he had if Voldemort could just take a quick peep in Snape's head and find out his secrets.

"I'll be starting with blanking my mind," I guessed, and Snape nodded, rising and moving from around the desk, beckoning me to follow him to the middle of the room. He turned to face me, drawing his wand.

"I will attempt to invade your mind," he said slowly, black eyes glittering in a way that made me positive he wouldn't be gentle about it either. He would spare me no privacy unless I earned it. "You will attempt to block me."

I took a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths and trying to clear my mind. Be blank, be blank, I told myself. When I thought I had it I nodded to Snape.

" _Legilimens!"_ he cast immediately, and I fell into the black pools of his eyes.

" _Heh, there's that ugly scar."_

 _I was in a memory, watching as Dennis held my arms behind my back. Harry, bleeding and panting, we held next to me as Piers sneered, "Heh, no wonder she hates her face! It's so messed up!"_

 _He reached out a hand, poking the scar pointedly. I snarled at him as he started to trace it. I jerked my head to the side and bit down hard on his finger. Piers screamed loudly as I broke skin and felt his blood join my own in my mouth._

" _Get her off! Get her off!" he howled._

 _Then I was in the apprentice's lab, calmly brewing. I'd never seen myself brew before – I had no idea of the softness that covered my face as I stirred, the contemplative tilt to my head. Silas slithered up next to my ankles and I smiled, bending down to stroke his head. This was just before the second task, when I'd been brewing the Water-Repelling potion._

My knees ached. I opened my eyes and realized I had been knocked to the ground by the memories. I stood up quickly, shaking my head. I looked at Snape for feedback. He shook his head.

"Many make the mistake of focusing on making their mind clear."

I frowned. "But that's what you said to do…"

"It is the reaction you need, not the action itself," Snape explained. I nodded, working my way through his words. Thinking 'be blank' to myself meant my mind wasn't blank, it was just trying to be.

"Who were those boys?" Snape asked, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with rage. I shook my head.

"My cousin Dudley and his friends. That was right after Harry and I accidentally set a python on him by vanishing the glass in the enclosure. It was an accident but he was furious."

Snape nodded sharply. "I see. Go on, try again."

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind without focusing on it. It was harder than I thought. I kept wanting to focus on blanking my mind but I knew I couldn't. I thought I had it for a moment and I nodded to Snape, trying to get him to use it while I still had my mind clear. The movement itself, the desire for Snape to act, filled my mind and ruined my work.

 _I was at the Yule Ball, talking to the twins._

" _Why Rena!" they cried in sync when they saw me._

" _Did your date abandon you?" Fred asked me sternly._

" _Do we need to go hex him?" George added, pulling out his wand with alarming readiness. I shook my head instantly._

" _No, no, I sent him off to try and help the Patil twins out. Our brothers are being horrible, horrible dates."_

 _Fred sniggered. "Oh yeah, we saw Ickle Ronnikens holding up the wall earlier."_

 _A blink later and I was in Amity's shop, lounging in her office and chatting with her. She had her feet kicked up on her desk and her head tilted back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Danse Macabre played in the background._

 _In one of the many random conversation-starters Amity and I had had over our acquaintance, I suddenly set my tea aside and asked, "How do you feel about snakes?"_

 _Amity blinked lazily then closed her eyes completely. "Snakes?" she repeated vaguely. "Love 'em."_

" _Really?" I asked, surprised. "Why?"_

 _Amity grinned. "When I was a kid people at school made fun of me. I lived way out in the country on a farm. The other kids teased me for being poor, for being blind, for being Native American, anything they could think of. Well, one day on the way to school I sat down by the road to tie my shoelace and a snake crawled over my foot. It was a little grass snake, I'm assuming. Anyway, I got my hands on it and wrapped it around my arm and took it to school with me. Those boys who made fun of me were absolutely terrified of me and my snake." Amity laughed. "I chased them all over with my snake at recess until they got it away from me and threw it up a tree."_

 _I laughed at the memory. "Really?"_

 _Amity nodded, smirking at me. "Really. That's why I love snakes. They've always been good to me."_

My palms and knees burned. I opened my eyes and realized I was kneeling again, my palms scuffed against the stone. I straightened up, blinking away the beginnings of a headache, and got to my feet.

"Who was that woman?" asked Snape curiously. "The one who liked snakes."

I grinned. "That was my boss, Amity Raincrow."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Interesting woman. She's the one who was attacked by the dementor?"

I scowled at the memory, nodding. "Yeah. I chucked scissors at the thing to get it to leave her be."

Snape nodded and raised his wand.

"Again," he said, and the cycle started over.

* * *

The note I sent on Artemisia should have reached Harry by breakfast that morning. Assuming he got it and assuming he decided to listen, he should be here any minute. I stood in the collapsed passageway behind the mirror on the fourth floor. I'd told him to meet me there to talk. To be honest I wasn't entirely sure he would show but I hoped he could unbend his pride long enough to come and see what I had to say.

The mirror swung open, and Harry stepped inside. I forced myself off the wall I was leaning on and lit the tip of my wand. Harry did the same and we stood there in the dark passageway. Harry was glaring, his expression angry.

"You said you wanted to talk," Harry said shortly. "So talk."

I sighed. "Harry… about what happened in Defense…"

"Oh, you mean where you hung me out to dry?" Harry demanded. I grunted.

"Harry, I wasn't disagreeing with you," I tried to explain.

"Sure sounded that way to me!" Harry snapped out. I gave a snarl.

"Would you just let me explain?" I asked furiously. Harry's lips twisted but he gave a short, sharp nod. I nodded back gratefully. "Look, I wasn't disagreeing with you, I was trying to get you to stop talking. Umbridge works for the Minister and you know how the Ministry feels about you. She was looking for an excuse to get you in trouble and you handed it to her on a silver platter. I was trying to keep you from getting yourself even deeper in trouble with her."

"What, so I should just roll over and let her lie to everyone?" Harry countered. "Voldemort's back, Rena, and people need to know!"

"They do!" I agreed quickly. "And I'm not saying you roll over. I'm saying you keep your head down and be smart about it. Screaming at a teacher in the middle of class doesn't exactly say 'no, don't listen to the papers, I'm super stable.' You need to have a plan, you can't just go in guns blazing. For the Hufflepuffs, be kind to them. For the Ravenclaws, explain logically. For the Gryffindors… I dunno, tell them all about your heroics. For the Slytherins… well…"

"They already know," Harry nodded. I scowled.

"Right. But Harry I wasn't trying to stab you in the back, I was just trying to keep you out of trouble."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Harry's lips. "As usual," he said drily. I smiled in relief, glad that he was coming around.

"Yeah, I'm thinking of putting it on my resume actually. Professional Harry-wrangler," I teased gently.

Harry scowled. "And what's this I hear about you attacking Ron?"

I winced. "Ah. Yeah. That."

"Yeah, that," Harry replied. "What were you thinking Rena? Hermione says you were growling in Ron's face and he won't tell her what you said. And then Malfoy came out of nowhere and hauled you off? What happened there?"

I sighed, rubbing my forehead tiredly. "Look, I was angry at you and then Ron was coming at me saying I didn't support you and… and it pissed me off and I yelled at him, okay? I'm sorry, tell him that. As far as Malfoy…" No way could I tell Harry we'd reached some kind of truce, that would only set him off again. "He was just trying to keep me from losing points for Slytherin."

Harry scowled thunderously. "Sounds like him. He didn't hurt you or anything though, right?"

No, he'd been the perfect gentleman, it was kind of creepy. "Nah, I'm a big, tough girl." I slugged him lightly on the shoulder.

"So what did Umbridge want?" Harry asked, leaning a shoulder on the wall. I leaned next to him. "Hermione said she called you to her office that night."

I rolled my eyes. "She wants me to spy on you."

Harry choked. "Seriously? She outright asked you?"

I snorted. "Oh no, she was very circuitous about it. She did dose me with Veritaserum though," I added bitterly. Harry stood up straight.

"Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "That stuff's illegal, right? She can't just dose students!"

"And what would happen if I told?" I countered. "A Ministry investigation would be launched which would get nowhere. No, far better I just go along with her. That's not going to stop me from brewing ridiculous amounts of antidote though," I said with a smirk.

"Go along with her," Harry repeated slowly. "Wait… did you _agree_ to spy on me?" he demanded furiously.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I did. I'll tell her all about how you're tormenting some poor Hufflepuffs and she'll connect me with some people who'll be helpful when I open my own brewing company. But there won't be any evidence and there won't be any witnesses because you never did anything," I explained slowly.

Harry blinked at me. "You're an evil genius."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Slytherin?" I snickered and Harry grinned. I reached out for his hand. "Come on, hug me and let's go to din-"

Harry hissed and yanked his hand back from me like it pained him. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Let me see your hand, Harry," I said slowly. Harry shook his head.

"No, it's nothing."

"I will put you in a Full-Body Bind," I threatened. "Now _give me your hand_."

Harry was reluctant, but he let me lift up his hand. I angled my wand and growled aloud at the sight of the bruised, scarred skin on the back of his hand. My hand turned as I made out the words.

 _I must not tell lies._

"Congratulations Harry," I said viciously. "I'm now a triple agent. You and me… we're gonna make that bitch pay."

Harry looked at me uncertainly. "I thought you said-"

I smirked. "Why involve the Ministry? I'm already well on my way to getting her trust. I can tell you how to undermine her, you and Hermione and Ron come up with plans to use my information against her." My mind was already churning out ideas for how to hurt Umbridge.

No one hurt my brother.

Murtlap essence, I'd need to make some of that. And the antidote to Veritaserum, that would need to be made too. I doubted Harry and I would be the only ones she did this to so I'd need a way to get the potions to others, and that would require setting up drop off points around the castle that I could get to easily and also get the word out about.

That last bit shouldn't be hard. A couple of notes tied to school owls and sent to random people throughout the Great Hall, no one that couldn't be trusted. Harry would probably gladly loan me his cloak to make drop-offs that would help take down Umbridge. That way I'd be able to move through the castle completely unseen.

Oh yes, I was in the perfect position to make Umbridge's life hell, and I would happily. She shouldn't have laid a hand on my brother.


	51. Vendetta

"Give me the leaf."

I lifted my tongue and pulled the mandrake leaf out from under my tongue, placing it on the piece of parchment McGonagall offered me. She brought the leaf up to her eyes to observe it.

"No serious loss of leaf and it held together remarkably well." McGonagall nodded approvingly. "We can proceed."

McGonagall tossed the leaf and the parchment into the waste bin beside her desk and moved to the center of the room. I followed her. McGonagall turned to face me.

"The key to the Animagus transformation is letting go of your human form. Your body is human so naturally it wants to be what it is. This is why human transfiguration is so difficult – humans know what they look like and so they naturally want to stay that way. Animals have a less clear picture of their own form and are therefore easier to transfigure into something else."

I nodded in understanding. That lined up with everything I'd read over the years.

"You will likely go through various stages before you complete a full transformation," McGonagall warned. "Most people find it easier to cover themselves in fur or feathers or whatever else have you. It's when you begin to alter the flesh and the inner workings that things get even more difficult. If you can even sprout wings by the end of this term it will be a miracle."

I nodded grimly. I knew that this would likely take ridiculous amounts of time but I was willing to put the work in for the sake of having the ability. I had an advantage too – because of McGonagall's mirror I knew what I was supposed to be turning into so I could guide myself into that form instead of having to let the magic do what it will.

"Focus, Miss Potter," McGonagall instructed. "Clear you mind. Allow yourself to forget that you even have a body, much less what it looks like."

This first step was sounding a lot like Occlumency and I was glad I had at least some experience with this. As was becoming a force of habit I closed my eyes and tried to erase everything from my mind, my wand dangling from my fingers. I tried to erase facts about my appearance from my mind, but it was tricky. Things like that were so engrained in a person's identity.

This would be even harder than Occlumency, I realized as I closed my eyes tighter and focused harder.

* * *

"Potter, you have skipped dinner the past two nights. Are you being ridiculously obsessive again?"

I smirked as Snape entered the apprentice's lab. I was glad to have the space – it made brewing potions much easier. I'd already added several of my own potions books to the shelves and Silas was curled up near one of the cauldrons. I had all three going at once.

"Are you brewing antidote to Veritaserum?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow at the silvery liquid bubbling away in the cauldron closest to the door. "And… murtlap essence?"

"Yep," I said as I pushed the slit murtlap tentacles into the cauldron on the other end, watching as they began to leech into the solution and turn it blue. I nodded in approval and stepped back, wiping the slimy remains of the tentacles off of my hands on a rag.

"May I ask why you've chosen to brew such potions?"

I nodded. "Because I'm going to make Umbridge sorry she ever came to Hogwarts," I replied simply.

I had no reason to hide my actions from Snape. In part because it was better that he knew what I was doing seeing as he could barge into the lab whenever he wanted. For another he was a part of the Order, meaning he was on Dumbledore's side and therefore by definition against Umbridge. The only person that could hear me in here was Silas and the only person he could report to was Harry, who already knew. On top of that, I trusted Snape with my life.

Snape jerked his head around to stare at me warningly. "Potter," he began, "you know better than to antagonize Umbridge…"

"Who said anything about antagonizing her?" I asked brightly. "If I pull this off she'll never even know I'm involved. She'll continue to grow more and more confident in trusting me and that will make the betrayal in the end all the sweeter."

Snape's eyebrows jerked heavenward. "What has our resident Ministry plant done to make you so furious?" he asked, almost sounding amused.

"Well I wasn't pleased with her when she dosed me with Veritaserum but I got around that alright," I said, scowling at the antidote bubbling on the end. It would take another month to complete, which was why in two weeks I'd be starting another batch in my last cauldron. I could brew murtlap essence in a night but Veritaserum was much more complicated and thus took a more complicated antidote. I was hoping that spacing my brewing thus would mean I always had some on hand.

"But what really sealed it," I continued casually, "is that she made Harry write lines in his own blood for detention. For that, she's going to pay dearly," I growled. "The best bit, though, is that she's asked me to help her keep an eye on Harry in exchange for contacts that will help me get a brewing business of the ground. I'm following the pirate philosophy you see, sir. Take what you can and give nothing back." I laughed.

"You're playing a very dangerous game," Snape warned. "Be careful, Potter, I cannot stress this enough. While I have very little problem with you torturing the pink terror you need to be wary – she's not as stupid as she seems."

"Oh, I know," I admitted. "That's why I plan to never be connected to these potions when they hit the school. Let's see Umbridge try to dose students when all of them have a vial of antidote in their pockets." I laughed again.

"Be that as it may, I don't appreciate you putting your plan for vengeance above our lessons," Snape said coolly. I glanced down at my watch and winced when I saw the time.

"Damn, sorry sir," I apologized. "I got distracted by the potions."

"I'm familiar with the sensation Miss Potter but you have too much on your plate to be losing track of time. Come, let's work."

I sighed and straightened up, casting a quick protection spell around my potions so that if I fell and rolled I wouldn't tip over the cauldron. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to block out the surrounding smells and sounds.

This time I didn't try to clear my mind, really. I began to float inside of my mind, drifting among vague memories and thoughts. I tried to push those faint whispers of memory completely away and simply exist within the confines of my own mind. It was tricky, with the sound of the bubbling cauldron and my own breathing.

" _Legilimens!"_

 _I kept going up through the castle and stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She was snoring away, her mouth lolling open. Grinning, I reached out and flicked the portrait in the nose. The Fat Lady came away with an indignant yelp, casting around furiously._

" _Wha- where? Who? You!" she said, enraged, as she saw me there. I grinned._

" _Guess what?"_

 _The Fat Lady groaned aloud. "Oh not again-"_

" _Lionheart," I said smugly, and she swung open against her will._

 _The scene changed. It was like I walked through the portrait hole and into the Hufflepuff Common Room. It was right after the first task, when I'd gone to see Cedric and give him the phoenix tears._

" _H-Hey!" I looked around and saw a tiny first year standing up from a table full of his fellows, trying to look threatening. "Y-You shouldn't be here! How'd you get in?"_

" _Relax, if I was here to do damage I'd have come at night and been a little sneakier about it," I said shortly, addressing the entirety of the room. "I'm here for Diggory, is he in?"_

 _One of the Hufflepuff prefects stood up and addressed me. "And why do you want him, Potter?" he asked calmly. I rolled my eyes._

" _That's not really your concern, is it?" I replied, letting my wand slide from my sleeve and into my hand as I crossed my arm. My wand tapped against my bicep pointedly._

" _Cedric is resting," the prefect said coolly. "I'm not going to bother him unless you tell me why you need him."_

 _I sighed and shook my head. "Thankfully, I don't really need you to figure out where he is."_

"Potter, do we need to have a conversation about breaking into other house Common Rooms?" Snape asked as I picked myself up off the floor, rubbing my knees and wincing.

"No sir, I think I've pretty well got it figured out by now," I replied drily, rubbing my head as another headache began. I got the feeling I'd be dealing with a lot of those and decided that until I was ready to start on some more antidote that second cauldron would be brewing a headache remedy.

"May I ask why you entered those Common Rooms?" Snape asked in a voice that made it clear he wasn't asking, he was demanding an answer. I grinned.

"The first one I was nicking Harry's cloak. The second I was taking Diggory phoenix tears after he got his face burned by his dragon." My face fell slightly at the memory of Diggory. Predictably, the image of him sprawled on the ground, sightless eyes staring up, loomed in my vision. I closed my eyes and shook it away. That wasn't going to help me.

I took a deep breath, to brace myself against the Legilimency as much as the memory of Cedric.

"Again."

* * *

I was in ecstasy. Pure, complete ecstasy. That was the best description for how I was feeling.

I did a lap of the entire Quidditch field on my Firebolt before returning to the rest of the team on the ground. I stuck out like a sore thumb. For one, I was the only girl. For another, I wasn't built like a log. I was a hummingbird next to my team's crows, the notable exception being Malfoy.

Montague was standing in front of more boulder-like boys, Crabbe and Goyle among them, clutching expensive brooms. I recognized a couple of older boys and even some brave third years who were sporting determinedly clenched jaws despite being outweighed by at least fifty pounds by the other Beater candidates.

"Only two of you will be coming out of this on the team," Montague said bluntly. "We don't let people on the team because we like them. We let them on because they make us better. Take Potter here." He gestured to me. "She doesn't look like much, but she's damn accurate with a Quaffle and she can fly circles around half the other teams."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks Montague," I said drily.

"We'll be putting you through rigorous testing today," Montague continued, ignoring me. "If any of you don't think you're up to that, you're welcome to piss off." He looked pointedly at the third years. To their credit they only looked _slightly_ hesitant.

"Alright then, everybody get in the air. We're going to be doing some laps. The three slowest will automatically be cut. Mount up!"

I threw a leg over my broom and kicked off, shooting up into the air with my team. My hair whipped behind my back along with my robes as we shot off as fast as we could around the pitch. My Firebolt could outstrip everyone else's Nimbus 2001s but I decided to stay with the pack. I gave a quiet laugh as I glanced over my shoulder and saw the third years struggling desperately to keep up.

"Don't know what they were thinking."

I turned and wasn't entirely surprised to see that Malfoy had fallen into place beside me.

"They'd be slaughtered on this team," Malfoy continued, jerking his head at the flagging younger students.

"You're rooting for Crabbe and Goyle, I expect?" I guessed.

"Of course," Malfoy said with a shrug. "Hitting things hard is what they're best at, after all."

I sniggered and put on a little speed, pushing forward. Malfoy edged along with me as the other two Chasers soared past me. They glanced over their shoulders and grinned smugly.

"Excuse me, I need to teach our teammates what flying is," I said and shot forwards, outstripping the Chasers, then Montague leading us all, until I was several yards in front of everyone else, laughing gleefully as the wind stung my ears and eyes. Flying really was one of my favorite things. It made my heart pound and my blood race.

"Oi, Potter, pull back!" I heard Montague call. I slowed myself down regretfully and fell back with the rest of the team. Montague rolled his eyes at me.

"We know you're bloody fast, Potter, you don't need to show off!" he huffed before leading us all into a dive back to the ground.

I shrugged, unabashed. "Couldn't resist."

Montague sent off the pair of third years and a sixth year with extreme prejudice, they having been the slowest. He also tossed out a seventh year who had tried to hex one of the other contender's brooms.

"We're a team," Montague told him bluntly when he tried to protest. "You act like that during a game and we'll get hit with so many penalties we might as well just chuck Gryffindor the cup to save time!"

After that we Chasers retrieved the Quaffle and started flying in different techniques. The Beater candidates were given ten shots to try and get close to us – close, but not hit us, Montague warned dangerously.

I passed to Montague who dropped the Quaffle down to Warrington, who pitched the Quaffle up to me. A Bludger soared between our ankles, nearly clipping Montague's foot. He wheeled around and the rest of us peeled off to follow him as he chucked the Quaffle with extreme prejudice at the Beater candidate's head.

"Watch it!" Montague warned the Beater candidate as I swooped around and caught the Quaffle barely a foot from his face. I hurled it towards Montague, who tucked it under his arm and peeled off up the field with Warrington and I flanking him. Montague made a goal just for the hell of it and Warrington dived, catching the Quaffle. He feigned to me and then passed it over to Montague, who tossed it back to Warrington, and then I had it again. I dodged a Bludger hit at me and wooshed past the Beater candidate, coming close enough to rock him on his broom with my back draft but not actually hit him.

Montague called down the pair of fourth years we'd been working against and sent Crabbe and Goyle up. They looked like trolls, hunched on their brooms and holding their clubs with brutish expressions on their faces.

Warrington, Montague, Warrington, back to me, and back to Montague. We passed the Quaffle between ourselves as fast as we could, flying circles around the slower, clunkier forms of Crabbe and Goyle. They whacked Bludgers at us as hard and as brutally as they could. Several came close, but none as close as the one that had nearly taken off Montague's foot. To my surprise, Crabbe and Goyle were actually pretty decent. They even managed to cut Warrington off with a quick backhand that sent a Bludger flying across his path.

Warrington jerked up short in surprise and the Quaffle slipped through his fingers. I dropped and caught the ball before soaring back up and passing to Montague, who streaked up the field.

"They're not bad!" Montague called as he scored a goal. I dove for the Quaffle as it went through the hoop and caught it, hurling it up to Warrington...

"Potter, _roll!"_

I didn't question the call. I jerked sideways into a barrel roll and my eyes widened as a Bludger sliced through the air where my head used to be so fast it whistled. I shot off and straightened myself out, flipping the pair of them off angrily before catching the pass from Warrington.

"They're really good!" he cackled. I chucked the Quaffle back at his head angrily. He just caught it and tucked it under his arm, still laughing, the bastard.

Finally all the pair of Beaters had tried out and Montague called us all down from the air, promising that the announcement of the ones who'd made it would be posted in the Common Room before dinner tonight. Most of the other candidates moved off to the castle to grab showers. I saw Malfoy grab Crabbe and Goyle and drag them aside.

Curious, I lingered a short distance away pretending to be adjusting a bent twig on my broom as I listened in.

"You do not pull things like that on Potter," Malfoy was snarling at Crabbe and Goyle. He sounded absolutely furious. "You idiots could have decapitated her!"

"She's Potter," Crabbe grunted stupidly.

"She's not going to live much longer anyway," Goyle snarled nastily. "Why do you even care?"

I could practically hear the sneer in Malfoy's voice as he replied, "Because Potter dying or getting hurt would bring Dumbledore down on our heads and that's the last thing we need. Umbridge is a friend of my father's so she'd support us but it's still more trouble than it's worth!"

"Whatever," Crabbe grunted. He nudged Goyle. "Let's go to dinner."

The two boulder-like humans hustled off towards the castle. Malfoy turned around, pausing when he saw me standing there. I cocked a hip and placed one hand on it, the other holding my broom.

"You know, people who are my friend care about my safety, not the trouble me getting hurt would cause them," I said pointedly. Malfoy stared back at me.

"You know better than that Potter," he said darkly. "It would be very dangerous for me to get chummy with you. I'm not saying I'd hate it, but considering who we are…"

"You dad working for the man who killed mine," I said bluntly. Malfoy flinched like he'd been struck.

"Yeah, that," he said grimly.

I shook my head. "Look, I'm not suggesting that we hold hands and skip through the hallways, Malfoy-"

Malfoy sneered. "I may vomit, Potter, don't say things like that. Malfoy's don't _skip."_

I rolled my eyes. "As I was saying… we are fellow prefects and we're on the Quidditch team. It's not like it would exactly be weird to see us together these days."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking unbearably smug. Pride glittered in those stormy grey eyes of him. For whatever reason, seeing that made my lips twitch up into an unconscious smirk.

"Potter," Malfoy said smoothly, slinking closer to me, "it sounds almost like you're trying to get close to me. Has my charm finally worked on you?"

I blinked. Was… Was Malfoy actually flirting with me, or was he just being his normal playboy self? Either way, it made my cheeks go warm and made me shift uncomfortably. I'd gotten used to flirting last year with Iliya, so why was it messing with me so badly now? Probably because it was Malfoy…

"Well, like I said you've been decent lately," I said shortly. Malfoy snorted.

"You keep using that word, Potter, _decent_. I like to think I'm spectacular."

I laughed outright. "Oh I know you like to think that Malfoy, and we all let you think that to preserve your ego." I shook my head. "No, I use the word decent because you're still an utter bastard," Malfoy looked offended and opened his mouth to protest, "which is fine because I'm usually an utter bitch."

Malfoy sniggered at that. "Patrol together after dinner?" he asked. I nodded. We were scheduled to patrol tonight – might as well do it together. After all, Malfoy was better than just wandering around the castle alone with my thoughts. I was pretty sure Snape had something to do with my patrolling schedule because I'd noticed that I was never on the roster for a night I was supposed to be working with him on my Occlumency.

"Sure," I agreed.

"I'm off to the showers then," Malfoy said, nodding to the locker room. He raised an eyebrow at me and looked me up and down pointedly. "You want to join me?" he asked silkily.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped open. Malfoy laughed at my expression and swaggered off to the locker room. There was no question about it, that was flirting. Malfoy was flirting with me? This was a complete one-eighty from how he used to treat me. Things had started changing last year, even back at the beginning, when Malfoy had caught me and said he wasn't thrilled with how the fake Moody treated me in class.

I remembered Iliya theorizing that Malfoy perhaps had feelings for me. At the time I'd brushed it off as impossible but now I was starting to wonder. I had no idea what I could have done to make him like me, but he definitely seemed at least more tolerant of me than he had been in years past. Was it possible that Malfoy actually did have some kind of romantic interest in me? The thought spun my head.

Aside from the flirting just now, I could only think of one thing Malfoy had done in the past that could have been considered even slightly flirtatious. When we'd first started our third year Malfoy had whispered to me in the hallway once, asking if I'd like to go to Hogsmeade with him. I'd loudly replied that even if I could have gone I wouldn't have joined him any time before hell froze over and stormed off, convinced it was some kind of twisted joke he was trying to play on me.

I found myself in the Owlery and dug in my robes. I drug out a parchment and quill. Quickly, I scrawled out a note and tied it to one of the school owls so that if the letter was intercepted it wouldn't be traced back to me. It was even written in code to some extent.

 _Snuffles,_

 _Everything's good at school so far. We've got this new lady from the Ministry is here. Umbridge is her name. You know anything about her? My extra projects are going well – I'm hopeful. Also, I have a question. One of the boys in my house is being a little off. Have you or any of our other friends heard anything new about our ferrety friend or his family?_

 _Much love,_

 _Phoenix_

I watched as the school owl flew off. I was forgiving, not stupid.

* * *

"Where do you want to start?" Malfoy asked as he joined me outside of the Great Hall.

"Start at the top, work our way down and then back up?" I suggested. Malfoy nodded, heading for the main staircase. We walked in silence up to the top floor and started down one corridor. Conversation suddenly seemed difficult as we walked along, occasionally peering into empty, disused classrooms looking for rule breakers.

"So, do you think Crabbe and Goyle will make the team?" I asked. Malfoy nodded.

"I know they will, they're paying Montague good money to take them," he replied. I rolled my eyes.

"All that speech about what each person brings to the team and he gives the spot to the highest bidder. Typical."

"Even you have to admit they're good," Malfoy countered. I scowled.

"I don't have to admit anything, thanks very much. Goyle almost took my head off."

"Yeah, I know," Malfoy said, his voice tight. "I'm glad I yelled when I did."

I blinked. I hadn't processed who had actually yelled the warning, just what the warning was. Thinking back, I realized it was Malfoy's voice that had called out. Good thing he had, too, or I would have been in the Hospital Wing with a fractured skull or worse.

"…Thanks for that," I said quietly. "Although I'm not sure why you did it."

Malfoy looked at me in disbelief. "I don't want you _dead,_ Potter!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, you're a little annoying sometimes but that doesn't mean I want you _killed._ "

I scowled. "You're not physically capable of saying something genuine without insulting whoever you're addressing, are you?" I asked snidely. Malfoy paused. I stopped too, glancing back at him. "What?" I asked, peering at the nearest classroom door. "Did you hear something?"

"Potter," Malfoy said intently, eyes boring into me, "you have the most gorgeous green eyes I've ever seen."

I gaped at him incredulously, feeling myself blush to the roots of my hair. Malfoy's expression shifted abruptly into a prideful smirk. "See? Yes I can," he said triumphantly. I scowled, wrinkling my nose.

"You're a jerk," I muttered, crossing my arms and striding irritably down the hall. My steps stuttered slightly as Malfoy caught up with me and I realized something – I'd said _genuine_. So did that mean Malfoy _genuinely_ thought my eyes were pretty? Or was he just trying to make me squirm _and_ prove me wrong?

I glanced sideways at him, annoyed. Maybe this whole trying to be civil thing was more trouble than it's worth.

"Oh! Miss Potter, Mr. Malfoy."

I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue in distaste and make a nasty comment as we rounded the corner and encountered Umbridge.

"Good evening, professor," I replied with a bright smile.

"Good evening Miss Potter. I just finished a detention with your brother," she said with a smile. "I do believe he's starting to get the message."

 _The message you're carving into his hand, you crazy bitch._ My smile tightened slightly but didn't fall.

"I'm glad, professor," I said earnestly. "I really hope I can get the old Harry back. Maybe your methods will be able to reach him."

Umbridge's flabby face stretched into a simpering smile. "Oh, my methods are very good at getting the point to… shall we say, sink in?"

 _You absolute sadist you're enjoying this!_

"That's all we can hope for," I said with a shrug. "Er, if you don't mind, Malfoy and I are supposed to be patrolling…"

Umbridge tittered girlishly. "Oh yes, or course. I'll leave you two to your _patrolling."_

With that she gave me a wink and hustled off around the corner. I realized that Umbridge must be one of the ones that believed the Prophet's hints that Malfoy and I were in some kind of star-crossed love affair that my brother didn't approve of.

"Oh dear god," I whispered in horror. "She thinks we're together and she's doing me a favor." I stuck out my tongue in distaste."

Malfoy scowled. "I am considered highly desirable, you know," he said tartly.

"I've heard," I said, though the reason had always escaped me. "It's that she thinks she's helping me."

"Speaking of, what the hell was that?" Malfoy asked as we continued. "You're acting like she's your best friend. You never smile like that unless you're lying to someone. I figured you'd have been up in arms about what she's doing to your brother."

"You know about that damn quill of hers, then," I bit out. Malfoy nodded.

"Yeah, it's a Blood Quill. I'm pretty sure my father's got one somewhere around the Manor that he inherited from Grandfather Abraxas."

"Sounds like a nasty memento to keep around," I said in distaste. "Why bother?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Because it belonged to a Malfoy?"

I rolled my eyes. "I will never understand you purebloods," I sighed. "You're downright fanatical about tradition."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Malfoy sniffed.

I shook my head. "Sometimes things need to change."

* * *

"So, how's patrolling with Malfoy?" Lily asked slyly as the boys a couple seats away celebrated Crabbe and Goyle's new position as Beaters by plying them with bacon and eggs. They lapped up the attention and the food.

"About what you'd expect," I said carelessly. "He says something snobby, I insult him, he insults me, and we stop talking for a while. Repeat process as needed."

"Well on the bright side you're driving Parkinson absolutely bonkers," Lily sniggered, casting a glance at Parkinson. I smirked.

"And that's never a bad thing."

"Pardon me professor, but what exactly are you insinuating?"

Umbridge's sickly sweet voice carried through the Great Hall doors. I glanced at Lily and Tracey, who nodded in approval. We rose and moved with several other students toward the doors to see what had gotten Umbridge's wand in a knot. We joined a group filtering into the Entrance Hall from the Great Hall and other corridors. McGonagall and Umbridge could be seen on the main staircase, Umbridge in her usual sickening pink and McGonagall with a furious expression on her face.

"I am merely requesting that when it comes to my students you will conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices!" McGonagall snapped as they stopped a few stairs up.

"So silly of me," Umbridge simpered, "but it sounds as though you're questioning my authority in my own classroom," Umbridge stepped up so that she was at eye-level with the far taller Gryffindor head, _"Minerva."_

"Not at all, _Delores,"_ McGonagall retorted, stepping up as well so that once more she towered over the toad. "Merely your medieval methods!"

"I am sorry, dear," Umbridge huffed. "But to question my methods is to question the Ministry, and, by extension, the Minister himself! I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty."

McGonagall stepped down, shaking her head in disbelief. "Disloyalty," she repeated softly.

"Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared!" Umbridge said, taking yet another step up and addressing the Entrance Hall at large. "Cornelius will want to take immediate action!"

"Ooh, that doesn't bode well," Tracey said softly.

"Indeed," I agreed, hiding my frown behind a turn of my head. The little toad wanted to try and mess with Hogwarts, did she? With the only place where I had friends? With the closest place Harry and I had ever had to a home. She was welcome to try. I knew the castle better than she ever would and by god, I would make her regret ever coming to this school.

* * *

"You are not focusing!" Snape snapped at me as I staggered to my feet for the third time that night.

"I'm sorry sir," I sighed, reaching up and rubbing my temple tiredly. I was exhausted, plain and simple. My Veritaserum antidotes were both at very tricky stages – I'd been up with them half the night, and that was after an Animagus lesson yesterday. This year was already starting to wear on me and it wasn't even Halloween yet. I made a mental note, once the next batch of murtlap essence I had boiling was done, to start on some Invigoration Draught. I'd need it if I was going to get through the year.

"You're exhausting yourself again," Snape chided.

"Don't have a choice sir," I shrugged, rolling my shoulders and wincing. The night hunched over a cauldron hadn't done a thing for my back. "Too much to do."

Snape scowled thunderously. "You do not have to do everything, Potter! Quidditch, for one. You have far bigger problems than sports to worry about these days."

"No!" I said quickly, shaking my head. "I can't quit Quidditch, sir! It's the one thing I'm doing lately that's fun!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You mean all the time we spend with me knocking you to the ground is not exhilarating?"

"Oh, the highlight of my day sir," I assured him. "But I can't stop. I was just up late… my Veritaseum antidotes are both at the most difficult stages. It was only one night, sir."

"Mm, and what about when you start your next batches?" Snape challenged. "What then?"

"Then one night a month I won't get much sleep, big deal," I said carelessly. "I said I wanted to make the toad suffer. That's even more true now," I said, casting a glance at the morning's Daily Prophet that sat on Snape's desk. A simpering picture of Umbridge was plastered under the headline _Delores Umbridge: Hogwarts High Inquisitor._

 _In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

" _The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns, voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of."_

 _This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person._

" _That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."_

 _It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor._

" _This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."_

 _The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts._

" _I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation," said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation."_

 _Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, 'Mad-Eye' Moody._

 _Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts._

" _I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence," said a Ministry insider last night._

 _Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts._

" _Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office," said Madam Marchbanks. "This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore."_

 _(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen.)_

"While having this antidote on hand is all well and good, Potter, you still have no way to get it to the students who need it?"

"Do I not?" I asked, smirking proudly. Snape raised an eyebrow. He sat down sharply on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms.

"Very well Potter," he urged. "Astound me with your brilliance."

"It's not even remotely brilliant," I assured him. "It's just the house elves."

"The house elves," Snape said leadingly.

"Right, so I knew that the house elves must have some way of monitoring the castle, otherwise how would they know when people needed clothes laundered or things like that?" I explained. "And that meant that they would know which students Umbridge was calling to her and which students were just coming out of detention."

"And house elf magic can do things a normal wizard cannot," Snape reasoned. I nodded eagerly.

"I still need to ask for their help, but I'm confident they'll be in. After all, they'll be protecting us students and that's the whole reason they're here! I supply them with the potion and they leave it where someone who needs it can find it. They let me know when they're running low on anything and I make more."

Snape lowered his head and shook it. "And Umbridge will never find out because none of the students will know how they're being helped and no one would ever suspect the house elves."

"Exactly," I said, nodding smugly. "So sir, what do you think?"

"Once again you astound me with your resourcefulness," Snape admitted, and I swelled at the praise. "Quite a good plan Potter – but for one thing."

"What's that?" I asked irritably, certain I'd thought through everything.

"The house elves also serve the teachers," Snape pointed out. "All Umbridge would have to do would be to ask the house elves who they got the potions from and they would tell her."

"You're assuming they'd help her over me sir," I said with a smirk.

"Is there any reason they shouldn't?" Snape countered.

"How about four years of making them Christmas cookies?" I offered. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"You… bake… for the house elves?" he asked in slight disbelief.

"And that's why my bed's always the warmest and my clothes are always neatly pressed," I said with a grin. "It pays to be nice to the help, sir. The house elves love me – Dumbledore is ultimately their master and I wouldn't be surprised if he's told them not to give Umbridge anything that could be used against a student or the school. They will listen and even if they don't, they still like me best."

* * *

I waited until late at night before I headed to the kitchens, certain that no one would see me. It wasn't my night to patrol and I knew the Hufflepuff sixth years that were patrolling would be plastered to each other in a broom closet on the fifth floor.

I tickled the pear and stepped inside. The kitchens were quieter than usual, it being later, but there were still several dozen house elves scurrying around, hauling pots and pans, kneading dough for tomorrow's rolls, and washing the dishes from dinner.

Tippy and Dobby hustled out of the crowd, Dobby sliding slightly on his mismatched socks and tottering under his pile of Hermione's knitted hats. I rolled my eyes. If Granger would do her research properly instead of viewing everything she read through rose-tinted glasses…

"Lorena, Lorena!"

"Miss Potter!"

The two house elves were happy to see me. I crouched down, wrapping my arms around my knees as Tippy came at me with a plate of cookies.

"Tippy is trying Lorena's recipe!" Tippy said eagerly. "What does Lorena think?"

I took a cookie and bit into it. They were the chocolate-stuffed cookies that I was required to make around once a month for Aunt Petunia – a period that I always dreaded. Tippy had managed it perfectly – the cookie was fluffy and soft and the chocolate was still warm and melted. She'd found the perfect ratio of chocolate to cookie.

"Perfect!" I praised, tossing the rest of the cookie into my mouth and chewing happily, deciding then and there that I'd be making these for Christmas this year. Tippy grinned happily, flushing at the praise.

"Thank you Lorena!" she chirped. "Tippy did it just like you said!"

"Why is Miss Potter here?" Dobby asked curiously. "Is she wanting something to eat?"

"No, I need your help," I explained, getting serious. Tippy and Dobby's expressions mirrored mine.

"What is going on, Miss Potter?" Dobby asked worriedly.

"You know about Umbridge?" I guessed. "She's not a very nice person, is she?"

Tippy trembled where she stood. "The Umbridge is a nasty lady!" she squeaked out, before her eyes widened and she shuddered visibly. "Ooh, Tippy should not have said that…"

"It's alright Tippy," I assured her. "You house elves work for Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore, right?" I confirmed. "So Umbridge isn't in charge of you, is she?"

Tippy brightened a little at that. "That's right! She's not!"

Dobby ventured closer and leaned in. "The Umbridge threw Tippy into the wall when her tea was the wrong flavor," he whispered conspiratorially. Tippy nodded sadly and winced. I scowled.

"Then you know that… the Umbridge," Sweet _Merlin_ I loved the house elves, "is a bad woman. She's hurting the students. Worse than that, she's making them hurt themselves, like a house elves who did something wrong. Only they didn't do anything wrong."

House elves were by no means stupid, but it helped to put things into their terms sometimes for them to get the full spectrum of what was happening. And yes, I was shamelessly playing on Dobby's own history with the Malfoy family.

"The Umbridge shouldn't do that," Tippy whispered, looking horrified.

"You're right, she shouldn't," I agreed. "And she's also feeding some of the students illegal potions. I know, because she tried to do it to me!"

"The Umbridge tried to feed Miss Potter bad potions?"

I looked up. Several house elves had drawn closer, looking very grim as they took in what I had just said.

"Is this true?" asked Hilly with wide, watery eyes, pushing through the crowd. "Is Miss Potter alright?"

"I'm fine," I assured them. "But that's because I recognized the potion and I knew what to do. The other students don't all know these things."

"The Umbridge shouldn't hurt the students," one of the house elves said quietly, and there was a murmur of assent from the crowd.

"That's what I'm trying to stop," I explained. "I've been brewing potions to keep Umbridge's potions from hurting the other students and to heal them when Umbridge makes them hurt themselves."

The house elves smiled at that. "Miss Potter is a good lady."

"I need your help," I added. This was where it got tricky, and I could see the hesitancy on the house elves' faces. They were just as uncertain about going against a teacher as one would expect. My job now was to convince them to do so.

"Umbridge is hurting the students. She's changing Hogwarts, making it not what it's supposed to be. Hogwarts should be safe and comfortable – that's what you all want, right?" The house elves all nodded without even having to think. "That's what I'm trying to do – but Umbridge needs to think I'm on her side so that I can get information and keep her from doing anything worse. You understand?"

The house elves nodded and they seemed hesitant but decided. Some of them were nodding and others were squaring their little jaws and flapping their ears bracingly.

"I'll brew the potions. All I need you to do is get them to the students who need them without being caught. You can do that right? You're taking care of the students," I enforced.

"We can!" cried Tippy, impassioned. She turned to the crowd, shoving the plate of cookies at Dobby, who fumbled it for a second but managed to keep from dropping it. Tippy placed her hands on her hips and continued.

"We is the house elves of Hogwarts! We is proud! We takes care of the castle and the students but the Umbridge is not part of the castle! The Umbridge is a mean lady who wants to hurts the students! We's got a duty to stop the Umbridge! We gots to help Miss Potter against the Umbridge!"

I was surprised to see the gleam in the house elves eyes as they cheered and clapped in agreement. Tippy smiled proudly and turned back to me. I grinned at her, proud.

"Whats do you needs us to do?" Tippy asked determinedly as Dobby stared at her wide-eyed, his bat-like ears going red. I saw this out of the corner of my eye and grinned slightly.

"I'll make the potions. I just need you to pick them up and distribute them to the students in need," I explained.

"We could gets them from the Room of Hidden Things?" suggested one of the house elves. I raised an eyebrow.

"The Room of Hidden Things?" I questioned.

"If yous walk in front of the tapestry of the man who tries to make the trollses dance and think of what you needs, you can get into the Room of Requirement!" Tippy explained eagerly. "It is whatsever you need!"

I filed that away, eager to test it out. "I'm brewing the potions in the potion's apprentice's lab," I explained. "I think that would be the best place for you to pick up the potions. But thank you for telling me about the room, that might be useful."

"Yous welcome, Miss Potter!" called the house elf who had suggested it. I smiled and nodded to him.

"Well then, elves, I think we have a plan!"

The house elves cheered and I looked over my tiny army proudly.


	52. Malfoy

**Before we get started, I've got a question: I've been rewatching Peaky Blinders lately. If you haven't seen the show I cannot recommend it enough. Cillian Murphy is gorgeous as usual and Helen McCrory is amazing as Aunt Polly. It's a TV show but the cinematography reads like a movie. It's a gangster flick set in Birmingham right after World War 1 ended. If any bit of that appeals to you even a little, I highly recommend giving it a try.**

 **Now, my question. I'm already working on To Be a Slytherin and Only Forever. However, I've got some chapters stored up for both. I've got a plot bunny going for Peaky Blinders and I'd like to know if any of you would be interested in reading something by me in the Peaky Blinders fandom. It would be updated randomly, whenever I had the urge to work on it instead of on a strict schedule, but I've got a lot of it planned out in my head and I'm liking where it's going. However, I don't want to get started on something else seriously if no one's interested. There's a poll up on my bio now. Please go vote and tell me what you think.  
**

* * *

 _I saw with a clench in my gut that my boy was back. No, not my boy, Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. I was in Voldemort's past again, watching as he sat under a tree in perhaps the most depressing playground I'd ever seen. A few equally scrubby kids were darting around, some girls skipping a knotted jump rope and a half dozen boys trying to shoot hoops with a half-inflated basketball. A trio of older boys, probably fifteen or sixteen, had commandeered the swing set and were taking advantage of the only three swings that hadn't been broken – probably by them._

 _I saw their eyes linger on Voldemort – Tom, he was still Tom now, or did it even matter? – and watched as they nudged each other. It was pack mentality. Fear could be overruled by greater numbers and strength. Unfortunately, they weren't facing a normal young boy. Tom could tear them apart without even trying and not so much as blink._

" _Hey, freak!" one of them called, and Tom flinched slightly, years of instinct kicking in. I knew that reaction well. Again I felt uncomfortably aware of how similar my childhood was to Voldemort's and I couldn't help but be sickened by the small twinge of sympathy I still felt for the monster who made me an orphan._

 _I watched as they came forward. I watched as they shouted abuse. I watched as Tom ignored them for his book, too far above those insects to even bother reacting. Until one of them threw a rock. It would have clocked him in the head – had it not stopped in midair and then zoomed back towards the boy who'd thrown it, who barely ducked out of the way. The older boys looked around and found themselves pinned by the narrowed grey-blue stare of Tom Riddle._

" _Leave," he said softly, dangerously. "Or I will hurt you." It was said so confidently, so dispassionately, that even I shuddered. The boys nearly wet themselves in fear, fleeing for the relative safety of the swing set. I couldn't help but be impressed at just how powerful Tom was, and not just in the magical sense, at the control he had over those around him._

 _Tom's eyes suddenly flicked up and my mouth dropped open as he stared at me. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips, turning his angelic face into something nearly draconic. His eyes stared through me, not at me. He couldn't see me, he was just taking a moment to revel in the very power I'd just been admiring. But still, seeing that look directed at me was enough to make me gasp and pant in fear, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead._

I came awake with a jolt and a gasp, shuddering in my bed as I stared at the lanterns overhead. I closed my eyes, swallowing thickly, and draped a forearm across my face. This was the first time in a while I'd dreamed of Voldemort. Tomorrow I'd panic about what that might mean. Tomorrow I'd shiver at the memory of that look on Tom's face. All things tomorrow.

For now, sleep.

* * *

Divination was a joke on the best days. But when Umbridge walked in while Trelawney was drifting around passing out copies of the _Dream Oracle_ , I was confident that this day would be particularly depressing.

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"

Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.

Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.

"We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today," she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. I didn't need this lesson to interpret my last dream. I knew exactly what it was and shuddered at the memory.

It only made sense though. Dumbledore had said that I was connected to Voldemort in some way. The dreams had begun last year, when he began to gain power. It only made sense that now that he was back to his old self that connection would intensify. When I thought about it like that, it was actually a bit surprising that the dreams had waited until now to start up again.

"Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle."

She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.

Umbridge was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there.

"What did you dream?" I asked Lily carelessly. She rolled her eyes and tapped her empty dream journal.

"What, you think I'm actually keeping track? What did you dream?" she countered. I flashed my own equally-empty journal at her and she smirked. "Excellent. A rousing round of 'make up schoolwork' then?"

"Sounds good," I said with a snicker.

"Let's see," Lily said thoughtfully. "Last night, I dreamed… Ooh!" she grinned. "I dreamed that Parkinson was getting strangled by some Devil's Snare."

"Good one," I praised. "So the subject would be 'Puginson….' Funny, there's not an entry for that," I said as I flicked through the _Dream Oracle._

Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.

"Now," said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?"

Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, "Nearly sixteen years."

"Quite a period," said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. "So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"That's right," said Professor Trelawney shortly. Professor Umbridge made another note.

Tracey hissed sympathetically. "Old fool. Doesn't she know Umbridge is weeding out any pro-Dumbledore teacher she finds?"

"And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"

"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard.

"But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?"

"These things often skip - er - three generations," said Professor Trelawney. Professor Umbridge's toad-like smile widened.

"Of course," she said sweetly, making yet another note. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?" And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling.

Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. "I don't understand you," she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.

"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," said Professor Umbridge very clearly.

Professor Trelawney drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking. "The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" she said in a scandalized tone.

"I see," said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.

"I - but - but... wait!" said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. "I... I think I do see something... something that concerns you... why, I sense something... something dark... some grave peril..."

Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.

"I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.

There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney.

"Right," she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do..."

She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. The woman swooped down on Harry and began loudly interpreting his death from the BS he'd scribbled in his journal, each one more gruesome and improbable than the last.

All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for us all when we reached our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later.

She was humming and smiling to herself when we entered the room. We all took out our copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called us all to order and silence fell.

"Wands away," she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence 'Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

"No need to think is more like it," I heard Hermione mumble spitefully and raised an eyebrow.

"Well well, Granger has claws," Lily said quietly from my left, looking grudgingly approving.

Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as we turned, as one, to page nineteen. I noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again.

Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face to face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read Chapter Two," said Hermione bluntly, and I couldn't even pretend to be surprised.

"Well then, proceed to Chapter Three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. "Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."

"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," said Hermione promptly. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and I knew she was impressed, against her will.

"But I disagree," Hermione continued.

Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.

"You disagree?" she repeated.

"And here we go," I sighed, shaking my head. Gryffindors – they couldn't keep their heads down and their mouths shut, any of them.

"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the attention of the rest of the class. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But-" Hermione began.

"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this.

"What for?" said Harry angrily. I fisted my hands on the table in front of me.

"Don't you get involved!" Hermione whispered urgently to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection-"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

Silence echoed in the classroom. I was the one that broke it with a mutter of, "God damn it, Harry…"

Then-

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge sleekly.

I grit my teeth. I knew what that meant. Another week of having Harry carve his wrongdoings into his own flesh. I thought triumphantly of the murtlap essence bubbling away in the apprentice's lab and the antidote to Veritaserum well on its way to completion. The first batch of antidote would be done within the week and would keep for months while I continued to brew batches, building a store. The house elves were scouting and I'd noticed my jars of murtlap essence vanishing every now and then, the sparkling-clean empty jar returning a day or two later.

I would make Umbridge regret every bit of Harry's blood she shed if I had to take it out of her myself.

"And Miss Potter, stay a few minutes after class, if you would?"

The class turned to look at me. I blinked, surprised by the request, but nevertheless I inclined my head respectfully and demurred, "Of course, ma'am."

I spent the rest of class scanning the words on the page in front of me, retaining just enough to get through the assignments while the rest of my mind was wondering what Umbridge could want – it didn't take a genius to figure it out. She'd asked me to keep an eye out for Harry sowing dissent amongst the students and she was ready for her first report.

"I'll save you a seat at dinner," Lily muttered to me as she packed up her bag and then left the classroom with the rest of the students. I nodded, sliding my book back into my bag and tossing it over my shoulder before approaching Umbridge behind her desk at the front of the room.

"You wanted to talk to me, professor?" I greeted respectfully.

"Yes, Miss Potter," Umbridge said graciously. She drew her oddly short wand from inside her pocket and I tensed despite myself as she raised it. All she did though was conjure a spindly wooden chair behind me. Umbridge slid her wand away and gestured invitingly to the uncomfortable chair, her saccharine smile stretching her toad-like face unattractively. "Please, sit."

I sat, pulling my bag into my lap and folding my hands across it. "What is it you wanted, professor?" I asked.

"I asked you to keep an eye on your brother, help me keep him out of trouble," Umbridge reminded me gently, but there was a bit of warning in her voice. "Yet he doesn't seem to be improving?" she said leadingly, her face folding into disappointment as she observed me.

"Professor, honestly," I said, interjecting a bit of frustration in my voice, "I haven't heard anything. We're in different houses of course, so there are things I don't hear… but as far as I can tell the only place he's this vocal about what he thinks happened in the maze is in your class."

"Really?" Umbridge asked innocently. "And why do you think that is?"

"He doesn't like you," I said bluntly. "He doesn't like anyone who doesn't completely and totally support Albus Dumbledore."

Umbridge's eyes flashed with interest. This was a topic I could tell she'd been itching to press me about and I'd just given her an opening. She licked her lips and asked carefully, "And how do you feel about our esteemed headmaster, Miss Potter?"

"I think he's a genius," I replied honestly, and Umbridge's eyes sharpened in dislike. "That can't be denied, you just have to look at his body of work… But I also think that most people are entirely too blinded by hero worship and refuse to believe that he has faults. Many, in fact, and some that are more dangerous than others."

I had never been as blindly devoted to Dumbledore as Harry was - probably because I saw things a little more clearly. I saw how much Dumbledore had goaded and gently nudged Harry to do. He had asked so much of my brother, pressures that Harry shouldn't have put on him. He steered Harry in the direction of trouble with an admonishing finger and an unsubtle wink and then pointedly turned his back to let Harry flail away. I didn't appreciate the tactic.

Umbridge seemed pleased by my response – no matter how much she hated him even she couldn't deny Dumbledore's brilliance.

"I see," she said softly. "And what of the Deputy Headmistress? What do you think of Professor McGonagall?"

"I can't speak ill of her, ma'am," I replied uncertainly, waiting for Umbridge to notice and pursue it. I was taking a calculated risk revealing this, but it would be better for me to tell Umbridge and let her think she coaxed it out of me than have her find out from someone else later.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"It's not…" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "It's just…"

"This is a safe space, Miss Potter," Umbridge said caringly, spreading her sausage-fingers wide and gesturing to the room. "You can tell me anything, dear."

"It's just embarrassing," I said, forcing myself to flush. I tried to think of embarrassing things… slipping in the Great Hall, falling off my broom, Malfoy wet and naked…

My face flamed and my eyes widened. _Where had that come from?!_

I shook myself. I could examine that little slip later. For now, I needed my complete focus on the conversation at hand. At least that last image had triggered the flush I needed.

"I have… never been good at Transfiguration," I began delicately. "Or at least, it doesn't come to me as easily as other classes. I… don't like not being good at something, particularly when I have consistently ranked in the top three students in my year. It took a lot of begging and reasoning, but eventually Professor McGonagall agreed to… to tutor me."

I lowered my head to my hands, feigning shame. Umbridge seemed understandably suspicious. "Professor McGonagall is your tutor? I had… no idea."

"I try to keep it that way, professor," I shrugged. "I don't want people to know I had to have extra help. Really, she just recommends books for me to read that help me with the theory and then we meet to make sure I fully understand the text. But you can see why I'd be reluctant to speak ill of her seeing as she's gone out of her way for me."

"Yes, yes I can understand that," Umbridge said slowly. "But you said you were reluctant, not incapable…?"

I sighed. "Professor McGonagall carries quite a bit of house prejudice, despite thinking herself above that. She's as blindly loyal to Dumbledore as my brother is. She is an expert in her field, to be sure, but you have to wonder… most people who become Animagi do so for less than legal reasons. It does beg some questions…"

That was a fact. A large portion of Animagi had become so either to hide and disguise their identity or to more easily commit crimes. You needn't bother with sneaking when you could become, say, a gnat and just fly right into a bank.

"Yes, I've often wondered that myself," Umbridge said quietly. "Very well Miss Potter, I won't hold you back from your classes anymore. I do so enjoy our talks, you know. We must do this more often. Next time we speak, remind me to send a letter of recommendation to Cutler Barnes."

Cutler Barnes was the owner of a very reputable ingredient supply company. His business had the reputation of being able to procure just about anything and everything a brewer could ever possibly need, even when the ingredients were exotic or rare. Of course, things like that were ridiculously expensive, but Barnes was also known to be very generous to his friends who were brewers. An introduction to him could mean ingredients at a reduced rate.

It was a good play on Umbridge's part. An offer like that would ensure a second meeting. It could also be easily rescinded if I didn't have the kind of information she asked for. I'd need something to give her, even if it was something false, so long as it came from a seemingly credible source and had some small amount of truth.

I'd need Snape's advice for this. Subtlety was a strong point of mine but these were murkier waters than I was used to treading. One wrong word or one too many false tips could put me on Umbridge's radar in a bad way and that was something I really didn't need considering how much power she had, and likely how much more power she would have in the future.

I couldn't suppress a small shiver of excitement though – I was enjoying this. I was loving the intrigue and the careful wording, dancing around the truth while dangling it in front of Umbridge's nose. It gave me a secret little thrill to deceive her, to know she believed whatever I told her when the truth was something else. It made me happy to be the one in charge of the situation, almost as happy as being on a broom or brewing.

"That would be wonderful, Professor, thank you!" I said earnestly, and I didn't even have to feign it. This was what I was doing this for – Umbridge's contacts. Even if I came out of this with nothing more than an acquaintanceship with Cuthbert Barnes, it would still have been completely worth it because that could lead to bigger and better things. Networking was critical in any business and Umbridge was offering me a plum contact to lure me in. She knew what she was doing.

I would just have to play the game better.

* * *

"You're doing well, Potter," McGonagall encouraged. I scowled.

"I haven't managed anything," I countered as I closed my eyes and again began to try and forget my human form, just like McGonagall had instructed. It was hard to believe that something that was taking me literal weeks to accomplish would one day be as simple as breathing to me. McGonagall could shift at the drop of a hat – I couldn't wait for the day when I could do that.

But then again I suspected once you'd fully assumed a form once it became much easier. You knew what you looked like, you knew what you became from the inside out and it was easier to adopt that body once more.

My fingers ached slightly but I refused to allow them to distract me as I tried hard to let myself drift. I wasn't a person, I was just a consciousness… weightless… drifting about… soaring like a bird… A phoenix…

Just as I felt like I was getting somewhere, I was distracted.

"Well done Potter," McGonagall said proudly. I opened my eyes, ready to tell her off irritably. I was making progress! But I hissed in pain as my fingers throbbed and glanced down. My eyes blew wide at the sight of the tips of my fingers emerging from the feathery wingtips they'd been.

" _Progress,"_ McGonagall said bracingly. "That's far better than most people can expect within their first few weeks of trying. It was only a few feathers, but soon it will be more, then entire wings, and then who knows?"

I was grinning for McGonagall's sake but I couldn't help but be a little disappointed that it wasn't more even though I knew I should be grateful to have achieved that much.

"Again," I said, closing my eyes, but McGonagall placed a hand on my shoulder.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You've done enough for one evening, Potter. We'll continue next week. But feel free to practice when you have a few moments of privacy," she offered. I nodded in approval and let her guide me to the chair across from her desk. McGonagall busied herself with making tea. Unlike with Umbridge, I didn't worry about Harry's Head of House drugging me.

"You have been studying with Professor Snape as well, haven't you?" McGonagall asked. I nodded. "And how has your Occlumency been going?" I scowled. "That well?"

Objectively, I knew I was probably doing decently. My emotions got away from me every now and then, but usually only when I was incredibly angry or afraid. I knew that while I would never be that angry or afraid of Snape, I would be if confronted with Voldemort himself.

Also, I doubted Snape was going on easy on me. I had yet to block him for more than a few seconds before he broke through my defenses and brutally scoped through my mind. He found embarrassing things, sad things, angry things. He was particularly annoyed by the few memories he'd come upon of my childhood.

But I still suspected that the training of separating myself from my emotions was helping me with my Animagus training, and vice versa. McGonagall and Snape had both said that I was doing better than expected and I think it had to do with the fact that both required a similar mental state of nothingness. I wondered vaguely if Snape would see a form if he looked in McGonagall's mirror, or if McGonagall stood a chance of keeping Snape out of her mind.

"I've noticed Professor Umbridge seems very fond of you," McGonagall said slowly.

"She does," I agreed shamelessly. Were it Snape bringing this up I would have happily started spilling all about the handful of successful deliveries the house elves had made for me – mostly Dobby popping murtlap essence into Harry's bag when he wasn't looking. But though I trusted McGonagall more than, say, Flitwick, I still didn't think it would be wise to brag to her about my evil plan to take down our friendly neighborhood toad.

"It's easier for me if she feels that way," I said with a careless shrug. "Not to mention Harry's doing a wonderful job of making me look much better by comparison."

McGonagall frowned slightly. "Yes, I heard about his most recent bout of detention. Miss Johnson is incredibly upset."

I snorted. I didn't blame her. Even without sibling favoritism Harry was easily one of the best players Gryffindor had. He'd already missed practice for his last bout of detention and now he'd gone and gotten another one? She must be frothing at the mouth with rage right about now.

Still, I couldn't help but be a little pleased. Maybe with Harry out of practice Slytherin would have a shot at the Quidditch Cup.

I said as much to McGonagall, who scowled at me dangerously.

"Gryffindor still has six other brilliant players," she countered, and that spiraled off into a discussion of Quidditch, safely away from the topic of Umbridge and any relationship I might have with her.

* * *

Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner of our Transfiguration class. It was like she was bloody everywhere these days.

"Excellent," whispered Ron, as we sat down in our usual seats. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

"I wouldn't count on it," I sang under my breath.

Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student-"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back my essay and I smirked at the O at the top of the page. All the research I'd done on Animagus transformations had definitely helped my Transfiguration grade.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be-"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge.

"Yes?" said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. I hid mine behind a scowl when Umbridge's eyes flicked to me momentarily. "As I was saying: today, we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell-"

"Hem, hem."

"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.

"As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do…"

Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realized Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.

And when we walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, we found Umbridge and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"It's getting ridiculous," I muttered to Lily, who nodded in agreement as we joined the knot of Slytherins already there.

"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" Umbridge asked as we arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs

"Quite correct," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."

"It's the oaf's lucky day he's not here, isn't it?" Malfoy whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, and as much as I normally would have told him off for talking about Hagrid like that, I couldn't help but agree with him in this case. Umbridge would have been only too happy to find an excuse to remove a Dumbledore supporter as literally and figuratively big as Hagrid. And it honestly would have been easy to find a reason to sack him, the sorts of things he brought to class. Fascinating stuff, but dangerous.

"Hmm," said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice. "I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?"

"'Fraid I can't," said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. "Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks' teaching work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well... shall I get started then?"

"Yes, please do," said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard.

Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well, so at least Hagrid was safe for now, which was a relief.

"Overall," said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, "how do you, as a temporary member of staff- an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?"

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. "Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed."

"Well, she just stepped in it," Tracey muttered.

Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, "And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"

"Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWLs," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Not much left to do - they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognize Crups and Knarls, you know…"

"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate," said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. She turned to Goyle and asked, "Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?"

Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question.

"That was me," he said. "I was slashed by a hippogriff."

"A hippogriff?" said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," said Harry angrily. Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.

" _Really_ Harry?" I snarled.

"Another night's detention, I think," Umbridge said softly. "Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days."

"Jolly good," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.

* * *

I sat at a table in the back corner of the Library, pouring over several books and surrounded by essays. It was my night off from extra lessons, meaning that I had the time to fully devote myself to my schoolwork. Unfortunately, that meant I was trapped in a spiral of essays.

After nearly two hours at work my hand was cramping but I had finished my essays for Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration, plus a star chart for Astronomy. Despite the fact that they knew what my evenings consisted of most days, McGonagall and Snape refused to allow me any leeway in my work, not that I had expected they would.

I cast a quick drying spell on all of my essays to make sure they wouldn't smudge and tucked them into my bag, ready to be presented over the next two days to the appropriate teachers. I put away my quill and ink and the two textbooks of my own I'd used. Then I turned to my pile of Library books and sighed. It would take at least another five minutes to get them all put up.

"Hey, Potter, I heard you've got that bowtruckle book Grubby-Plank recommended."

I looked up. Malfoy and Zabini had popped out of nowhere and were standing there patiently, arms loaded down with books. It seemed they were settling in for a marathon session of essay writing as well.

"Oh yeah, it's right here," I said, pulling it out from under a pair of Herbology books. "Chapter six has most of the information. There's some stuff here for other essays if you want to use it," I offered, pleased that I wouldn't have to put the books up myself and could dump it on Malfoy and Zabini.

"Great, thanks," Zabini said eagerly, setting his books down and observing the titles I already had. "Why do our own research when we can get you to do it?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's a mystery to me how you get as many dates as you do talking like that, Zabini."

He winked at me and smirked. "Just my natural charm, I guess," he said smugly. I rolled my eyes again.

"Sure, right. I'll see you at practice tomorrow," I said to Malfoy before hefting my bag over my shoulder and starting off.

* * *

"I'll see you at practice tomorrow," Blaise repeated as he and Draco watched the retreating back of Lorena Potter, her long red ponytail swishing behind her. He looked at his friend pointedly. "Now that's a bit more polite than Potter usually is with you, isn't it?"

Draco shook his head and stared pointedly at the book in front of him as he opened it and flicked through the pages to the section he needed. "She's just trying to get along because we're prefects."

"I know that," Blaise said bluntly. "And you're not taking advantage of it."

Draco looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"

"Don't even try and deny it, mate, I've known for years. Ever since second year you've had a crush on Potter," Blaise said firmly. "And you've told me as much before so don't try and weasel out of it. You've been sending her white tulips for years!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You _will not_ tell her…"

Blaise waved a hand carelessly. "Of course I won't, that's your business. But you know as well as I that the time when you and Potter have even a little bit of a chance… well, it's going to end soon," Blaise said grimly.

Draco went quiet. He knew exactly what Blaise meant. Voldemort was back, and that meant that very soon Lorena could be on the run, fighting a war, or worse. If he wanted to have even a short few months with her in his life, even in secret, he would have to make a move soon and he knew it.

That's why he'd been different this year. 'Decent' she kept saying. He knew that the time of catty remarks had passed and that if he wanted to have her he needed to get serious. Blaise was right – those flowers could be a good in for him. Girls loved romantic things like that, right? But he still couldn't bring himself to make any kind of real moves towards her. He was so afraid she would turn away from him, would laugh, that he would lose what little progress he'd made…

"You've been better," Blaise pointed out. "You and Potter have moved past the verbal equivalent of pulling each other's hair, at least," he said pointedly. Draco winced. "She's a Potter and you're a Malfoy. You know what that means."

"Of course I do Blaise," Draco snapped, his voice low and angry. "You think I don't?"

"I think you do, but there's a difference between _knowing_ and _accepting_ ," Blaise countered swiftly, narrowing his eyes. "Draco, if you really want her and I know you do – then you're running out of time," he said grimly. "She may not survive what's coming-"

" _Don't_ ," Draco said hoarsely. "Don't say that Blaise."

Blaise shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry but it's true. Draco, if you want her, you can't waste even a second and you know it. So why are you dragging your heels? You know what you have to do. Now go do it."

"It's not… that simple," Draco said, his voice strained.

"And whose fault is that?" Blaise said bluntly. "If you had just told her instead of waiting around you might have had years with her. Now?" He shrugged helplessly. "It's probably a matter of months, let's be real."

"I know," Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I've had girls falling all over me for as long as I can remember."

"You and me both," Blaise said drily.

"So why is Lorena so hard?"

Blaise scoffed. "Seriously? That's easy - because you actually care about her."

* * *

I met Malfoy outside of the Slytherin Common Room. I was running later than the time we'd agreed to meet up, but there had almost been an incident with my murtlap essence that I had to handle. There were now crates of the stuff piled in the corner ready and waiting for distribution. My antidote to Veritaserum was coming along more slowly, but I had built up a decent store thus far.

I was waiting for the inevitable crack down. People thought Umbridge was bad now? Signs of her influence were just starting to be felt. The teacher inspections were only the first step –then would come probations, firings. Who knew what Hogwarts would look like after that? Umbridge was already strutting around the castle like she owned the place – she was giving lectures on proper dress, shutting down games of Exploding Snap and studying in the courtyard. Already she was worming herself into the school and was ready to start prizing it apart.

I was waiting for the rubble to start to flake away.

"Have you been brewing?" Malfoy said in surprise, staring at my slightly-frizzed hair. He reached out and plucked a shred of leaf from my hair. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled cautiously. Unsurprisingly, he was able to identify it. Damn him and his potions knowledge to a hell of Umbridge's pink lacy kittens.

"Knotgrass," he identified it.

"A bit," I mumbled absently, trying to smooth down my hair.

"So what have you been making?" Malfoy asked as we started to walk on our habitual route through the castle. It was still strange to think of anything to do with Malfoy as civil and habitual, but that's what our rounds were. We actually managed to have conversations that didn't involve biting each other's heads off or trying to slaughter each other. Much as it still periodically caught me off guard, I was starting to get used to it – even enjoy it.

Malfoy was _smart_ , much as I'd hurled the opposite in his face for years. He could almost rival me in terms of Potions knowledge and he was better at Transfiguration than I was – for now. I liked talking with smart people. He could keep up with me and I with him and it was a good feeling, to talk to someone who was interested in what I had to say instead of telling me to stop showing off or rolling their eyes and ignoring me.

That didn't mean I was going to tell him I'd been brewing murtlap essence. If that got to Umbridge she was smart enough to be able to figure out why. I needed her to believe I was firmly on her side and while I could probably cover my butt on that one it was a strike against me I didn't need. The last thing I wanted was for Umbridge to start watching me closely and realize I disappeared off to the apprentice's lab.

"That's none of your business," I replied firmly, hoping Malfoy wouldn't bother to press.

He looked at me sideways, faintly surprised. "Wha- why? Are you brewing something illegal? Brewing up love potions in your spare time?" He bobbed his eyebrows.

I scoffed. "Hardly," I sneered.

"Then why not tell me," Malfoy coaxed. I sighed and raised a hand to my temple. I rubbed there wearily.

I was _tired._ Not in the sense that I needed sleep but in the bone-deep way that dragged you down. I was still functional of course – I knew better than to let myself get to the same point as I had been when Snape laid into me during the Triwizard Tournament last year. But weariness had made a home and settled down somewhere inside me from the extra lessons, Quidditch, the constant brewing, keeping up appearances both to Umbridge and the Slytherins. It was a massive weight to carry and while I was capable that didn't mean it didn't tax-

"Potter."

A hand rested on my shoulder, pulling me up short and turning me. I froze, looking from the warm, pale, long-fingered hand on my shoulder up to the boy it belonged to.

"Malfoy…" I said uncertainly. I thought I saw a flicker of something like disappointment behind those pretty grey eyes of his, but his hand dropped free of me.

"Are you alright, Potter?" he asked slowly, eyes combing over me. More surprising than the fact that he had noticed – which was actually quite mind-blowing as not even Lily or Tracey had noticed and they were the classmates I spent the most time with – was the fact that he actually seemed to _care._

"Why does it matter?" I countered swiftly, falling into the old pattern of verbal attack and defend. Malfoy tightened his jaw and shook his head.

"No, we're not doing that," he said shortly. "I'm not going to let you lash out and change the topic, Potter."

I opened my mouth wordlessly, eyes wide. "I-I wasn't…" Only Harry had ever called me out on that. And now Malfoy was doing it? The thought sent my head spinning and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I had a wall to my back and Malfoy to my front.

Malfoy looked at me knowingly. "Yes you were. That's what you always do."

"I-I don't-"

"You _do_ -"

"Stop it!" I lashed out, pushed Malfoy back. He staggered slightly, his eyes widening. "Stop _doing_ that!"

"Doing what?" Malfoy demanded, rubbing his chest and looking annoyed. "Merlin, Potter. You know, you're stronger than you look…"

"Stop acting like you know me," I snapped at him. "You don't. You and I have been sniping at each other for years but that doesn't mean you know anything about me."

Malfoy's eyes darkened. "You think I don't know you? Please, I know you better than most people."

I scowled at him helplessly and cast around the hallways for something to distract me, some student to jump down the throat of and slap with so much detention they'd be there after graduation, but there was nothing. Nothing but a tapestry a couple of feet down the hall that I knew had a small niche behind it that was perfect for private conversations.

I seized Malfoy's wrist and started walking. I knew he could tear away and demand an answer at any moment but he didn't, and that threw me off even more as I swept the tapestry out of the way and pulled Malfoy behind it with me. I dragged out my wand and pointed the tip at his face.

" _Lumos,"_ I said, and I was horrified when it came out a little hoarse. My wand tip flared, illuminating Malfoy. His chest nearly touched my raised hand. If he breathed deeply, we would touch. I hadn't considered just how small the alcove was, he was too close, he was _way_ too close, and how did he see something that only Harry had seen?

"What are you doing?" I demanded of him. Malfoy's eyes widened incredulously.

"What am _I_ doing? You're the one who dragged me back here-"

"No, I mean what are you doing?" I repeated furiously. "You're being nice to me, you're acting like we've been friends for years and I'm all for people turning over a new leaf but you've done it so fast and you've been… you've been _good_ to me Malfoy, good to me when for years the nicest you've ever been was to insult my brother instead of me personally and I don't know what triggered it, but I've been through a lot lately that I don't understand and I really can't handle it if you're trying to pull some twisted prank, I really can't not with… not with… with everything…"

My throat had closed up until I was nearly gasping out my words and it as taking everything in me not to burst into tears in front of Malfoy but I was just so confused and so tired and I wanted answers, damn it, I was sick of being in the dark. Sirius didn't have anything to report on the Malfoys so I had nothing to blame Malfoy's sudden personality transplant on. I was floundering in a relationship that had been the same for years. The sun was up, the grass was green, Malfoy and I didn't like each other. Except Malfoy suddenly did like me and I… didn't mind him.

"Lorena, _breathe_ ," Malfoy insisted worriedly, grabbing my shoulders and dragging me closer to him until we were practically chest to chest. I couldn't help but think Rita Skeeter's quill might explode with excitement if she was there.

He was looking down at me like he was really concerned, like he really cared, and that was weird because Malfoy didn't care about me, right?

"If there's another shoe waiting to drop," I rasped, "tell me now Malfoy so I can hex you and get on with my life. Because so help me-"

"I'm not trying to pull something, I promise," Malfoy assured me, eyes soft and damn him, he still looked worried about me. He was still acting like he cared.

I looked up helplessly. "Then why-?"

"Because it's all…. A little silly…"

"Silly?" I questioned hotly. "You think it's silly for me be suspicious?"

"No! No that's not what I meant at all!" Malfoy said hastily. One hand released my shoulder to rake frustratedly through his hair. "You're right to be suspicious – we've never been… been friendly."

"Understatement," I sniped, and got a blast of annoyance from those grey eyes that were entirely too attractive and sparkly in the dim light of my wand.

"Stop it and let me talk," Malfoy barked. "I know we've never been friends Potter, but all of the stuff we've said and done to each other… Look, no matter what Umbridge or the Ministry or the Prophet says we both know the truth. He's back," Malfoy hissed, his voice dropping quietly and his eyes darting around as if he expected Voldemort himself to loom out of the shadows.

"You're really not helping me calm down-"

"I know, I know," Malfoy said, and the hand still on my shoulder moved off to rub up and down my bicep soothingly. I frowned, turning to look at the hand in shock. That couldn't be Malfoy's hand, could it?

Malfoy saw the look, and I was surprised to see real, genuine hurt flash in his eyes before he pull his hand back. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before opening them again and continuing.

"Whatever petty school fights we've had… they're nothing compared to what's coming. You and I both know, probably better than anyone, that there's a war coming. Things are going to get very real very quickly and… and it's time to grow up. We're not children anymore, Potter," Malfoy finished simply.

I just stared at him.

He was right - he and I both knew what was coming. The world was about to crash down around our ears and we were going to be pushed into the same roles as our parents were during the First War. We were going to have to be soldiers because with the people we knew, the people we were, we couldn't be anything else. There was no question that when the battle lines were inevitably drawn, we would be standing on opposite sides.

Which begged a very important question.

"So what… you've decided that you want to be my friend at the exact time when that would be incredibly dangerous for you?"

A hint of Malfoy's swagger came back as he flashed me a pearly-toothed smirk. "What can I say? I like to live dangerously."

"No you don't," I said simply. "You're a coward Malfoy. And I don't say that to be disparaging, I say it because it's true, but there are worse things to be," I added hastily when his eyes flashed. "My question is… why now?"

Malfoy actually looked pained as he stared at me like he was willing me desperately to understand something. His hands came up again, and this time they cupped my jaw, elegant fingers fanning down the sides of my neck.

"Because if I don't do it now, I might not get the chance," Malfoy said, and the fear in his voice was undeniable. Fear of the future, fear of fighting and duels, fear of spells thrown from the wands of people we'd known for a large portion of our lives… Fear of death.

I sucked in a breath. Suddenly this had shifted – these weren't the kinds of things you said to someone you wanted to be friends with, someone you wanted to hang out with on the weekends and grab lunch with. These were words you said to someone you…

Iliya had theorized, Hermione had given me calculating looks, Ron had been suspicious, but now I was being forced to face the fact that they all may have been on to something, that they had seen something I'd been completely oblivious to, a something that spun my head and made me want to sprint down to the apprentice's lab and hide in the familiar safety of cauldron steam.

"Malfoy," I said hoarsely. "I don't… What is it you want from me?"

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it, closing his mouth and shaking his head. "No, not yet." He cut me off before I could even get the protest out. "I'll tell you soon Potter, but I need more time."

"Time for what?" I asked blankly.

Malfoy's answering smile was soft and painfully sweet as he said, "To make you feel the same."

And then he was gone, the tapestry flapping behind him as he ducked out into the corridor. My knees felt shaky, as if I couldn't support myself without his hands on my jaw holding me up. I sagged back weakly against the wall and slid down to rest at the base. My mouth was open and I stared helplessly at the darkness opposite me where only a moment ago there had been gleaming platinum hair and stormy eyes looking at me like they cared…

"Dear god help me," I whispered, because I wasn't an idiot. I'd seen that look before on the faces of my classmates and I knew what it foretold, I knew that it meant kissing under mistletoe and trips to Hogsmeade cuddled in each other's arms, but I could never have that. Not with Malfoy at least. It was a possibility I'd never even considered.

But at the same time… some part of me wanted to pretend. To pretend that the world wasn't two moves away from falling to shit at every second and that I was a normal girl with a normal life who went on normal dates with normal boys and had normal friends and a normal family. I had been stripped of any and all normality so long ago that maybe I should have expected that when this came – if it ever had – it wouldn't be normal.

I felt so damnably weak for breaking down over this, pathetic for being so thrown off by the idea of someone caring about me. I wasn't unfamiliar with being cared about. The Weasleys, Snape, Hagrid… then again it had always felt kind of like Hagrid and the Weasleys cared about me because I was Harry's sister, Fred and George being the exceptions.

For so many years I'd been successful at keeping people at arm's length. When I first came to Hogwarts I'd been ready to make friends and be happy. I'd quickly realized that wasn't going to happen and so devolved into the same mask I'd used against the Dursleys for years – crassness, anger, sarcasm. It was a tried and true defensive mechanism to keep people at arm's length and I was content to sit with Tracey and Lily and act like we were the best of friends and then go off on my own to read or visit Snape or cause mischief.

But what did Malfoy do? He called my bluff, ripped off the mask and forced me to acknowledge that there was a girl underneath it that did want someone in her life. The mask I'd thought had become who I really was over the years had been pulled off and I was reminded of who I really was… someone that the mask would have turned up her nose at and sneered insults to. God, was that really all I had become?

I could almost imagine the molten silver of Malfoy's eyes peering at me from the darkness with that damned caring expression in his eyes, like he really and truly gave a damn about me.

Once upon a time Harry had looked at me like that, had been the only one to look at me like that. He hadn't looked at me like that in… god I couldn't even remember the last time. He still felt it somewhere, he was too good of a person not to, but I couldn't help but think that it was now mixed with a little bit of shame, and little bit of distrust, a little bit of anger. Distance and forced separation had poisoned us and while we'd come through, the aches and scars of it still remained.

I feared so much that I was becoming the sort of person who deserved to have those sort of feelings come from her twin, but despite all of that, Malfoy, who had seen me at my worst, was looking at me like someone who had seen me at my best and I had no idea how much I'd craved that until it had happened.

I wasn't a fool – I didn't love Draco Malfoy. I didn't even trust him. But I did like him and I did think that he was perhaps closer to understanding me than anyone but Harry – he'd just proved that, hadn't he? So if it was ever going to happen to me, maybe this was it. Could I risk letting the sort of caring I'd been denied for so much of my life passing by?

That was an easy question. No, not even for a second. So I wouldn't pull back no matter how much this scared the hell out of me. I would let Malfoy do what he would, I would talk to him like I would have yesterday before all this happened and I would see how things played out because if nothing else I owed him that much just for the way he'd looked at me, for the way he'd made me feel for just a second…

Like I _deserved_ to be loved.


	53. Planning

Quidditch practice the next day was interesting to say the least. Nothing of real remark happened. No one fell off their broom or made a really spectacular move. It was the little things. Every now and then I would look up from my broom and I would catch Malfoy's eye. His gaze would burn for that split second before he looked away and I would be reminded of just what had happened behind that tapestry.

I wasn't stupid – I wasn't expecting a grand gesture of affection, not from him. For one it was too dangerous, us being who we were, and for another, it wasn't his style. He was a Slytherin, same as me, and for all his pureblood bravado he also possessed our house's subtlety when the occasion called for it.

We landed after a successful practice and the guys moved to the showers. I never joined them – in part because no matter how many spells were on the shower stalls to prevent perverts it was awkward being the only girl and in part because I needed to get back up to the castle and work on my Veritaserum antidote. My third batch was coming along nicely but it was at a tricky stage.

But before I took off back to the castle for a quick shower and a few hours locked away under the school, I caught Malfoy just outside the door.

"That was a nice catch," I said softly as I walked past him, referring to a particular moment when he'd stretched so far he nearly threw himself off his broom but managed to catch the Snitch with the tips of his fingers. I kept walking and didn't stop for a conversation, but I did glance over my shoulder. I could only see Malfoy's profile but he was wearing a hundred-watt smile the likes of which I'd never seen on his face. He'd taken my words as what they were – an approval for him to do what he would to try and win me over.

But it also caused a little flip in my stomach to think that I was the one who'd made someone look so happy. Me, Lorena Potter, with my scars and my foul temper, had made someone smile like they'd just been handed their fondest wish.

I had to hide my own soft smile in my collar as I walked back up the castle, feeling pleasantly warm despite the fact that October was upon us.

* * *

I wasn't wholly surprised when Ron and Hermione came through the mirror covering the entrance to the caved-in passage with Harry. In my note asking him to meet me I hadn't forbid them from coming, which might actually have been encouragement for him to bring them.

"What's this about?" Ron asked belligerently. He was far less fond of me than he used to be ever since the incident after Umbridge's class. I had no doubts that he and Hermione had heard from Harry about my plans to bring Umbridge down but I had slammed him into a wall, after all.

"Grown up, Weasley, I don't have time for your hurt feelings," I snapped at him. Ron opened his mouth to protest, his ears going red, but I talked over him. "Umbridge is getting antsy – she wants something juicy about you."

"Lie to her," Harry replied blithely. "I mean, you're good at making things up, right?"

I sighed. "And I could do that if I never wanted her to trust me again."

Harry frowned, not understanding. "What? What do you mean?"

"She means that Umbridge needs something she can work with, something that has at least a little bit of truth to it so that she won't think Lorena's lying to her," Hermione guessed. I nodded approvingly. Thank god my brother had at least one friend in possession of working grey matter.

"Exactly," I nodded. "It doesn't have to be big, just something that will prove to her that my information is good. After that I can start feeding her lies, but I need to establish some credibility first."

"Why are we trusting her?" Ron burst out, gesturing to me angrily. "I mean, first you're buddying up with Malfoy, and now Umbridge? What's with you?"

"My relationship with Malfoy is none of your business," I said swiftly and watched Hermione's eyes flash as she noticed my lack of denial. "And as for Umbridge… why, I'm doing this because it benefits me in several ways."

"Typical Slytherin," Ron sneered. "Harry told us – what, Umbridge puts you in touch with the right people and you're ready to toss over your own twin brother?"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, appalled, and even Harry looked a little annoyed.

My eyes went flat as I stared Ron down. "You should be very glad that you're my brother's best friend," I said coldly, "because I've sent people to the Hospital Wing for less than that. Allow me to explain, and I'll use small words so that you can understand."

Hermione put a hand on Ron's arm to keep him from coming towards me but I held my ground, unafraid despite the fact that Ron was taller than me and outweighed me by several pounds. Who didn't? I was confident not only in the fact that I could indeed take Ron, probably also Harry and Hermione if wands were drawn, but also in the fact that I was doing the right thing even if it was in the objectively wrong way.

"I told you before – I take care of my brother," I continued icily. "And Umbridge has been making him carve his own flesh open and write with his blood. For that, the bitch will pay and pay dearly. But to make her really hurt, to make her truly suffer, to hit her in a way she will never be able to forget I need to be in the perfect position, I need to be close. You think Slytherins are all about getting even? Fine, that's exactly what I'm doing. You don't need to trust me, you just need to trust that I'll be the vengeful bitch I usually am."

"You're not-" Harry began feebly, but it was only a token effort and we all knew it. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Yes I am Harry, it's why I'm the _other Potter_ ," I sneered. "So, tell me what I can give Umbridge and I'll leave so Ron can rant about me childishly for an hour or two."

Harry bit his lip thoughtfully and glanced over his shoulder helplessly at Hermione. I could practically hear Granger's wheels turning as she worked to come up with something I could give to Umbridge without doing any real harm. Finally, she came up with something.

"The Defense classes," she said quietly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Defense classes?" I asked leadingly.

Hermione looked around uncertainly but Ron and Harry were both watching her, letting her take the lead. She bit her lip and continued, "We've decided that… well, Umbridge isn't teaching us so… considering the situation… well, we've got to know how to defend ourselves, haven't we?" she insisted. "So we thought that if Harry taught some kind of secret defense classes…"

"And people will come, if nothing else, because of curiosity about the things Harry's been saying." I nodded in understanding and looked at Hermione approvingly. "Well done Granger, that's pretty good."

"We were going to have a meeting for those interested in attending at the Hog's Head on Friday," Hermione continued.

I nodded. "I can work with that. I'll tell her I've heard rumors you're recruiting for secret dueling classes. I won't tell her about the meeting, but it'll be something she'd expect in her blindness and it'll be something she can conceivably do something about."

"If anyone shows up," Harry said darkly. I scoffed.

"Oh, people will show up. You're the Boy-Who-Lived," I said drily. "They've been getting a lot of conflicting stories the past few months and there's a lot about Cedric's death that doesn't match up with the Ministry party line. If nothing else, people will come hoping for answers."

"You really think so?" Harry asked, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. I nodded confidently.

"Of course."

"Now if only we had a place to hold the classes," Hermione sighed, pushing her curls back from her face. I raised an eyebrow and a slow smile crossed my face as I recalled something.

Ron shuddered. "I bloody _hate_ that expression on her…"

"One of the house elves said something to me the other day, about a secret room in the castle," I recalled. "I don't know if it's what you need, but I can speak to the house elves and look into it for you."

In the end it was decided that I would speak to the house elves and get the details. If it was what they were looking for, I'd send Dobby to them with the answers. If not, they'd keep looking.

"I want in," I said suddenly, and Hermione stopped midsentence.

"In what?" Harry asked blankly.

"Let me help you teach," I explained. Ron immediately held up his hands.

"Whoa, whoa, no way, I'm not letting her boss me around…"

"I know what it's like as much as you do," I told Harry, ignoring Ron. "And more than that, I'm a Slytherin. I know more than you about the Dark magic they'll be facing and I know how to do it and how to counter it."

Harry made a face at the reminder that I wasn't quite as whole-heartedly with the Light as he was but Hermione agreed, "She has a point."

"How will other students react when they find out there's a Slytherin involved, huh?" Ron demanded.

"I'll prove to them that I know what I'm doing," I replied with a shrug, confident that I could handle a few naysayers.

"Maybe it wouldn't be bad to have another teacher on hand," Hermione pointed out, and I could see that her arguments meant something to Harry. He was nodding slowly and staring blankly, considering.

"You've always been better at dueling than me," Harry murmured thoughtfully.

"I know," I said smugly. "And I know how to teach, too. Let me help with this, Harry."

Harry slowly nodded and Ron groaned. "Okay. But Rena, try and keep the… the Dark stuff to a minimum?" he asked hopefully.

"I will," I promised, though I'd be the one to decide exactly what qualified as a minimum. "I can't promise I'll be able to make it to every meeting though," I admitted.

"Why?" Ron asked, immediately suspicious. I rolled my eyes.

"Because I'm taking private lessons with Snape. I want to be a brewer one day, you know," I said pointedly. Two unconnected facts but strung together they completed an idea. I couldn't exactly explain why, but I didn't want Harry to know about the Animagus and Occlumency training. "And on top of that I have Quidditch as well."

"We can work with that," Harry agreed.

"Good," I said, and we bid out goodbyes.

"Thanks for all the murtlap essence," Harry murmured to me as he and his friends left. I smirked at his back – of course he knew it was me. I was pleased that he'd bothered to say thanks, really.

Shaking my head, I emerged from the passageway and pulled out the Marauder's Map. Curfew hadn't quite hit, but it was coming soon. I would be out after curfew if I ran this one last errand, but I wasn't overly concerned.

I tripped down to the kitchens and tickled the pear, letting myself in.

"Miss Potter! Miss Potter!"

"Lorena!"

As usual, Dobby and Tippy were on me almost the moment I came into the kitchen. I was starting to suspect they had some sort of Lorena radar. I smiled down at them both and greeted them.

"How have the deliveries been going?" I asked as I sat down at an empty portion of the Ravenclaw table. The dishes were still being washed and I could see the gleaming gold flashing from amongst the bubbles as the house elves scrubbed them and floated them over to the gigantic pantry that held the dish wear. The dishes bobbed slightly in the air like they were dancing.

Oh.

 _Oh._

Oh I _shouldn't._

Oh but I _really should._

My smiled was nothing short of devious as Dobby reported that all deliveries had gone well. A handful of other people had gotten detention from Umbridge, but thus far Umbridge hadn't been interrogating anyone as far as the house elves knew, so my stock of Veritaserum antidote had been left untouched.

"Dobby, one of the house elves said something about a Room of Requirement," I recalled. "Can you tell me about it?"

"It's also called the Come And Go room, Miss," Dobby chirped. "All yous has to do is walk in front of it three timeses and think about what yous need. Then the door will open!"

"And it can be anything?" I pressed.

"Anything!" Tippy confirmed happily. "Sos if you wants to hide, or ifs you need the bathroom, or if yous hungry!"

"I see," I said, smiling. This was exactly what Harry needed for his defense classes – the room was perfect. I'd never heard of it and it wasn't on the Marauder's Map. I had enough faith in their mischief making to assume that it wasn't that they hadn't known about the room, but it was Unplottable.

"Harry is planning something and the room sounds like just what he needs," I explained to the house elves. "When you have a minute and you can get to him privately, could you go to him and explain about the room?"

Tippy leaned forwards eagerly. "Is this part of the fight with the Umbridge?"

Oh dear, I'd created a house elf revolutionary. "It is," I said, and Tippy grinned widely.

"Tippy will do it! Tippy will do it as soon as she can!" the house elf said, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

"Good, thank you both," I said, patting their little bald heads. Dobby and Tippy both glowed under the praise. "I've got to get back to my Common Room now, but thank you for your help."

"Yous is welcome Lorena!"

"Yous welcome!"

* * *

It was barely after sun-up when I got out of bed. I threw on my clothes and rushed my morning routine on purpose so that I would look less put-together. With my messy braid and my mascara a little smeared I ran out of the girl's dorm before most people were up and hit the halls. I skirted teachers as I made my way up to Umbridge's office.

"Professor?" I hissed from outside the door. "Professor!"

"Miss Potter?" the door swung open. Umbridge looked surprised to see me on her doorstep. She took in my rushed appearance and her eyebrows rose, intrigued, just like I'd planned. "Come in, come in, dear. What's happened?"

I sat down on the other side of Umbridge's desk as she reached for her tea service. "Tea?" Umbridge asked innocently.

"No, no thanks," I said breathlessly, my hurry providing me with the perfect excuse. "I still have to go back to my dorm and get my books for the day but… I figured I should tell you this as soon as possible. You see I… I heard something."

"Something about your brother?" Umbridge was enraptured by the idea, leaning forward eagerly. "Well? Out with it girl!" She was a bit shorter than usual and I had to resist the urge to narrow my eyes at her suspiciously. The sweetness was fading and showing the real Umbridge. Her composure was slipping… which was good for me. Perfect, actually.

"Well I… I fell asleep in the Library last night," I admitted somewhat sheepishly. "And I was woken up this morning by people talking. It wasn't Harry, I don't know who it was, some lower grade Hufflepuffs. But they were talking about secret dueling lessons. They didn't name any names, but from the way they were talking about him, I'm pretty sure Harry's going to be teaching them."

"Secret dueling lessons?" Umbridge said, rising and pacing, raking stubby fingers through her ugly curls. "Yes, yes… why am I not surprised? And you say Potter's leading them?" she snapped.

"They didn't say any names," I stressed. "But the way they were talking I'm pretty sure it was him."

"What _exactly_ did they say?" Umbridge demanded, pausing behind her desk and flattening her hands on it, leaning over to get in my face.

"They said that Ron Weasley told them about it, which was my first clue," I said, scowling like I was trying to recall. The way he'd been acting lately I didn't have any problems throwing Ron under the bus. Of course, he had vital information, so I'd be giving him some antidote to Veritaserum as soon as I could, but I was quite alright with letting him sweat under Umbridge's questions.

"Then they said something like 'well, he'd know what it's like, wouldn't he?' They were talking about dueling Dark wizards, and after everything Harry's been saying, well… that pretty much sealed it for me."

"Yes… Potter… Only option, really…" Umbridge was back to pacing and muttering and I had to smother a sneer. She was so worked up over something that would never help her. In fact, this would help bring about her downfall. I wondered… should I ever tell her it was me who'd brought her low or should I just let her despair as her world fell around her? Both were appealing…

"Where is this dueling club meeting?" Umbridge demanded. "When?"

"I didn't hear," I said, feigning frustration at that fact. "From what I could tell they're still just recruiting now. They're being careful who they invite – you have to have someone stick up for you, I think. They don't want this getting out and someone's being cautious. Probably Granger…"

"Yes, that blasted Granger girl," Umbridge cursed her. "She would think… very well, Potter, did you hear anything else?"

"No ma'am," I lied with a disappointed sigh. "They moved off and I lost them in the stacks when I tried to dodge Madam Pince. That's all I got."

"It's enough," Umbridge said with a wide, ugly smile. "It's enough for now. Well done, Miss Potter, very well done. I'm sure Cuthbert would be very intrigued to hear about your potential," Umbridge sai with her attempt at a sly smile. There was nothing sly or sneaky about the woman much as she'd like to think there was. Vicious, spiteful, yes, even conniving, but subtle? Not hardly.

"Thank you, professor," I said, and I didn't have to feign the triumphant smile that covered my face. "That means a lot to me."

"Yes, well, you've earned it dear," Umbridge said sweetly, patting my hand. I made a mental note to head straight to the bathroom to wash it first chance I got. "Keep up the good work and who knows where you'll be?"

I knew. I'd be standing over the ruins of her life, and I'd be enjoying it.

* * *

"Professor," I said innocently as I entered McGonagall's office for my lesson, "before we begin, do you mind if I ask you an unrelated question?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. I didn't often ask questions that didn't related to Animagus studies while we had our lessons – I didn't want to waste my private time with her. However, this question was rather important to me, and important to watching Umbridge unravel just a little more.

"I suppose so," McGonagall allowed, sinking into her desk chair. She offered me the opposite chair. "This is your time. Ginger newt?" She offered me the tin. I took one and bit the head from the cookie, chewing and swallowing before I asked my question.

"I was thinking the other day," I said vaguely. "Back in first year, with the chess set you made that protected the Sorcerer's Stone…"

McGonagall huffed. "Protected is a strong word, seeing as a first year was able to get past it…"

I chuckled at that. "Yes, well… I was wondering what spell you used? The way Harry tells it, the animation spell was triggered by them approaching. How would you go about something like that? And how did you get them to follow the rules of chess instead of just moving wherever?"

McGonagall sighed. "Never let it be said that you don't try to learn everything you possibly can."

And so McGonagall explained for nearly half an hour about the spell she used and how she went about implanting the statues with the specific knowledge of chess, and how she set up the trigger. At one point I even took out a quill and parchment and started writing this down. McGonagall raised an eyebrow at that but continued her explanation, although a spark of suspicion entered her eye.

I had no doubt that once news of my plan reached her McGonagall would know at once that it was me. However I was hoping that she hated Umbridge enough to simply let it slide just like some of the teacher's had. Oh, I wouldn't be doing this soon, but I'd have it all lined up and waiting for when the perfect moment came to put my plan into action.

"Does that answer your question?" McGonagall asked. I nodded, rolling up the page of notes and stuffing it and my quill and ink into my bag.

"Yes, thank you ma'am," I replied, nodding.

"Then to work," McGonagall said, rising with a dramatic flourish of tartan. I followed her lead to the middle of the room and stood on the rug before her. She nodded at me to begin. I shut my eyes and began to blank my mind. I drifted along on the eddies and currents of my mind, not a body, but a consciousness.

By the end of the lesson I had managed to cover my hands and forearms in feathers but that was all the progress I'd made. I wished the transformation had started at my head - I needed phoenix eyes at least if I wanted to get a business brewing Sine Fraxinus off the ground. I'd take what I could get though, and keep pushing as much as I was able until I got what I needed.

* * *

The door to the apprentice's lab started to creak open. _"Don't open the door!"_ I shrieked. Snape made a surprised shout as a cackling candlestick lunged at him.

 _"I'm freeeeee!"_ it cried in a remarkable impression of Peeves. Snape dragged his wand through the air and the candlestick smacked sharply into a silent _Protego_ and rebounded.

 _"Dang it!"_ the candlestick cursed.

I snatched it tightly in my hands and bit my lip to hold back a scream as it turned the arms of itself down to burn my fingers with the flaming candle. When the damned thing lit itself I had no idea, probably when it went catapulting past a torch a minute or two ago.

I pinned the thing's base to the wall with my hand and pointed my wand at it.

 _"Goodbye, cruel world!"_ the candlestick wailed as I sent a Reductor curse at it, whipping my hand back at the last second. It exploded into nothingness.

"For Merlin's _sake_ , Potter!" Snape snarled, slamming the door shut behind him. "What are you up to now?"

"I couldn't explain it to you even if I wanted to sir," I said, hissing in pain as I pulled out my wand. The backs of my fingers were badly burned, but a quick spell soothed the pain and started them healing. I repeated the spell on my other hand and sighed in relief, flexing my fingers. "But if you want to ask…" I smirked. "Be my guest."

Snape's eyes narrowed at me suspiciously before sliding past me to the pile of crates in the corner. I had three crates worth of Veritaserum antidote and twice that of murtlap essence.

"You're becoming obsessive," Snape noted, seating himself at the counter.

"Disagree," I sang, moving to stir my Blood-Replenishing potion. "See? I'm brewing something new."

"So the house elves are performing admirably, I take it."

"Better than I could have expected, sir, and I'm almost positive that Umbridge trusts me after what I told her the other day."

"And what did you tell her?" Snape asked firmly.

I grinned over my shoulder. "That Harry's planning for form a dueling club under her very nose."

Snape scoffed. "That's preposterous. Even Potter wouldn't…" He took a look at the grin on my face. "Your brother is a _fool."_

"Oh, one hundred percent agree sir," I said absently as I continued to stir. "But this one might actually not be a bad idea. I mean, I've spoken with him about it and they're being far more careful than they normally are when they do something illegal or against school rules. I think it's because it was Granger's idea to begin with."

"Ah, Miss Granger, the voice of reason among the insanity." Snape nodded. "I must say, I'm surprised she came up with something so… illicit."

"She's deceptively deceptive," I replied, watching as the potion turned the correct color and grinned.

"Who is?"

I looked around and to the ground. Silas was slithering through a hole at the bottom of the wall. Behind him came another snake, his lady friend from the Forbidden Forest.

"Hello Silas, Sasha," I greeted them, and nodded to the two eggs I'd left by the base of the counter for them.

"Who's deceptive?" Sasha asked, choosing to curl up by the fire as Silas started on his egg. He really was a glutton.

"Granger," I replied to her. "My brother's friend. But it's in a good way this time."

"Potter, I don't appreciate being left out of the conversation," Snape said shortly. I winced.

"Sorry sir, but it's one or the other at one time – I can't do both."

"Wanf uf too keeb waffing Umbissh?" Silas asked around his egg. Sasha hissed at him chidingly.

"Silas! Don't speak with your mouth full."

I smirked at that and shook my head as Silas swallowed down his egg. If a snake could look sheepish, he did.

"Sorry sweetie."

"Just don't do it again," Sasha sniffed, and cuddled up next to him to get at her own egg.

"They're really mushy, it's completely adorable," I confided in Snape, who looked like he couldn't care less.

"Potter, when I want to know about the romantic lives of your bizarre companions, I shall ask. Until then, assume I don't care."

I couldn't resist. "Do those bizarre companions include you, sir?" I asked slyly. The absolutely poisonous look I received in reply was enough to make me cringe. "Er, never mind sir, forget I said anything."

"That would be best."

* * *

Fred and George were strolling merrily down the halls, heads together. Anyone who watched them walk past would have been hard pressed to tell whether they were just being the twins or if they were plotting mischief, which were almost the same thing.

A wand poked out from behind a tapestry and both of them suddenly found themselves yanked behind the tapestry by a Summoning Charm.

"What the-?"

"Who the-?"

My wand lit and Fred and George's faces shifted from confusion to wide grins.

"Rena, my love, it's been too long," Fred said, sweeping me into his arms.

"Are we continuing our forbidden affair?" George cooed, wrapping me up as well. I chuckled and thrashed until they released me. They pulled out and lit their own wands to give us a bit more light, all of us grinning.

"Alas, no, my dears," I replied wryly. "That's not why I, ah, _Summoned_ you this evening."

"Well punned," Fred congratulated. I snorted.

"So what's up?" George asked.

"I was wondering," I said, leaning back against the wall. "What is the biggest thing you boys have ever pulled?"

"Biggest?" Fred repeated.

"Ever?" George clarified.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Like, scale. Have you ever done anything that covered, say, the whole Great Hall?"

Their eyes widened with interest.

"Rena…" Fred wheedled.

"What are you planning?" George coaxed. I smirked proudly.

"Oh no," I purred. "No, you'll have to see along with everyone else. Just answer my question, please, and we'll be on our way."

"This have anything to do with toad-face's new order?" Fred asked knowingly. I grimaced, recalling the hot news in the Common Room this morning.

A large sign had been affixed to the Slytherin notice board, so large it covered everything else on it - the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

 _BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

 _All student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An organization, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No student organization, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

 _Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organization, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

 _Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

"I'm not planning on doing it for a while yet," I admitted. "Not until she's in just the perfect mood for it. Say, her birthday or something. Maybe Christmas."

Fred and George grinned in delight.

"So, this mystery job, it's going to be big?" Fred asked eagerly.

"The biggest."

"And it'll make Umbitch go red?" George beamed.

"The reddest."

Fred and George looked at each other, looked at me, and stretched out their arms invitingly.

"Our little prankster has finally become a master!" Fred sniffed.

"It's such a beautiful moment, isn't it?" George wailed. "Fred, have you got a hankie?"

"You're both ridiculous," I said, and was promptly mauled by red-heads pulling me into a hug sandwiched between the pair of them. I grunted in discomfort and shifted so I could give them both one-armed hugs back.

"She's just so sweet!" Fred and George chorused.

* * *

"You seem to be in a good mood," Malfoy observed as I approached him at our usual meeting spot outside of the dungeons. "Too much to hope that I'm the reason?"

This was the first time that we'd patrolled together since the incident behind the tapestry. Just us, wandering through the school all alone for the most part. I had been nervous for most of the morning until I heard that Ron had been interviewed by Umbridge. A quick check had confirmed that yes, the house elves had gotten him the antidote and yes, Umbridge was looking very put out when he left.

I'd made a promise to myself that whatever had happened behind that tapestry didn't matter in the long run. Nothing irreparable had been said or done so I would go on as normal. Rather, as was normal for this year. Namely, I'd be friendly to Malfoy. Friendliness was about as much as I could offer him at this point.

"Mm, not quite," I disagreed, but I was smiling as I said it and I was surprised to see an echo of my smile curling at Malfoy's.

"Happy that the Quidditch team is still together?" Malfoy tried as we started walking. I snorted.

"Malfoy, you've told me Umbridge is friendly with your dad. No way would you let him let her disband the Quidditch team. You love Quidditch."

Malfoy scoffed. "Yeah I do." He ruffled the back of his hair with a careless hand. "If only I could win now and again, that'd be great."

"Don't start in on my brother," I warned him. Malfoy held up his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Rena."

I froze, brain grinding to a halt. I stared at him in disbelief. "I… _what_ did you call me?"

Immediately, Malfoy backpedalled. "No, I didn't mean… I've heard the Weasels-" I gave him a hard look, " _Weasleys_ and your brother call you that before, and I just…"

I shook my head. "Look, Malfoy, it took two years for me to let even Fred and George call me that…"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow ruefully. "I'm not there yet, am I?"

"No," I confirmed. "You can…" I hesitated. 'Rena' was a nickname, it meant something to me, but just my name, well, there wasn't much special about that, was there? "I mean, if you really want… Lorena's fine, I guess? When, you know, it's just us."

I might have just handed Malfoy the Quidditch Cup, he looked so pleased. "I'll take it," he announced, then pointed a finger at me firmly. "On one condition."

"What's that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, bemused. That pointed finger turned into an offered hand.

"I'm Draco."

I chuckled at the offered handshake. It was… well, kind of corny, and not at all what I'd come to expect from Malfoy. I took his hand and shook, once again surprised by just how warm he was. I don't know why but I'd always had this idea in my head that Malfoy would be as cold as his coloring indicated, so whenever I touched him I was always surprised. He was real, he was human, he was… he was the same as me.

"Draco," I said quietly as his grip tightened on my hand. His eyes burned into me and I swallowed against my will. "I know where you're going with this… whatever it is you're doing?"

"I assumed," Malfoy replied slowly. "You're smart, Lorena, and I've not exactly been subtle."

I started slightly at hearing my first name come out of his mouth, but it drew a smile from me nonetheless. I'd never thought much of my own name – privately, I'd always thought it sounded like a grandmother's name - but Malfoy was so pleased to use it, like it was some kind of gift.

"What I'm getting at," I explained slowly, "is… well, you know better than most how I grew up. I… I've told you stuff…"

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Merlin, Lorena, I'm not going to use that against you or anything!"

"I know," I said quickly, and the words surprised even me.

Whatever he was, I didn't believe that even Malfoy was that cruel. I remembered back the summer before second year when Harry and I ended up in Borgin and Burkes thanks to a flubbed Floo. I'd seen Lucius Malfoy's cane crack down an inch from Malfoy's fingers on a statue. It's seen that same cane bury itself in Malfoy's stomach not two years later. I don't think Malfoy knew quite what I'd been through, but I think he understood better than most what it was like. I doubted he would stoop so low as to mouth off about the things I'd spilled to him.

"I-I know," I repeated, surprise coloring the words. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what is it, Lorena?"

I smirked faintly. "You keep using it, I'm going to rescind your 'Lorena' privileges. It's getting weird."

"No take backs," Malfoy said smugly. I snickered.

"What are you, five?"

"No, I'm _happy."_

My mouth dropped open and I looked up at him. Malfoy was smiling, genuinely smiling at me in a way I'd never seen. The corners of his eyes were crinkled and the storms had lightened and brightened to something warm. It was a full smile; I could see perfectly straight teeth. And, in a gesture that I found inordinately adorable, his nose had wrinkled slightly.

He really _was_ happy. That begged a question – this hadn't just come out of the blue. Well, it had for me, not for him. Malfoy had said that he'd decided it was time to grow up, but growing up didn't mean he suddenly developed feelings for me. No, this wasn't a new thing. It had been going on for some time. How long, that was the million dollar question that I was afraid to ask. A few months, that I could handle. A year, maybe. Anything longer than that and I wouldn't know what to do.

A thought lingered in the back of my mind. My mysterious flowers, white tulips. I wasn't a fool – I could see the possibilities. I'd looked them up once, to see what they meant. White tulips had a lot of meanings. They were apology flowers. They claimed worthiness. They also meant beautiful eyes. Purity and innocence were always associated with the color white. But white tulips also meant love, and that was something I was not ready to think about.

Those white tulips had been coming since my first year. I wasn't vain enough to think that Malfoy had fallen for me at first sight. I suspected they began as an apology, maybe a compliment about my eyes. But if it really was him sending them, then the meaning had grown as we had.

"That's what I'm getting at," I said softly. "I don't… I don't make people happy. I don't… really know…" I dragged a hand through my hair in frustration. I was sick of being a shrinking violet around him. What the hell? If he liked me then he was clearly used to me and all my bluntness and sarcasm and lack of charm. I didn't need to be nervous, because I already knew what Malfoy was working for. I was the wild card in this equation.

"I'm crap at relationships of any kind," I said bluntly. "I'm actually terrible at them. There's probably some deep psychological reasons that goes back to my childhood or whatever, but I'm just very abrasive in general and I tend to be kind of a bitch, which we've already established, and I have these really thick walls, like monstrously thick, and I've got this bad habit of lashing out hard when people make me mad or try to get personal, which you've already called me out on, and…"

Malfoy was looking more and more amused as I spoke and now he was outright shaking his head and chuckling at me.

"Stop giggling, damn you, I'm being serious!" I snapped at him.

"I know, that's what's funny," Malfoy sniggered. "You think I don't know all these things? Bloody hell, I've known you since we were eleven, I'm pretty familiar with you by this point."

"Yeah, well," I scowled, crossing my arms. "I'm just asking you not to get pissed at me for all that, alright? I mean… I'm trying, I am, I'm just not good at stuff like this."

Malfoy snorted. "If I wanted some kind of simpering twit who hung on my every word, I'd be after Parkinson."

I rolled my eyes and threw up my hands, striding off down the hall. "Oh, way to ruin the moment, Draco, bring up Puginson!"

Malfoy was chuckling once more as he jogged a few steps to catch up with me and I was surprised by how normal this felt, how companionable it was to just walk and talk with him. It wasn't awkward or stilted like I'd expected it to be. It came naturally. I talked, he talked, I said something snarky, he said something snarky back, we smirked, lather, rinse, repeat. It was weird and it wasn't exactly normal, but… well, it worked, didn't it? I was not expert on relationships, but I was pretty sure that was the point.


	54. Crucio

"You will notice," said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today."

Sure enough, Umbridge as perched on a stool in a dim corner of the dungeon classroom, her clipboard propped on her knee. She gave me a friendly smile when she caught me looking and I sent one back before turning back to focus on the lesson. I rolled my eyes once I was sure she couldn't see.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; it correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend – instructions," he waved his wand again "-on the board. Carry on."

"Umbridge is fond of you," Daphne observed as we began working. I shrugged.

"I've worked a deal out with her."

"It's surprising, considering how much she hates your brother," Tracey agreed.

"Well, I'm not my brother," I said shortly. Tracey blinked.

"I know," she said, narrowing her eyes at me suspiciously.

These days, keeping up with and pleasing the Slytherins was sliding lower and lower on my list of priorities. In a matter of months, perhaps, we'd all be trying to kill each other anyway and they'd be required to hate me for their own safety. I'd long know that, when push came to shove, I wouldn't be getting any support from my house. Friendliness wouldn't be enough to save me.

Except…

Against my will my eyes flicked to Malfoy. Would he? I mean, I knew he was a coward so I shouldn't expect much, but might he actually stand up for me if the occasion called for it? Even if he did, would I want him to? No, because that would be putting himself at unnecessary risk. I was already very much a lost cause. I didn't want anyone to be hurt or to die for me.

"Stop staring at Draco, Potter," Parkinson sneered. "We all know he'd never touch filth like you."

I blinked and flushed despite myself. I'd been lost in myself, hadn't even realized I was looking at Malfoy. He looked up from his potion, a bit of blonde hair coming loose and dangling in front of his eyes from the steam. He looked at me, a faint smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. Curse him, he really was good looking.

"Well if he won't touch me then you're definitely out of luck, Parkinson," I said breezily and reached for my bottle of salamander blood.

To my surprise, Parkinson just smirked. "We'll see how long you think that way, Potter. Your days are numbered, you know."

I raised an eyebrow, but I couldn't deny I was slightly surprised. Threats weren't uncommon from Parkinson, but they were usually not delivered so confidently or so maliciously. She was planning something, that was easy to tell. I wasn't overly concerned though – Parkinson was an average witch at best. Even if she got the drop on me I was confident I could turn it around.

"So are yours if you put pomegranate juice in that potion," I said, nodding to her. Parkinson sneered.

"Yeah right, nice try-" She tipped the bottle over her potion, which promptly turned a violent mauve and began to release great clouds of gas. I whipped out my wand and Vanished the potion before Snape could get over to us.

"A zero for today, Parkinson," Snape said grimly. "Potter, ten points to Slytherin for quick action."

"Thank you sir," I said, smiling serenely at Parkinson, who glared at me furiously.

As class went on, Umbridge finally rose from her corner and began to ask Snape questions. Keeping half of my attention on my potion, I listened in.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.

"Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable, which I knew was his way of hiding annoyance. Umbridge must piss him off as much as the rest of us.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Umbridge asked Snape.

"Yes," said Snape quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

Snape's lip curled. "Obviously."

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily.

"Oh, I shall," said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," insisted Umbridge, "yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds."

I glared into my potion as I put the finishing touches on it. She was referring to Snape's history as a Death Eater. Yes, I knew, and yes, I forgave the man. I'd seen it myself in Dumbledore's memories only last year – he'd become a double agent and risked his life to try and bring Voldemort down. He was a hero, and Umbridge was acting like he was some parolee who couldn't be trusted.

* * *

 _I was about six years old. I hadn't meant to, really I hadn't, but somehow it just… did. The rug I'd been sitting on had floated up off the ground. I thought it was wonderful, a great sort of ride, and I'd been laughing and clapping my hands in delight as the rug bobbed gently in the air._

 _Then Uncle Vernon had come around the corner. He'd gone first very, very white and then very, very purple._

 _"Stop that!" he roared. The rug crashed down as fear and surprise washed over me – I hadn't noticed him. I yelped as my butt hit the ground and then screamed again as he swooped down on me. He grabbed me by the arm and hauled me painfully out of the room and towards the stairs. Crying now, I beat on the side of his leg with my fist._

 _"Let me go, let me go!" I wailed._

 _"Lorena!" I heard Harry cry from the kitchen._

 _"Harry!" I tugged against Uncle Vernon's hold and tried to break back down the stairs. It didn't work. I lost my balance and my knees crumpled. He didn't care, he just dragged me painfully up the stairs. I was sobbing and wailing and trying to get away as I was dragged across the floor._

 _"No, no stop! It hurts!" I screamed as Uncle Vernon approached the linen cupboard. He wrenched the door open and flung me inside. My head cracked against the wall and then on the bottom of the shelf when I tried to turn around and crawl out. The door slammed shut, nearly crushing my hastily-retracted hand. Darkness swallowed me._

 _"Let her out! She didn't do anything! Let her out!" I could hear Harry yelling outside the cupboard._

 _"Harry! Harry, get me out!" I screamed._

 _"Shut UP!"_

 _There was a loud thud as Harry smacked against the wall. The pictures rattled and I heard Harry give a small yell. The sound of the lock clicking was like a gunshot and I realized I couldn't get out. I couldn't get out, the darkness was surrounding me, pressing in. It was seeping into my lungs and drowning me, I couldn't breathe…_

 _Light suddenly blazed as the door opened and Professor Snape loomed over me. His face was white with rage and his lips were almost invisible so tight and pinched were they. He looked for all the world like some kind of righteous demon about to swoop down on me, but I was comforted by his presence._

 _"I think that's enough," he said softly._

I came back to myself with a gasp. I was on my back on the floor of his office. I stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily for a moment. Snape moved closer and knelt beside me in a rustle of dark robes.

"Slowly," he said as I sat up. He braced a hand against my back to help me straighten. My muscles felt like gelatin and my head pounded with both the stress of mentally fighting Snape and remembered pain.

"Three minutes," Snape praised quietly. "That's a new record. But I was also able to immediately find that which you wished to hide – you must learn to hide it farther down."

"Sorry sir," I said, panting slightly. "I'll do better."

"I expect nothing less," Snape said, offering me a hand. He left me to brush myself off and straighten myself out, my face red. I knew Snape liked seeing scenes like that about as much as I liked reliving them. He grew quiet and angry every time some new horror from when I was younger was revealed to him. His grip on his wand would tighten and his nostrils would flare. I could see the desire for revenge on his face whenever it happened, and much as I appreciated his protectiveness, I was also ashamed for him to see my weakest moments.

I took a deep breath and a couple steps back so that Snape and I were at a decent distance. "Again," I ordered, but Snape shook his head.

"Take a seat, Potter," he said heavily, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. I looked at him uncertainly but took the offered seat. Snape rounded his desk and went to a low cupboard. He flicked his wand over his shoulder at the door and murmured something. I couldn't make out the words but I suspected he was raising extra wards. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't want anyone taking him unawares.

Some people might have been unnerved by this, especially when Snape reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass. I raised an eyebrow. I had no problem with someone taking the occasional drink and I figured Snape would have more reason to drink now than most. It was surprising to see my normally-stoic mentor look so… weary. Battered, that was the word.

"Has… Has he been hurting you?" I asked quietly.

This was a topic we'd never addressed. It was easy to guess that now that Voldemort had returned Snape would have gone back to his role as double-agent. I had no doubt that as cruel as Voldemort was to those who opposed him he was equally nasty to those who followed him and bore his mark. Snape was facing Voldemort who knew how often these days and it was clearly taking its toll.

Snape flinched slightly at the question, his mouth curling in distaste. He raised the bottle and poured a healthy amount into the glass. I watched in surprise as Snape raised the glass, saluted me, and downed all of it in a quick gulp. I jumped at the sound of the glass being set down.

"No more than before," was the growled answer. I scowled, feeling my throat tighten up. I hated the idea of my professor being hurt in any way. He was like a father to me – an idea I knew would horrify my actual father even more than it horrified Sirius.

"Sir," I said sympathetically, "if there's anything I can do to help-"

"You're doing it, Potter," Snape replied shortly, pinning me in place with his dark eyes. "You're preparing. You're fighting to become as strong as you possibly can so that when you face him, you can end him. Until then, I will bear my own crosses, thank you."

"Still," I said sadly. "I wish there was something I could do to help you. I've been so petty, focusing on my crusade against Umbridge I haven't even asked how you're doing."

Snape raised an eyebrow at me challengingly. "Would I have answered you if you had?"

I smiled faintly at that. "No, but… sometimes it helps to know someone cares," I said quietly, remembering grey eyes staring at me behind a dark tapestry. "That one person would give a damn if something happened."

"Whatever happens to me is not on anyone's head but my own," Snape told me firmly. "I made my choice when I was young and foolish, and now I am paying the price."

"You shouldn't have to pay anything!" I spat viciously, suddenly angry at his situation. Furious, actually. "You've done so much for the cause and all they do is give you hell for it, like you're still working for Voldemort! They hate you!"

"If I wished to be loved I would adjust my personality accordingly," Snape countered swiftly. "My work is not why I called an end to our lessons, Potter. Nor is it the reason I needed a drink."

I frowned. "What is it, sir?"

"Potter, when I witness scenes like what I just witnessed," Snape's eyes went dark. "I feel not only how you felt at the moment it was occurring, but how you feel watching me view it. I feel your shame."

I flushed. "Oh. Well, I just… I don't like you seeing me like that, sir," I explained, flustered. "I mean, those memories… I was weak back then, I didn't do anything…"

"You were a child," Snape snapped at me. "It did not fall to you to do something about it. It fell to that useless lump you call an aunt to control her husband and son, which she failed to do. It makes me wish very dearly that there was no law preventing me from putting the fear of god into the lot of them," he said bitterly.

"It happens to other kids, and worse," I said blandly, trying to force down the feelings that came with that statement. "I'm nothing special."

"No, you're right, your situation is not unique," Snape agreed. "But you have yet to learn the most important lesson that comes from living through ordeals – those moments don't make you weak, Potter, they make you _stronger._ "

I scoffed at that. "It's a nice idea, sir, but I don't think so. I've never felt weaker than I did when… well, you know…"

Snape hesitated for a moment, like he was debating something. Remembered darkness showed on his face, so deep and haunting it took me aback for a moment. Then Snape moved. He pulled up his shirt sleeve. Not the left, and I'd expected, but the right. My eyes widened at the sight of silvery, circular scars dotting his flesh. I didn't have any, but I knew what they were.

"Yes, Potter, I do know," Snape said softly.

"Sir," I breathed, staring in horrified fascination at the scars. In a way, these turned my stomach more than the Dark Mark would. Snape may have been misguided and he may regret it, but he'd at least chosen that mark. These he hadn't had a say in.

"My father was not a good man, Potter," Snape began. He was speaking quickly, staring at a spot over my head. His face was blank. He was trying to just say everything he wanted said so that he could get out of the situation. It showed just how little he wanted me to know this, but also proved how much he cared that he was willing to tell me anyway.

"He hated magic, just as your aunt and uncle do. He hated my mother for not telling him that she was a witch until after they'd married. He hated me for carrying on her legacy. Actually," he corrected with a cynical twist to his lips, "I suspect he hated me because my existence tied him to her. I grew up in a house where I was hated, just as you did. My mother wasn't a strong women, she wasn't able to leave him or to stop him when he became… angrier than usual.

"For many years I was just as ashamed of my memories as you are now. Until I realized something important.

"It's that weakness I felt in those moments that pushed me, that drove me to be better. I pursued knowledge and skill so rabidly because I had sworn to myself that I would never be that weak again. I am as strong as I am today – able to lie in the face of the most powerful Dark wizard to live – because of those moments. Those moments are what made me the man I am today. They are not something to be ashamed of… They are something to be proud of. It is as the saying goes: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Silence hung between us for a moment as I stared blankly at the marks on Snape's arm. They probably explained a great deal of his personality from a psychological standpoint, but I couldn't care to examine that line of thought at the moment. All I could do was feel more and more amazed by my Head of House, and be more and more honored that he'd taken me under his wing and helped me become better.

"I think I understand, sir," I said softly, feeling a new sort of calm wash over me. I needn't worry about the past or the future. Anything that happened would make me stronger, so long as I survived was... a surprisingly bolstering thought.

"Good," Snape said. He poured himself another, slightly smaller glass of Firewhiskey and tossed it back with the same ease. I wondered just how many nights Snape had spent drinking alone in his office or his quarters. That couldn't be good from him, physically or mentally.

I wasn't much for praying, but at that moment I sent up a prayer for my potions master. I hoped that one day he found someone who cared about him. It could be a woman, a good friend, but he really needed someone in his life who would just sit with him every now and then, who would keep him from tossing back drinks to dull the pain.

"Let's never have this conversation again," Snape said, setting the glass down and rising. I stood as well, taking my cue that the lesson was over. Snape escorted me to the door and shut it behind me when I left.

I started towards the Common Room. I wasn't sure what to think of this lesson – it was certainly something I would never forget. Tender moments with my mentor were few and far between and they were to be treasured as the miracles they were.

I shook my head as I walked, dragging a distracted hand through my hair. I was confused and more wrapped up inside than I had been in a while. I suddenly had a new project that I wanted to throw myself into – healing. Mediwizardry had been a hobby for me for years but I'd never actually done much beyond reading theory. I could brew the potions and administer them, but there were things spells could do that potions couldn't.

I was cursing myself for neglecting this. What was I doing, fooling around with a business I wouldn't be able to get off the ground for years, at least until after the war was over? No, brewing wasn't my priority right now. Getting myself and Harry out on the other side of this war. Starting a business wouldn't do that for me, Mediwizardry would.

My Occlumency studies were progressing. After a few months of practice I could hold Snape back for all of three minutes. It didn't sound like much, but Snape was an expert. I couldn't stand against Voldemort, but it was something. I'd get stronger, without a doubt, and maybe by the end of next year I'd be capable of going toe to toe with Voldemort and coming out on top like Snape did so often.

Then there were my Animagus lessons. While not strictly necessary, I did enjoy them and they had use. A bird could fit places a person could not and on top of that my form granted me healing abilities. If I could transform then my tears would be better than any potions I could brew for fixing damage. I had managed to get my fingers and hands to cover themselves in feathers, but that was all thus far.

I considered abandoning my crusade against Umbridge and instead focusing my efforts on Madam Pomfrey. I didn't doubt I could convince the matron to give me lessons and perhaps let me shadow her in the infirmary sometimes. There were other ways to practice though, other things I could do. Rats and mice were abundant in the castle and they could be practice subjects for healing spells. I'd have to hurt them first, which I wasn't necessarily okay with, but even if I didn't they'd likely end up the supper of one of the hundreds of cats that roamed the castle.

And there was something else I'd been neglecting – Dark magic. I wasn't a fool, I knew that our enemies wouldn't forsake it just because we thought it was too nasty to touch. I needed to understand how it worked to fight against it. I already had a basic knowledge of it from classes and from being a Slytherin, but I had never done any true research into it. Some part of me had always shied away from it, like researching it would be the beginning of the end for me.

I was jerked from my thoughts literally. I suddenly froze. My body couldn't move no matter how much I strained my muscles. I recognized a Full-Body Bind when I saw one. I waited, heart pounding, sweat beading on my forehead, to see who had cast it.

"Hello Potter."

A simpering Parkinson stepped from behind a suit of armor. Two seventh year boys flanked her with their wands out like her personal body guards. Parkinson's pug face was almost unbearably smug. I cursed myself for letting my guard down after her threat earlier. She had me now, and a trickle of real fear ran down my spine.

I recognized the two boys behind her. They were half bloods, but if they were pure they would have been first in line to join Voldemort. Big, brutish bullies with wicked, violent senses of entertainment. There had been an incident involving them in third year, when a Hufflepuff girl had turned up cursed so badly she didn't speak for a month. They'd never been connected to the incident, but everyone in my house at least knew it was them.

Parkinson wasn't wasting time, she was pulling out the big guns.

"Not so proud now, are you?" Parkinson sneered at me, her eyes glowing with mad triumph as she approached me, her arms crossed over her chest. She sashayed around me, looking my frozen form up and down. She stopped in front of me, looking stunned at the success of her plan. "You've always been so smug, Potter but what about now? Huh? What can you do to me now? Nothing," she hissed.

She raised her hands and braced them against my chest. She shoved hard. I was unable to move, to catch myself. I crashed backwards to the ground and my eyes watered with pain as the back of my head collided with stone. I blinked away the wateriness – Parkinson, no matter what she did, _would not_ make me cry, I swore it.

"Are you starting to realize how much trouble you're in?" Parkinson cooed, looking down at me. She nodded to one of the older boys and he raised his wand, murmuring spells that would quiet the area and keep people from noticing it.

She was going to hurt me, that much I knew. She was going to try and make me scream and cry because that would make her feel powerful, better than me. I couldn't let that happen though, I couldn't let her win. Snape's words rang in my head – what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Parkinson wouldn't kill me, of that I had no doubt. So no matter what happened, no matter what she did to me, I would come out on top, because I would be stronger for it.

A spark of defiance entered my eyes and Parkinson snarled. She raised a foot and brought it down on my face. My nose broke, the bridge of my glasses snapped, and again my eyes watered but I refused to let the tears fall. Hot blood ran from my nostrils and began to trickle into my mouth, coppery and tangy. I had had my nose broken before – I could handle this.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Parkinson shrieked at me. She pulled back her foot and slammed it three times into my side as hard as she could. Parkinson was apparently stronger than she looked because I heard something snap. The dull roar of pain began to fill my torso. Broken rib. I'd had that before. I could handle that.

I stared back at Parkinson confidently. She reached down and dug through my pockets, pulling out my wand and hurling it spitefully down the hallway. She barked over her shoulder, "Free her head."

I felt the body bind lift around my head. I let it loll slightly. Goading Parkinson was a foolish move, but at the same time I didn't know how else to handle an attack. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger._ The more she did to me the stronger I would get.

"Do your worst," I grit out, glaring up at her, "you pathetic bitch."

Parkinson shrieked in annoyance. She was expecting me to curl up and cower under her threats, but that wasn't me. I'd never rolled over and taken anything, and I wouldn't start for her. She was nothing, just a petty, jealous twit of a girl. Me? I was powerful, I was strong. She could hurt me, but she couldn't break me.

I hadn't been quite sure why she'd enlisted the muscle. Once someone was under a Body Bind they weren't going anywhere. Maybe she needed someone backing her to give her the confidence to try. Maybe she needed someone more advanced for the wards. Maybe she wanted someone to stand there and look intimidating while she circled me.

"Fine Potter, fine," Parkinson said, her expression shuttering but for a spiteful glow in her eyes. "You asked for my worst? Here it is." She nodded sharply to the larger of the two boys behind her. His face split into a slow, evil grin and he advanced to stand over me. He tilted his wand down towards me, letting the tip point to different parts of my body like he was trying to decide what to curse.

"Crucio," whispered the boy, and I suddenly understood why Parkinson needed them – she didn't have the guts to use the spell herself.

That last realization was all I could think of before my mind was wiped blank. I'd never been under the Cuciatus before, so I didn't know what to expect. It started as burning ice or freezing fire in my chest. Then it burst out and rushed through my veins to every last inch of my body. It ate at me from the inside as needles stabbed into my skin all over. The pain was excruciating, enough to wipe all time and perception from my mind.

Every muscle seemed to tense simultaneously, constricting and knotting painfully in my body. I arched against my will as my fingers curled into claws. My crown and my heels were the only things that touched the ground for a moment before I slammed back down and my back hurt even more.

Occlumency saved me at that moment, I was certain of it. Otherwise I would have lost myself and screamed. But I was able to float within my mind. Oh it still hurt like nothing I had ever felt and I was still unwaveringly aware of the pain, but I was at the same time separate from it. It was a tenuous balance, one that could fade at any moment if my concentration lapsed, but it allowed me to hold one thought in my mind.

 _Don't scream. Don't cry. Don't give her my weakness._

My eyes were closed against the pain, fighting down tears of agony. Every bit of me wanted to open my mouth and scream my suffering until my throat bled, but I wouldn't. Instead I made a choice and bit down on my bottom lip hard. Pain surged as my teeth buried into the skin and tore it open and more blood dripped into my mouth, running down my chin, over my neck, into my hair, staining my collar.

It might have been a few minutes or it might have been seconds but the spell was suddenly gone. I sagged, my muscles going limp. Every now and then one twitched or spasmed involuntarily with aftershocks from the spell. The only thing I could hear was my own ragged breathing. I opened my eyes to see that Parkinson and her thugs were gone, speeding off and leaving me there.

The clock chimes could be heard only very faintly in the dungeons but I could hear them. My laugh came out as a horrible sort of hacking cough that jostled my lip and nose and made everything hurt even more. Blood splattered from my lips.

Curfew.

They'd tortured me with an illegal curse in the hallway, but they wouldn't break curfew.

I wasn't far from the Common Room, but I was closer to the apprentice's lab. I couldn't make it that far on my own though – I wasn't even sure I could get up, but I made myself do it. I forced myself to float inside my mind once more as I slowly forced my legs to curl. Agony seared in every part of my body, particularly in my joints and injuries. I ground my teeth and growled against them as I flipped myself over.

Parts of me that I didn't know could hurt were blazing with pain. My scalp throbbed, the tops of my feet burned, and the insides of my arms were in agony. As I rolled over onto my hands and knees my palms screamed and my knees cracked. I forced myself up into a kneel. From there, I made myself grab onto a crevice in the wall.

My arms shook as I heaved myself upright. My back and joints ached and I was suddenly wondering if this is what it felt like to be old. I gave a bitter 'ha' of laughter at that. The way things were going, I might not manage to get old, so it was nice to know what I was missing.

I dragged myself along the wall, clinging to sconces and cracks and grates, anything I could get enough of a grip on to keep myself upright as I approached the apprentice's lab. I grabbed at the pedestal that held the statue of the snake coiled around the cauldron.

"Sorcerer's… Apprentice…" I panted. The door appeared. It was on the opposite side of the passage, a distance of two steps that suddenly seemed impossible. I wasn't confident in my ability walk unsupported – my legs shook too hard and muscles still spasmed every now and them. But I had to get through the door – I wouldn't let someone find me like this.

I flung off the pedestal and lunged for the door. I crashed against it ungracefully and my left leg folded under me. I slid down the door, scrambling for purchase. I managed to get a hold of the handle. I hung there for a moment, panting and hissing my anger and pain as I kept myself upright with only my arms.

I swayed forwards and pushed the door open. I dropped my grip on the handle and let myself crash to the cobblestones. They were easy to get a grip on as I dragged myself through the door and into the lab proper. I sagged miserably against the stones, panting and wheezing with effort as my muscles throbbed. Another spasm rocked through me and I shuddered and moaned against the cold stone for a moment.

"Dobby," I rasped out. "Tippy."

There were a pair of cracks.

"We heard Lorena call, is everything-"

"Miss Potter!" Dobby shrieked, and the two house elves fell next to me.

"Don't touch me," I begged as they reached for me. "It… hurts… Tippy, I need you to get… get Snape… and my wand, it's… it's down the hall… please…"

"Tippy will get, Tippy will get, don't worry!" Tippy said, nodding violently so that her ears flapped. She vanished with a crack.

"Poor Miss Potter," Dobby said miserably, staring at me and wringing his hands. "Dobby wishes he could help!"

"Pillow," I requested weakly. The back of my head was killing me from where it had hit the floor and laying on it wasn't helping. Dobby, eager to please, snapped a finger and summoned a green velvet pillow stuffed with feathers, silver tassels dangling from the corners. It was the prettiest pillow I'd ever seen and Dobby was very careful as he gently picked my head up and slid it under me.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. I offered Dobby a hand and he took it between both of his little ones, squeezing comfortingly.

"Anything for Miss Potter," Dobby whispered fondly, bowing over me.

"Potter? Potter!" I could hear Snape calling my name as footsteps hurried up the hall. The glow from his wand grew brighter through the door and then he was there, looming over me. "Merlin," I heard Snape breathe, and he threw himself to the floor beside me, slamming the door shut behind himself. The torches blazed higher at a flick of his wand.

I saw him go very pale at the sight of the blood still running sluggishly from my nose and my bitten lip. The halves of my glasses hung sadly from my ears.

"What happened?" he asked softly as he began running his wand over me. He muttered spells under his breath. Some of them I knew, some of them I didn't.

"Someone decided to teach me a lesson… via Cruciatus," I admitted, grunting in pain as my arm spasmed.

Snape muttered a word so foul I was surprised to hear it from him. "Who, Potter, who? Tell me, and I will make sure they're locked away in Azkaban for the rest of their lives," he swore.

I gave a laugh, and again it came out like a hack that sprayed blood from my lips.

 _"Episkey,"_ he snapped, and my nose jolted back into place with a pop that made my eyes water. _"Scourgify."_ The blood vanished from my face. _"Reparo."_ My glasses settled back on my healed nose, whole once again.

My face felt much better but the rest of me was still a mess. I was starting to understand why the Cruciatus was illegal – it didn't stop once the spell was over. It kept going and going afterwards. I had no doubt that I would be moving like an old woman tomorrow on my way to classes. I also doubted I'd get much sleep because of the pain.

"I'm going to call Poppy," Snape murmured. "I am no mediwizard."

"No!" I rasped, raising a hand to grab his wand wrist. Snape glared down at me.

"Potter, this is no time to be stoic! You've been tortured and you need medical aid!"

I couldn't argue with that, so I let my hand fall back to the ground.

"Fetch Madam Pomfrey," Snape barked to the two house elves who still lingered beside me worriedly. "And the headmaster!"

"No!" I protested again. "Not him!"

"An illegal spell has been used inside the walls of the castle – the headmaster must know. You must tell him who did this so that they can be punished," Snape urged. He waved his wand and muttered something.

"I will punish them," I spat viciously. "And the headmaster can kiss my ass. He only cares about me as far as it affects Harry."

Snape frowned viciously at that but didn't disagree. "Potter, don't risk yourself for the sake of revenge."

"Don't worry," I promised. "I won't. I'm a Slytherin." My grin was more of a grimace, but I thought Snape understood. "Subtlety is our wheelhouse."

The door suddenly slammed open and in stormed Madam Pomfrey and the headmaster. Poppy immediately threw herself down on my other side and got to work while Dumbledore stood over me grimly.

"What happened?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off as Madam Pomfrey poured a dose of Skele-Gro down my throat. I choked and sputtered both in surprise and at the taste.

"Poppy, she needs to answer me," Dumbledore chided. Madam Pomfrey looked over her shoulder at him furiously.

"No, Albus, she needs healing! I need to more her to the Hospital Wing."

"No," I snapped. "You're not taking me anywhere. I'll rest here tonight and go to classes tomorrow."

"Potter," Pomfrey said sternly. "You've had the Cruciatus used on you, I need to keep an eye-"

"I'll report in if anything changes," I told her shortly. "But I'm not giving them the satisfaction of going even one day without my presence."

"Who did this to you?" Dumbledore asked sharply. "Was it the child of a Death Eater? Did they say anything?"

I scoffed. "You think they're the only people who hate me? You really don't know what's going on in your own school, do you?" I said darkly.

"Potter," Madam Pomfrey chided. "The headmaster is only trying to make sure the guilty party is punished, surely you understand…"

"The guilty party _will_ be punished," I replied, but I was staring up at Dumbledore. Blue eyes glittered coldly behind his glasses as he stared down at me. It was a testament to his own lack of empathy that he continued to tower over me, hadn't made even a single move to ask how I was feeling, what hurt. "But I'll be the one to do it."

"Miss Potter, I can't condone student-on-student violence," Dumbledore attempted to reason with me.

"Funny thing, I don't recall asking your permission."

"Miss Potter!" Dumbledore was through humoring me. He barked at me for an answer and Pomfrey glared up at him.

"I'm sorry headmaster, but you're upsetting my patient. I'll have to ask you to leave."

Dumbledore blinked, surprised. "Poppy, I need to-"

"And I need to take care of Miss Potter," Pomfrey said sharply as Snape ran his wand over me, murmuring under his breath. I didn't know what he was doing but it was helping. The residual tenseness in my muscles was easing off.

Dumbledore took one last look around the room, his stare lingering on me, before turning in a sweep of his star-spangled robes and gliding out of the room.

"What is he doing?" I asked the matron.

"I'm making you better, Potter, since it's the only thing you'll let me do," Snape snapped at me. Pomfrey reached out and put a hand over his, stopping him with a stern look before releasing his hand.

"He's using a spell that was developed specifically to fight off the aftereffects of Cruciatus," she told me gently as she poured another potion down my through. I licked my lips, recognizing that Blood-Replenishing Potion, and nodded.

"Next year," I said, and winced when Snape prodded my side gently to see how my rib was coming along. "Next year, I want an internship with you Madam Pomfrey."

Pomfrey blinked. "I don't think this is the time to discuss-"

"It's the perfect time," I said, and grunted in pain as I levered myself into a sitting position.

"Potter, please!" Pomfrey protested, trying to force me back down.

"This is why I need to know how you do what you do," I continued to explain. "Because of shit like this and worse."

"Language, Potter," Pomfrey chided almost absently as she continued to try and gently force me back into a supine position.

"Pardon me, I'm angry at the moment," I apologized, but I refused to let her force me back. I looked at Snape. "I'll need Pain Relief."

Snape nodded. "You," he said, barking at the two house elves who were still lingering in the corner. Dobby was holding Tippy's hands in one of his and had the other wrapped around her shoulder. Tippy was crying silently, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. They looked so sad, but so sweet.

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir?" Tippy asked, stepping forward.

"Fetch Pain Relief potion from my personal stores," he ordered, and Tippy nodded. She vanished in a moment and returned with three vials in her hands.

"Tippy didn't know how much you needs," Tippy said, passing over the vials.

"Thank you Tippy," I told her gratefully.

"You is welcome, Lorena. Tippy just wants to help!" Tippy promised me.

"Severus, you can't be serious about letting her sleep here!" Pomfrey protested. "It's a lab, not an infirmary! She needs care!"

"Yes, but she won't accept it," Snape said pointedly, nodding at me knowingly. "So the best we can do is make her as comfortable as possible here. Such as…" He raised his wand and flicked it at one of the stools at the counter. It transformed into a single bed with a mattress and sheets.

Pomfrey still looked incredibly skeptical about this, but I started trying to rise and she gave in, realizing that Snape was right and I wasn't going to give in.

"Careful Potter!" she warned me as I tried to stand up straight. I swayed dangerously and Madam Pomfrey lunged at me with a worried cry. Snape caught me before I could topple. To my surprise, he swept me up in his arms and cradled me against his side as he pulled back the sheets on the bed. He laid me down like he was tucking in a child and pulled the covers back up.

"Tomorrow will be rough," Pomfrey warned me as she moved forwards, sliding Dobby's pillow under my head. She continued to prod me with her wand worriedly, but the pain was fading more quickly now. I was still sore like I'd gone a couple rounds against Hagrid, but I was at least comfortable. "You'll be very sore and there may still be residual muscle cramping. If you'd let me treat you in the Hospital Wing-"

"If I'm in the Hospital Wing I can't escape Umbridge when she starts asking questions," I said bluntly. "That would be worse than… the Cruciatus," I finished lamely. The joke fell a little flat now that I'd actually felt the spell.

"Umbridge," Pomfrey whispered spitefully. She glanced over her shoulder at the crates and at the cauldrons merrily simmering. Her eyes glowed with pride. "So you're the one that's been making the potions for students. Miss Potter, you really are an impressive young lady."

"I know," I replied cheekily with a weak attempt at a smirk. Pomfrey sighed and shook her head.

"If you begin to feel any worse or if you just need a rest, _please_ don't hesitate to come see me," Pomfrey pleaded. "You'll probably be very tired and pushing yourself won't do any good."

"I've got it," I assured her. "Right now… I just want to sleep."

"I'm sure," Madam Pomfrey said, smiling at me. She patted my hand comfortingly. "I'll leave you to rest. Severus?"

"I'd like to speak with Miss Potter for a moment," Snape said dismissively. Pomfrey stared at him suspiciously.

"Severus, if you press my patient…" she threatened.

"I will do no such thing," he said impatiently. "Go to bed, Poppy, you're no longer needed here."

Pomfrey sniffed and thrust her nose in the air as she left the lab. "Thank you Madam Pomfrey!" I called after her. She shut the door behind her and I gave Snape a dark look. "Rude."

"Poppy is far too familiar with my personality to be offended," Snape said confidently as he seated himself on the remaining stool. He looked at Dobby and Tippy. "In the morning, bring her fresh clothes and her books. Until then, you are dismissed."

"Feel better, Lorena."

"Get well Miss Potter."

With that Tippy and Dobby vanished from the room still holding on to each other. Snape turned away from the corner where they'd been and looked at me.

"Now, may I ask why you were so determined not to tell the headmaster anything?"

"Because he doesn't deserve to know," I replied with a shrug. It pulled across my back and I winced. "He didn't actually care and nothing will be done to the perpetrator."

I wasn't being slick. I knew Snape would figure out soon enough that Parkinson was the culprit, and he'd probably be able to guess who'd done the wand work after that. I was at best only buying a day or two before he figured it out. I just didn't want to talk about it right now was the crux of the matter. Not yet.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Snape challenged me.

"Because my life matters about as much to the headmaster as yours did when Sirius tried to kill you," I said bluntly. Snape's jaw tightened at the memory but he nodded in understanding. "This is a Slytherin matter, so I'll handle it like a Slytherin."

"Try and restrain yourself from doing something equally illegal," Snape warned.

I scowled. No, Parkinson would get just as good as she gave. "No promises, sir."

Snape sighed. "Could you, perhaps, at least plan and prepare before running off half-cocked like your brother?"

"Well of course," I promised. For a moment we sat in silence. There was a pop as Tippy appeared with a set of pajamas in her hands. They were mine, one of the sets Lilly had given me over the years, a pretty mint-colored silk.

"Tippy thought Lorena might be more comfortable in her pajamas," Tippy said quietly, offering me the clothes. I smiled at her.

"Just set them on the end of the bed, Tippy, thank you."

Tippy nodded and moved forward, setting the pajamas where I'd requested. She stepped back and folded her hands in front of her. She looked up at me with her big eyes. "Was it the Umbridge?" Tippy asked worriedly. I had to chuckle at that. Umbridge wouldn't resort to Unforgiveables – not yet, at least.

"No, it wasn't the Umbridge," I assured her. Tippy nodded and vanished again. I looked at my pajamas sadly. "Those would be more comfortable but I don't think I'm capable of being vertical right now."

Snape reached out with his wand and tapped the nightgown. In a flash it was on my body and my clothes were folded at the foot. I sighed in relief – the cool silk felt much better against my sensitive skin than the wool of my uniform.

"Thanks, sir," I said gratefully.

"I tire of finding you at the end of a trail of blood, Potter," Snape said grimly. "This is the second time, if you recall."

I remembered back in first year when Snape found me passed out on the stairs from blood loss after Fluffy struck me. I wasn't surprised that I'd left a trail of blood behind me making my way through the halls, as heavily as my nose and lip had been gushing.

"I like even less that someone managed to torture you within these walls," Snape continued tightly. "This is why I continue in such a dangerous position – to prevent things like this from happening to you."

"You can't keep all the evil out, sir," I said reasonably. "It's always going to get in, or there wouldn't be such a struggle to get it out."

"Still, you have suffered more already than I ever dared fear you would."

I smirked. "I'm strong, sir. As Amity would say, I'm made of hard and bony stuff."

Snape snorted. "I must meet this eccentric boss of yours one day."

I grinned at the idea of Snape and Amity meeting. Talk about an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I had no idea who would come out the better of that meeting but one of them would be left shell-shocked.

"That'd make me laugh," I sighed, my eyelids growing heavy. I let them drift closed and the tiredness began to drag me down. "Mmm, sir?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"I'm really glad I have you."

I might have gotten a response, but I was already asleep.


	55. Planning Revenge

" _Mudblood."_

 _The hiss made Tom tense. His eyes remained glued on the Transfiguration textbook held in his hands. I recognized where he was. It was the Slytherin Common Room, and apparently not much had changed since his time. The same bookshelves, the same skull carvings, and the same button-tufted sofas._

 _This was no longer the orphanage – this was Hogwarts. Tom was no longer the big fish in a small pond. He was now a minnow swimming with sharks – the students around him were far older, far more experienced, and with a far more extensive repertoire of spells than he had._

 _He looked to be barely a first year, and a quick glance at the calendar posted on the notice board showed that it was barely two weeks into the year. The others must have realized quickly that someone less-than-pure had joined their house. Tom Riddle would have a giant red X on his back just like I'd had. And this time, random bursts of magic wouldn't be enough to terrify his tormenters into submission._

 _It was late, and everyone else was in bed but for Tom and what seemed to be a pair of fifth years. They both rose from the table in the corner, a blonde and a red-head, and approached Tom, who was curled in a chair by the fire._

" _I don't want any trouble," Tom said, but his voice was shaking ever so slightly. The blonde snorted._

" _Oh, well if you don't want any trouble," the red head said sarcastically._

" _Listen to me, Riddle," the blonde growled. "You're filth, you know that? You're sullying the rest of us just by breathing our air."_

 _Tom's eyebrow rose. He'd gotten used to being in charge and a bit of that confidence was still carried as he said challengingly, "I can hardly stop breathing."_

 _The red-head grinned widely, his expression vicious. "I disagree."_

" _I think you can stop breathing very easily," the blonde sneered. "We'd be doing the whole school a service, really," he said, swatting his friend in the arm eagerly. "Ridding it of one piece of scum crawling around."_

 _Threats hadn't worked – had made it worse – so Tom turned to logic. "I just want to go to bed," he said, rising carefully from his bed and taking a step in the direction of the boy's dorms. I had a sudden wild thought – was someone still sleeping in Voldemort's bed?_

" _Well we," the redhead gestured between him and his friend, "don't want you to. Guess whose opinion matters more?"_

" _I'm sure yours does to you, just as mine does to me," Tom said slowly, his eyes combing over them and his surroundings slowly, looking for some way out, for something to help him, something he could use. I saw the flicker of both annoyance and unease when he realized he had nothing._

" _No." The blonde shook his head. "My opinion will always matter more than yours. I'm pure, and you're filth. I will always be more important that you. More powerful than you." In a flash he had his wand out. Light flared and Tom flew backward with a surprised shout. He smacked into the hearth and collapsed into a helpless heap as his head cracked against the stone and rendered him unconscious. His book had half-fallen into the flames; as I watched it went up in smoke._

 _The blonde and the red-head grinned at each other and moved away for their rooms._

 _I was still here, though. Cautiously, I approached the fallen boy and knelt beside him. There was a long cut on the back of his head, it seemed, and it was slowly oozing blood. He'd have a hell of a headache and be sore when he woke up, but he'd live – unfortunately._

 _Or perhaps not. As I stared down at him I was suddenly struck by how small he was. This was Voldemort four years younger than I was now. He was just a child, just a kid who'd been thrown into a world he didn't understand and at first it was great… until he realized that people disliked him just as much here as they always had._

 _I knew that feeling. I'd been so delighted to come here with Harry until I became a Slytherin and realized that my surname meant that most of my house didn't give a knut what happened to me, just like at Number 4. I knew the pain, the feeling of helplessness and worthlessness that it engendered and I couldn't help but feel bad for Tom Riddle._

 _I didn't want to, I even tried to fight it, but it was too late. I'd seen too much. I pitied Tom Riddle. I felt so bad for this little boy bleeding on the hearth in front of me that no one cared about. He was so small, so young, to be going through this. I wished that I could have been there, that even one person had been there to care about him and try to make him see reason – maybe we'd have been flourishing under Minister Riddle instead of fighting for our lives against Lord Voldemort._

 _I couldn't touch him in these memories, I knew I couldn't, but I reached out anyway. My hand passed through his shoulder just like I'd expected, so I just let it hover over his arm._

" _I'm sorry," I whispered to the memory. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. No one deserves this and I wish… I wish something could have been done."_

 _Almost like it was an answer to my words, the scene suddenly changed around me. It swirled away in grey fog that cleared a moment later. I blinked in disbelief at Dumbledore's office. There were fewer machines, I noticed, and Fawkes looked a bit ragged, but the biggest change was Dumbledore himself._

 _The headmaster was a ginger, who knew?_

 _Before his desk sat Tom Riddle, looking tiny and fragile in the too-large seat. I noticed that the back of his head had been healed. It seemed he'd made a trip to Madam Pomfrey's, or whoever the matron was back then._

" _Tom, you wished to speak to me?" Dumbledore asked graciously._

" _Yes sir," Tom said respectfully. "I'd like to report an attack."_

" _An attack?" Dumbledore's eyebrows went up. "On whom?"_

" _On me," Tom replied bluntly. Dumbledore's eyes combed over him._

" _You don't seem to be injured."_

" _No, not now," he agreed. "I visited Madam Thistlewhit and had her fix me." His hand drifted to the back of his head where the cut had been and he winced in remembered pain._

" _If Madam Thistlewhit had treated a student who was attacked she would have told me," Dumbledore said slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly._

" _I didn't tell her because I wanted to get out of the Hospital Wing as fast as I could," Tom admitted somewhat sheepishly. "I told her I was startled when the stairs started to move and I slipped."_

" _I see," Dumbledore said, and he no longer seemed quite as eager to talk as he had been before. Tom seemed to notice this as well, because his expression tightened slightly._

" _Two boys set upon me in the Slytherin Common Room," he began to explain. "Fifth years Scabior and Wilkes. Scabior cursed me and sent me flying into the hearth. My book burned and I was knocked unconscious."_

" _Scabior and Wilkes," Dumbledore repeated softly. There was a moment of silence. "I'm terribly sorry, Tom, but there's nothing I can do."_

 _Tom's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're the headmaster," he protested. "Can't you give them detention or something for what they did?"_

" _Perhaps if you'd reported it at the time, but seeing as you lied about how you got the wound and you have no injuries now…" Dumbledore spread his hands helplessly. "There is nothing I can do. I cannot simply give a pair of student detention based on the word of a single student."_

 _I saw the moment betrayal washed over Tom's face before it was replaced with hard understanding._

" _I understand, headmaster," he said shortly, rising from the chair. "Sorry to have wasted your time."_

" _No trouble at all," Dumbledore replied. He offered the boy a bowl of candy. "Take a piece before you go?"_

 _Tom stared at the candy like he'd never seen such a thing before. It was likely the first time he'd been offered candy, but it made his expression harden further. He looked from the candy to Dumbledore, his eyes cold._

" _I have grown used to other people being more important than me," he said quietly. "But I didn't think it would continue here."_

 _With that he turned on his heel and headed for the door. Dumbledore blinked, staring after him._

" _Tom? Tom!"_

 _But Tom Riddle was already gone, and the first few seeds of Lord Voldemort had just been sewn._

"Son of a banshee."

I opened my eyes and immediately the soreness washed over me. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. My joints ached, particularly my knees and back. My skin felt uncomfortably tight and I had a light sheen of sweat on my forehead.

On top of that, I'd had another Riddle dream, as I'd taken to calling them. Somehow I wasn't surprised it had happened. I still felt sorry for him, even while awake, because I could understand a lot of how he'd felt. I had no immediate plans to go out and commit genocide, but I still understood.

With a groan I sat up. My old clothes at the foot of my bed had been replaced by a new uniform. I stared at them dispassionately. That was going to hurt like hell, I was confident. Part of me wanted to move gingerly and try to save myself as much pain as possible. The other part of me wanted to just dress like it was a normal day and get it over with.

That was the part I listened to. I swung my legs out of bed and sat up sharply. I regretted it instantly as my head swam and my back popped loudly down the length of my spine. Groaning, I ducked forward and put my head between my knees. I waited until my head stopped swimming before I righted myself and stood up. My legs felt rubbery and weak, but they were functional.

I wished I knew the spell Snape had used to put me in my pajamas the night before, but since I didn't my only course of action was to get dressed the normal way. I was glad that the Skele-Gro had healed my rib overnight, otherwise I wasn't sure I'd have been able to get my arms up over my head.

It took me five minutes to get out of my nightdress and a further ten to get into my uniform. By the time that was done everything ached. I seized one of the vials of Pain Relief from the counter and tossed it back like a shot, reminded of Snape drinking Firewhiskey in his office the night before. Christ, had all of that happened in one night? It felt like it had taken a week.

I tucked the final vial in my pocket, already promising myself that unless I was doubling over with pain and unable to move I wouldn't use it. I flicked my wand to clean my teeth and fix my hair, and a third flick plastered my face in makeup.

I heaved sigh as I grabbed my book bag and pulled it over my shoulder, letting out a small "oh" of pain when the weight settled. I shook my head, gritting my teeth against it and started for the door. I'd come back down and handle the clothes and bed later if the house elves didn't do it for me.

Thankfully, the potion was starting to kick in and take some of the soreness out as I made my way up the stairs and into the Great Hall. Everyone was already there at the table, including a ridiculously smug Parkinson.

"-well, it's just not like her is what I'm saying."

"Maybe Potter did us all a favor and leapt off the Astronomy Tower," Parkinson sneered. I smirked and drew my wand, pointing it at her plate. Her oatmeal exploded on her. Parkinson shrieked in rage and disbelief as I leaned over her left shoulder.

"Good morning, Parkinson," I purred in her ear. I placed a hand on the table by her plate and leaned over her. My hand holding my wand was on her right shoulder, the tip pointing threateningly at her face. "Surprised to see me, it seems."

Parkinson shuddered under my hand. "Y-You can't have-"

"Oh, but apparently I can," I breathed. "Now you see, that wasn't very smart, what you did. And you had to know that I'll get my revenge. Not today," I allowed. I let the tip of my wand trace across her cheek. "But soon," I promised threateningly.

I raised a hand and grabbed Parkinson's bowl of oatmeal. There was only about a quarter of it left. I picked up the bowl and, very calmly, tilted it. The mushy breakfast food dripped out of the bowl in chunks and splashed onto her lap. Parkinson trembled harder, going very, very pale. That was exactly what I wanted.

"Oops," I growled in her ear. "So clumsy of me. Clean that up, Parkinson, it'd be a shame to turn up to class like that."

With that I turned rose and walked away. I didn't want food right now. Not because I thought I'd be sick, I just didn't want to eat. I didn't want to sit there while all of my classmates stared at me in disbelief and while Parkinson either glared at me or studiously avoided looking at me.

* * *

"What the _bloody_ hell did you do to Potter?" Blaise growled at Pansy the moment Lorena had left. Draco watched her hair bob behind her. He noticed that she was moving slowly as she headed for the door. She was hurt, he realized with a start, and felt a surge of rage towards Pansy.

Pansy straightened up and sniffed, trying to get herself together, but it was easy to tell she was just as rattled by Lorena's actions as the rest of them had been. They'd seen Lorena wrathful, annoyed, irritated, smug, depressed, mocking, and bitter, but the silky smooth threatening tone of her voice was something new. The skillful way she'd shown them all Pansy's fear of her retribution was a masterful bit of intimidation.

Draco shivered. That wasn't Lorena Potter – not the one he knew at least. Not the one who was so rattled by the fact that someone cared about her, not the one who looked away and flushed adorably when she caught his eye these days. This wasn't the Lorena Potter that talked with him companionably in the halls during patrols. This wasn't the Lorena Potter he sent flowers to.

This was the Lorena Potter that was a mask. The spine-tinglingly scary, gut-wrenchingly dangerous Lorena Potter. Draco remembered how good she'd been in their first year, taking revenge on those first years for cursing Daphne and Lilly. He saw flashes of it still, but that goodness had been smothered by the environment of Slytherin – he hated to see it go.

"I didn't do anything she didn't deserve, filthy blood traitor," Pansy sneered, but her voice was trembling and residual shudders still ran through her. She hadn't made a move to get the oatmeal off herself either, which spoke volumes for how terrified she was.

"Do we go after her?" Tracey whispered to Lilly, who shook her head.

"No, she'll want to be alone," Lilly said knowingly.

Lorena had just barely cleared the Great Hall. Draco watched her red hair vanish around the doors before making his decision. Lilly was right, Lorena would want to be alone. But that didn't mean she should be, and that was a difference a friend should be able to tell. He was suddenly realizing just how alone Lorena was.

Draco got to his feet as subtly as he could, flicking a hand at Crabbe and Goyle to keep them in their seats when they made to follow him. Nott gave him a cursory look and Blaise stared knowingly. Draco smirked at him in reply. Blaise may give him a hard time about it, but he was a smart guy, and he was Draco's biggest supporter in his pursuit of Lorena.

He thought he had lost her, but then he saw a bit of red hair whip into an empty classroom. Draco hurried down the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he ducked in after her. He stepped inside to find Potter with her palms braced on a dust-covered desk, her head hanging low.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and walk out now before I hex you," she growled without looking up.

Draco smirked at that, amused. Lorena was right; she wasn't a very nice person. He loved her all the same. "Well, you've reliably informed me over the years that I'm an idiot, so let's assume I don't know what's good for me."

Lorena straightened up and whipped around, green eyes widening in surprise. Almost immediately they filled with pain and she sagged backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the desk.

"Damn, no sudden movements," she muttered to herself. She was paler than normal. Concerned, Draco moved forward so that he stood in front of her, her knees an inch from his thighs.

"What did she do?" he asked her worriedly. "She hurt you, I can tell that much."

"No, she didn't do anything , the cowardly cunt," Lorena snarled, and Draco blinked. She wasn't normally one for foul language. She only used curse words to set off her feelings and she'd never used that word before that he knew of. She was truly angry, and Pansy was truly screwed.

"She just stood there all smug while I was in a Full Body-Bind and let her muscle do the spell work," Lorena continued, glaring darkly at the floor between her knees. "Do you know, this is the second time Snape's found me at the end of a blood trail? I think it's starting to annoy him in all honesty."

Draco choked. "Blood trail? Merlin, Lorena, tell me what she did! Are you okay? Do you need me to help you to the Hospital Wing?" He reached out to grab her shoulders. She looked up at him, surprised, mouth dropping into a little 'o' that he'd always thought was kind of adorable, though she'd kill him for even thinking that.

Awe filled her eyes, tinged with that little bit of fondness that kept him hoping. He'd seen it in her eyes before during their recent conversations. She was starting to warm to him, he knew it, and he was gratified to see the progress he'd made.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly the moment she'd gone from 'Potter's sister' to a girl he was actually interested in. Somewhere along the line her bite and sarcasm had become endearing. Red hair that had once been obnoxious had become lovely. Her intellect, which had always been a sore point in his home given that she beat him in every subject every year, had become something admirable. Added to that she was a force on the Quidditch field and somewhere along the way he'd starting falling.

He'd realized he'd fallen at the end of last year. She came in from the Hospital Wing or wherever she'd been and approached not her friends, but him. She'd requested they play chess, but she could have asked him to strip naked and run through the castle and he'd have done it to make her smile, to get that horrible haunted look of her face. She'd come in looking like a prisoner of war – which, briefly, he supposed she had been – and all he could think of was how to make her feel better.

He'd picked the perfect time to finally try and do something about those feelings. Lorena needed someone badly, that was easy for him to see. She didn't have anyone her age that cared about her for her to talk to. Her brother was too busy being an idiot and Lilly and Tracey had just proved how little they knew her. Draco was there to provide the balm she needed. He felt a bit bad for being slightly glad that she was alone, but he was a Slytherin. He'd take any opening he could use to start building a relationship.

"I'm fine," Lorena said quietly, averting her eyes. "Just sore, is all."

Draco narrowed his eyes. He considered shaking her gently before scolding himself – she was hurt. "You can't start dropping words like 'blood trail' and then brush it off. Sorry, I can't let you go until you explain that one."

Lorena scowled, flushing slightly under his attention. "It's not anything she did to me… well, not all of it. She broke my nose and I bit through my lip to keep from screaming. It bled," she said, and shrugged carefully, looking relieved when it apparently didn't hurt.

Anger settled in Draco's stomach, simmering like a cauldron. Where did Pansy get off hurting Lorena? What did she think she was doing? Not only was it a stupid move on her part because Lorena was the favorite of their Head of House, but because Lorena herself was far more dangerous than Pansy was.

"She broke your nose?"

Draco moved a hand to her chin without thinking and tilted her head up so he could get a good look at her nose. It was as straight as ever, glasses perched on it and a small spray of freckles on the bridge. So focused was he on making sure she was okay that he failed to notice the supremely uncomfortable look on her face. He finally did and, with a wince, let go of her face.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But you said you were trying not to scream…"

Lorena snorted. "Do you _know_ how many times my nose has been broken? It's at least a dozen. That's not why I was trying not to scream, it was when she had her muscle hurt me."

"What did they do?" Draco asked, looking her over. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked more worn than she had in a while. She'd always been skinny, although she'd finally hit her growth spurt and was now an average height. He didn't know what he was looking for really – obviously she wouldn't still be bleeding. Still, he couldn't help but shake this horrible idea like when he looked down there might be a rosette spreading across some part of her. "Slicing Charm? Some kind of hex?"

"No." There was something strained in her voice, something haunted that made him look up. She was willing him with her eyes to understand as she said, "She had them _hurt me._ "

Draco frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant by that. Hurt her? There were tons of spells that could be used to cause pain, from a Stinging Jinx all the way to-

Draco paled and stared at her in disbelief. Lorena's answering smirk was weak as she nodded. "That's right," she said darkly. "Cruciatus."

Horrible images filled his mind. Draco had never seen the Cruciatus curse performed, but he'd seen his father return from enough Death Eater meetings over the summer pale and shaking and unable to control his limbs even hours later to know that it would be a horrifying thing to witness. To think of Lorena like that, thrashing and trying so hard to be strong and not show how much it hurt that she bit through her own lip… it turned his stomach and made him want to lose his breakfast.

"You've got to tell Dumbledore," Draco said hoarsely. "Tell him, get her tossed out, get her thrown in _Azkaban._ "

Lorena laughed harshly. "I'm a Slytherin. Dumbledore doesn't care what happens to me so long as it doesn't affect Harry. I… I dragged myself into a room off the corridor." She was hiding something, he could tell, but he couldn't imagine what. She'd confessed to being tortured by _the_ torture curse. What could be worth hiding after that? "Snape came and sent for Pomfrey and Dumbledore. I tossed the old bastard out. I told him I'd handle it on my own."

"Why?" Draco demanded angrily. "Lorena, if this is some kind of macho owl crap, if you're trying to be strong-"

"I _am_ strong!" she snapped at him with enough venom to take him aback. "I'm doing this because as much as I want her to stuffer – and oh, she will – Parkinson did open my eyes to one thing."

"And what's that?" Draco demanded angrily. "How silly you're being?"

"Exactly!" she snarled back, surprising him. "I'm acting like nothing's happened, like it's business as usual when we both know what's coming. It's like you said before – we may not have much time left before things get ugly. Parkinson showed me that the ugly is already here. She showed me…" Her eyes hardened. "It's time to stop being soft and childish and start being an adult. To start fighting back."

The hatred and bitterness and rage and sadness as coiled up and swirling in her eyes made him soften. He didn't care if it made her uncomfortable. Draco reached out and cupped her cheeks, glad that things were open enough between them finally, after all these years, that he could touch her like this, say things like this to her.

"Please don't do that," he begged her quietly. "I really hate when you do that."

"D-Do what?" she was stuttering, the confidence and darkness gone in a flash as he pitched her head-first into unfamiliar waters. It was endearing. "What'd I do?"

"I hate when you hide behind all the threats and the snarls," Draco explained. "It's something I noticed, particularly after third year. That's how I knew I'd really hurt you. You went dark on me."

Lorena scowled. "Like you don't do the same thing," she mumbled. "You want a prize for noticing?"

"I'd take a kiss if you're offering," Draco said, sliding easily into the teasing rapport that had built up from years of mocking that faded into friendliness. He added a stroke of his finger across her throat just for kicks. He was rewarded when Lorena went completely red and her jaw dropped open. She gaped at him in disbelief before scowling thunderously. The corners of her lips kept trying to twitch up – she was trying not to laugh. This form of messing with her was far more fun than shouting insults from across a classroom, he was finding.

"You…" she chuckled, shaking her head. "You know, if you'd been like this earlier we might have been friends sooner."

"And if my dad didn't work for the guy who killed your dad?" he offered in a weak attempt at a joke, letting his hands fall away to rest casually with his fingers brushing the tops of her knees. He was relieved when he got a snort instead of a curse.

"Yeah, that too."

"You know, I wasn't the only one that wasn't very nice," Draco said leadingly. Lorena stared at him darkly, her bottom lip poking out ever so slightly in protest. He doubted she'd even noticed she'd done it.

"Yes, yes," she huffed irritably. "I just… I am grateful for the change, Draco," she said, suddenly earnest. He'd noticed that she got like this sometimes, going from teasing to genuine and intent like a switch had been flicked inside of her. "It's new and I was wary at first but I… I do appreciate it."

"You were right to be wary." Draco had to give her that. "I've been a bastard pretty much since we met."

"Well, I've been a bitch, so…" Lorena said with a careless tilt of her head. She smirked softly and looked up at him. "I guess we're alike in that respect."

"One more thing too," Draco added. Lorena frowned.

"What's that?" she asked, eyes immediately going slightly suspicious. She was still bracing for an insult and Draco cursed himself for spending all those years making her hate him.

"We're both going to be late for Charms if we don't get going soon," Draco said with a smile. Lorena smiled back at him for that one, a real smile that showed her teeth and wrinkled the corners of her eyes. She started to rise and Draco reacted instinctively, bracing her with his hands on her waist so that she didn't collapse or anything. He looked her over in concern again, still wondering vaguely if he should take her to the Hospital Wing despite what she said. That'd only get him hexed, though.

He was surprised when, instead of stepping away from his grip, she actually stepped forwards so that her nose brushed his chest. Lorena looked hesitant, uncomfortable, and incredibly childlike as she spread her arms uncertainly. Draco realized with a jolt that she was about to hug him a second before her arms wrapped around his torso and tightened. She turned her head sideways and pressed her cheek to his chest, letting out a breath.

Draco could almost imagine Blaise standing in the corner of the room frantically waving his hands and telling him to make the most of the situation. He was careful, wary of squeezing too hard as he let his arms slide from her hips around her back, hugging her back gently. One palm was pressed flat to her spine and he felt it loosen slightly. He was thrilled to see that she could accept affection from him.

"Thank you," Lorena whispered, pulling away. Draco immediately dropped his arms, wary of overstaying his welcome, but when she stepped back and looked up at him she was back to smiling softly. "I really needed that."

"Any time," Draco offered genuinely. She chuckled at that and shook her head.

"I'm sure," she said drily. "Come on, Charms awaits."

* * *

I was in the Restricted Section. As usual, I did not have permission. It was nearing midnight and I sat at a table. I had four books spread open around me. Two were on the Cruciatus. They were both far from approved reading material. One seemed to be a sort of handbook for torture – it was a bound copy of notes from someone who'd studied the curse extensively. It gave usual symptoms after varied lengths of time under the curse. The other was more medical – it described in minute detail the sort of physical affects the curse left on the body.

I'd pushed that way away quickly. I'd get there eventually, but for now reading about it made me sick.

The other two books were on poisons. I hadn't forgotten Parkinson. I wasn't too concerned with her muscle – they'd mess up and screw themselves sooner or later and Azkaban was worse than anything I could do to them. No, Parkinson was my target and I'd make sure she paid dearly for what she'd done.

After some debate I'd settled on poison. Not only was it relatively easy to access – there were about two dozen ingredients in the student's ingredients store that could be turned into something toxic if you knew what you were doing – but because I liked the idea. Parkinson eating her breakfast, thinking it's a normal day, when suddenly she can't breathe. The pain sets in, and then the fear, and she's collapsing in front of the entire Great Hall.

I wouldn't kill her, not really. But I'd make her suffer.

I had both of these topics out in front of me, information at my fingertips, but my attention kept drifting away. Normally a book on a topic I was interested in could hold my attention in a way few other things could, but I couldn't stay focused. And what did I mind keep drifting to? Draco sodding Malfoy.

I hated him a bit for being a distraction but I couldn't deny how much I'd enjoyed our little moment in the abandoned classroom, much as it made me feel disgusted with myself for being so ridiculously girly. He'd been so concerned with what was wrong with me, and so angry once he found out about the Cruciatus.

I wasn't sure what had made me tell him. Probably that he was there, that I was upset, that he cared. I seemed to be doing a lot with him, saying a lot, just because he cared. I was starting to realize something about myself – I was helpless in the face of someone who gave a damn. It was so rare in my life that when it happened I was so grateful I dropped some of my walls. This could be both good and very, very dangerous.

Still, the girlish flutter at the memory of him steadying me when I slid off the table wouldn't leave me be. The warm look he'd been wearing when he'd teased me about Charms, that kept making me go a little melty. And I'd said it before and I'd say it again, but _damn_ him and his pretty _bloody_ eyes that made me blush like a _bloody_ tomato.

I was angry with myself for being like this. I was focused on a guy like some sort of… of teenage girl when I had so many more important things to worry about. Voldemort, Occlumency, Umbridge, Animagus, brewing… there was a Quidditch game in two weeks against Gryffindor, and no way was I letting Gryffindor take this one. My revenge was foremost in my mind at the moment, of course.

"Miss Potter."

I jolted and had to stifle a scream at the sound. I plucked my lit wand from teeth and lifted it aloft, casting around for whoever had spoken. A woman with a snubbed nose in a dress a good three centuries out of fashion was lingering inside the portrait of a field of thestrals. One of them started to nibble at her sleeve and she shoved its head away sharply.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office," the woman said primly. "The password is Licorice wands."

I rolled my eyes at the headmaster as the woman turned and exited the frame, her message delivered.

"Well, since Albus Dumbledore himself has summoned me," I said sarcastically as I stood up, gathering the books into my arms. I replaced them on the shelves and picked up the Marauder's Map. Using my lit wand to read it I began working my way through the castle. I technically had permission to be out this late, seeing as Dumbledore had ordered me to his office, but it would be more trouble than it was worth to run into Filch or McGonagall.

I avoided them skillfully and found myself in front of the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Licorice wand," I snapped at it, schooling my expression into one of disdainful impatience as the gargoyle leapt aside. I didn't waste any time mounting the stairs and riding them to the top – I did intend to get some sleep tonight, after all.

"Professor Dumbledore?" I called, tapping on the door at the landing. "You wanted to see me?"

"Come in," Dumbledore called. I nodded and steeled myself before shoving open the door and stepping inside.

The office was the same as ever, with Dumbledore's weird machines that seemed to do nothing puffing out smoke and whirring. The portraits of headmasters and headmistresses past were mostly dozing in their frames, but a few were still up and moving – I saw the snub-nosed woman who'd fetched me settling herself down in a straight-backed wooden chair and pulling a pillow out of somewhere.

Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk and I took it. Glittering blue eyes stared at me over half-moon spectacles.

"Miss Potter, I need to know who attacked you," he began, steepling his fingers.

"Not very badly, apparently, because you've waited two days to ask again," I disagreed, leaning back in my chair and spreading my hands to rest on the arms of the chair, presenting a picture of ease.

"I was hoping you would come to me," Dumbledore explained. "I want you to trust me, Miss Potter."

"Well that's never going to happen," I said bluntly, and I was about as surprised as Dumbledore seemed to be. I'd never liked the man very much, but this was the first time I'd dared to really say much against him. Maybe it was lack of sleep but far more likely was that I was getting really sick of him playing chess with the people around him and steering Harry into danger while looking down his nose at me.

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked quietly, and his twinkle was starting to fade. "If I have done something to upset you, Miss Potter, I assure you-"

"That you meant to do it," I cut him off. Again, I wasn't quite sure why I suddenly felt free to say these things to the headmaster – but then it clicked.

As a student, he was just about the most intimidating thing in the school. Everyone, Muggle or magical, dreaded seeing the headmaster. And while I was a student, he had the intimidation of his title. But I wasn't a student – like I'd told Draco, I was growing up. School, while still important and a large focus of mine, was not as relatively important anymore. There was a war on, after all.

Also, I had very little respect for Dumbledore. I had read the papers so I wasn't quite as in the dark as Harry had been upon arriving in Grimmauld Place, but I only knew a few snippets of information more than he. It was Dumbledore who had ordered us left there and he who had ordered we be kept in the dark. I hadn't made as much of a fuss about that as Harry had, but that didn't mean I wasn't angry with him.

Realizing that I was no longer afraid of Dumbledore was a relief, a breath of fresh air, because suddenly instead of feigning relaxation I actually was relaxed. What could he do, take points? Snape would fix that before the week was out. Give me detention? Oh, I'd _love_ to see him fight Umbridge on that one, seeing how much she liked me and hated Dumbledore. He couldn't do much worse to me because I was Harry's sister and suddenly instead of being a burden it was a blessing. I was the twin of Dumbledore's shining beacon of hope, his _savior_. Really and truly hurting or angering me was decidedly _not_ in his best interest.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked shortly. "Spit it out, because if you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed."

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore scolded gently. "I understand you've had a traumatic experience, but you must still show me some respect…"

"Really?" I asked innocently. "Must I? Because as far as I can tell you've done nothing to deserve it. I will show you exactly as much respect as I think you're due, headmaster."

"You're dangerously close to insubordination," Dumbledore cautioned, and his stare was flat blue. All the twinkle was gone, and I was glad to see that.

"Do let me know when I've crossed the line," I chirped. "And what will you do to me then?"

I enjoyed watching him stew in his own impotence. I was right – he couldn't touch me.

"You will leave Miss Parkinson alone," Dumbledore ordered sharply. I wasn't surprised he'd figured out who it was. Anyone could have seen my little show in the Great Hall at breakfast the other day and I doubted very much that Dumbledore was incapable of making that deduction.

"No, I don't think I will actually," I disagreed. "You see, she crossed a line." I shrugged helplessly. "How else is she going to learn?"

"Through the appropriate legal channels," Dumbledore stressed.

"So, what, detention?" I scoffed. "Please, don't make me laugh. I've been getting detention for the hell of it for years. If that's all Parkinson gets, she'll be back after me in a week. Sorry, this is a preventative measure."

"I can protect you," Dumbledore offered, but it was obvious by his tone how very little he wanted to.

"You're right," I agreed, visibly surprising him. Rage pounded through me, not just for my sake but for Snape and Tom Riddle and everyone else the headmaster had ever written off. "You could. But you never have in the past so I fail to see why you would now."

"That's hardly true-"

"Really?" I countered swiftly. "Because I've gotten hurt worse on your watch than I ever did at Privet Drive… which, come to think of it, is still technically your watch seeing as you're the one who makes me go there."

"For your own safety-"

"Yet you've never explained how it supposedly keeps me safe," I countered swiftly, rising from my chair. "That's one of your problems, one of a long list actually – you don't share information. And you wonder why I don't trust you?" I scoffed. "Now, this conversation is over. I'm going to go to bed, and when I get up in the morning I'm going to go right back to planning on getting revenge on Parkinson and I'm not going to feel even a little bit bad about it, nor are you going to be able to stop me."

I turned and headed for the door. Dumbledore called after me, "Miss Potter! Think of Harry! How will it affect him to see what you've done?"

I froze. He was going to try and play Harry against me? Oh, that was it, the gloves were off. "I don't know," I said softly. "I'll tell him my version of the story, you tell him yours. Who will he believe, you think? The twin sister he's wanting so badly to reconnect with or… his teacher?" I finished, peering over my shoulder.

"You made a mistake, Dumbledore, when you wrote me off. You lost yourself what could have been a very valuable piece on this little game of chess you seem to be playing. But I was the other Potter, and a Slytherin besides." The words rose to my mouth without conscious thought, but I didn't regret them.

"I have grown used to other people being more important than me," I said quietly. "But I didn't think it would continue here."

The sheer horror that had crossed Dumbledore's face when he recognized the words kept me smiling as I drifted off to sleep that night.

* * *

 **Guys. I'm thinking of starting a new story. I know, I know, I shouldn't. But with all this new information coming out before Fantastic Beasts, I've fallen absolutely in love with the idea of Ilvermorny and it's history and I can't help myself, I have to write. I'm planning a story that takes place at Hogwarts during the Marauders era, but with a characters who has close ties to Ilvermorny. I find it interesting, knowing more about it, how closely tied it seems to be to Hogwarts, at least in terms of its development and I want to explore some discovery of the school's history from an outsider's perspective. This isn't something I would update regularly, if I even post it at all, and to Be a Slytherin and Only Forever would be my main priorities, I promise.**


	56. Dumbledore's Army

****Hey guys! I know I'm a day early, but I'm going out of town and I will be spending most of Wednesday in airports, where the internet connection is not the best. I wanted to make sure you guys got this while I still had access to a decent connection. So, enjoy!****

 **Also, thanks to Codee21 for giving me a plug in her story. You guys go check out her work!**

* * *

Hermione had given me the charmed Galleon and I sat with it on my bed. I wasn't in my pajamas, but in jeans and a t-shirt with my hair pulled back tightly into a braided bun, better for dueling. I sat tapping my wand on my leg as I scanned the Marauder's Map. It had been agreed that it would be best if I waited until everyone was there to make my appearance at the defense meeting, otherwise some people might turn around and walk right back out.

I watched as Fred, George, Ginny, and Lee made their way out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Some Hufflepuffs were on their way up from the basement and a cluster of Ravenclaws that included Cho Chang was also on their way. I rolled my eyes and wondered if Harry would be able to teach with Cho watching him the whole time.

None of them were being at all subtle, just heading straight for the room. I made a mental note to mention that and also talk to them about Disillusionment Charms.

With the last of the people nearly to the room, I quickly cast the charm on myself and slipped from my bed, making my way towards the seventh floor. I was not exactly invisible but I was like a chameleon. I stayed in the shadows and along the walls as much as possible, where the pattern of the stone would be easy to replicate and harder to pick out a mistake in.

The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy training trolls was a monstrosity but it was at least a good place marker. I walked in front of it three times, thinking _I need to get to the defense club, I need to get to the defense club._

On the third pass the door appeared.

"Bless those house elves," I muttered and opened it up, keeping the spell in place as I stepped inside. I stared around, impressed. There were cushions for practicing summoning and banishing and most of the students were perched on some. Several dummies for practicing defensive spells were against one wall. There were shelves and shelves of books presumably on defensive magic and the other walls were lined with mirror that would let those practicing watch their stances and their wand movement to pick out mistakes.

No one had noticed me yet. I crept around the edge of the room, making my way for Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the front of the room. Harry was looking around for me but I was still invisible. I kept closer and leaned against the mirror near them, listening.

"She said she might not be able to make all the meetings," Hermione murmured.

"Yeah, just I figured she'd make the first one," Harry said, wincing slightly. I knew he was wishing for my support but I couldn't give it yet. I needed to be careful about when I revealed myself or there would be an uproar and a stampede for the door.

"Okay, let's do this," Harry said, and squared his shoulders.

He moved across to the door and turned the key protruding from the lock. It clicked in a satisfyingly loud way and everybody fell silent, looking at him. Hermione carefully marked her page of _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ and set the book aside.

"Well," said Harry, slightly nervously. "This is the place we've found for practice sessions, and you've - er - obviously found it OK."

"It's fantastic!" said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement. Harry flushed.

"It's bizarre," said Fred, frowning around at it. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then."

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass on one table.

"Dark detectors," said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled."

He gazed for a moment into the cracked Foe-Glass. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, though none were recognizable. He turned his back on it.

"Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and – er-" He noticed a raised hand. "What, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect a leader," said Hermione.

"Harry's leader," said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad. Harry's face was bright red.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," said Hermione, unperturbed. "It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Everybody put up their hand.

"Er - right, thanks," said Harry, who was redder. "And - what, Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she said brightly, her hand still in the air. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.

"I was thinking," said Hermione, frowning at Fred, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defense Association?" said Cho. "The DA for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the DA's good," said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

I resisted the urge to snort. That was a brilliant idea – until they got caught and suddenly the Ministry was staring Dumbledore down with paper evidence to back up their ridiculous fears.

There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

"All in favor of the DA?" said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's a majority - motion passed!"

She pinned the piece of parchment with all of their signatures on it on to the wall and wrote across the top in large letters: DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY. Oh wonderful, more evidence, that's just what they needed.

"There's just one more thing you need to know," Harry spoke up, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at the door hopefully, but it hadn't moved. He was going to tell them, which was my cue. "Some of you probably won't like it, but-"

I ended the spell and those closest jumped as I suddenly appeared with a smirk, looking incredibly casual. "I'm going to help teaching."

"She's a Slytherin!" protested some sixth year Gryffindor.

"Does that stop me from knowing Defense?" I asked pointedly.

"No, but it stops us from trusting you!" he retorted.

"Then you're a fool," I said shortly. "Slytherin I may be but I'm also a Potter and I want Voldemort to come out of this on top as little as you do."

"I've seen you cozying up to Umbridge!" accused some little third year Hufflepuff. "What about that, huh?"

"What, and it's a horrible idea to be on her good side instead of constantly getting detention?" I said as if I was talking to a very slow child. Which I was. "Think before you speak, you'll live longer," I said dismissively.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this," Zacharias Smith said firmly. "I mean, why should we trust her?"

"Why don't you shut up, eh?" Fred called.

"How about this?" I said slyly. "Anyone who doesn't think I should teach, come up here and duel me. If any one of you beats me… well, the clearly I'm not necessary and I'll leave."

Harry shook his head. "Rena, you don't have to."

Hermione put a hand on his arm. "She needs to prove herself to them," she disagreed.

"Alright then." I moved to the side of the room that wasn't covered in students on cushions and drew my wand. "Anyone want to back up their claims?" I stared around imperiously, waiting for a challenger. Many of the ones that had looked upset upon seeing that I would be teaching were suddenly looking hesitant and I wasn't surprised. I'd sent people to the Hospital Wing before and I wasn't going to be any nicer here.

"Well if none of the rest of you are up for it," said the sixth year Gryffindor, getting to his feet, "I'll take care of her."

He drew his wand and swaggered over to me, standing across from me. We raised our wands and turned our backs on each other. I counted paces in my head and, halfway through the standard pacing, I rotated on the ball of my foot.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ I said. The boy wasn't fast enough to raise a shield charm, too caught off guard. His wand was yanked from his grip. I caught it deftly and pointed both wands at him, sending him sprawling with a double tripping jinx.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded furiously as he climbed to his feet, raising a hand to his scuffed, bleeding chin.

"That was reality," I said coldly as I pitched him his wand. "Just because you want to fight fair doesn't mean your opponent does. You think Death Eaters lack honor? Then they have no incentive to fight fair. And trust me, they won't. While you're thinking about rules of engagement they've already got a spell on their lips. That's how a real fight works."

The sixth year was still glaring, but I could see that I'd made him think and he looked grudgingly impressed. He even took a step back as I swooped towards him with my wand out. He raised his own but I just batted his hand aside with my free one and pointed my wand at his chin. I cast a healing spell and his eyes widened in surprise as he touched smooth, unscarred skin. A further flick of my wand wiped away the remaining blood.

"Anyone else?" I demanded as he returned to his seat, looking a bit thoughtful. I was confident it was the first time he'd ever worn that expression.

If they were hesitant before, then the students who'd been wary before looked outright scared. Some still didn't look pleased but they were at least less gung-ho about challenging me, which I took as a good sign. I looked across the room at Harry. I was helping out but this was his show. He nodded to show he didn't mind me handing the Gryffindor and heaping helping of humble pie.

"I don't think you should be teaching us," Zacharias Smith said, getting to his feet pompously. "And I don't think you're as good as you think."

"What, you think I let her win?" the sixth year demanded. Zacharias didn't say anything as he took his place across from me. I raised my wand, my other hand fisted and tucked firmly behind my back. My dueling stance was similar to the stance used in old-fashioned Muggle shooting duels.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ he shouted, waving his wand grandly. I rolled my eyes. I'd seen the spell coming before he even cast it. I didn't move at all and his eyes widened in triumph as the red beam of the spell shot towards me. "Ha!"

His eyes widened in horror when the beam bounced off the shield charm I kept up at all times and came back towards him. He ducked frantically.

"Don't assume that your opponent is unprotected just because you can't see the defenses!" I snapped at him, and thought, _"Rictusempra!"_ The spell burst from my wand and hit Smith, sending him flying backwards. He skidded across the floor and landed against the opposite mirror with a thud, groaning.

"That was a nonverbal spell!" Cho said, looking grudgingly impressed. "That's sixth year material!"

"That's what you need to be able to do in a real duel," I countered as I walked across the room and offered Smith a hand. He took it and groaned again as I heaved him to his feet. I cast a general spell against soreness on him and nudged him back towards the cushions. "While you're busy waving your wand and shouting spells, your opponent has time to think, and they can think faster than you can speak. I don't know if you've noticed, but some spells are pretty long. In the two seconds it take you to get out _'Expelliarmus'_ I've already got a shield up and a spell coming at you."

There was a murmur around the room as those who were watching nodded in agreement with my statement. I heard someone mutter, "That makes sense," and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Honestly, these were the students who were training themselves to become fighters and none of this had ever occurred to any of them? God help us if this was our final line of defense against Voldemort.

"You're a good duelist," said a Ravenclaw. He looked like one of the oldest students here and I'd seen him around. He was at least a sixth year, probably seventh. "But I can do nonverbal magic as well. And even if you are able to cast spells without speaking, what if your opponent can do the same?"

This Ravenclaw knew what he was doing, that was clear from his stance. By that I meant that he actually had one. The Gryffindor knew enough to sort of square up his feet but his balance was all wrong and Smith had just stood normally. This Ravenclaw was grounded and stood tall and firm as he raised his wand.

"Then things get interesting," I said softly.

His wand tip lit and I recognized the flick of it. He was upping the ante and opening with a Stunner. He expected my shield though and followed immediately with a more powerful spell. I flicked my wand and silently replaced my standard _Protego_ with a stronger shield before flicking my wrist as little as possible – no extraneous movement, that was the key.

My spell clashed against a shield and his rang against mine, the spells bursting into nothing against the defenses. I sidestepped and fired another spell. A blast of purple light came at me. I pirouetted around it to save myself the trouble of casting a shield and used the spin to camouflage the movement of my wand. The Ravenclaw was looking grudgingly impressed as his spell sailed past the end of my ponytail. He sidestepped my spell and the pair of us sent off a quick volley.

To his surprise I ducked and rolled instead of sidestepping or strengthening my shield. The edge of my shield sent a spell towards the ceiling where it burst in a shower of sparks. I came up closer to him. My spells wouldn't have as far to travel and he'd have to react faster now. On the other hand, the same was true for me. I was taking a calculated risk. He was a Ravenclaw, so it was possible that his own studiousness meant he knew more spells than I did but my footwork was better, I'd noticed.

I popped up with a spell on my lips and a different one in mind. I may have said a Disarming spell but what I actually cast was the equivalent to a powerful concussive blast. It rang against his shield loudly and bluish sparks burst around all of us and his shield broke. A few of the watching students closest to us hastily scooted back.

" _Legilimens!"_ I shouted as the boy made eye contact with me, surprised by the force of my spell. I'd never attempted the spell before but I knew the theory. I was falling forward, his memories filing my mind.

I wasn't capable of really and truly using Legilimency at all, let alone in the pressure of a duel. However, that didn't mean I couldn't make the attack worth something. I drilled into his thoughts and retracted in a flash, the equivalent of a mental punch in the face. The Ravenclaw staggered, clutched his head, and I recognized the characteristic swish and flick of a levitation charm and was confused as to what he was doing.

I realized a moment later as my toe caught on a slightly raised stone. It was a brilliant move really and threw me off. He tried to keep my off balance and shouted, _"Legilimens!"_ Obviously he didn't know what the spell was really or I doubted he would have attempted it. His eyes widened when his weak attack crashed harmlessly against my mental barriers, like waves against a sea break.

I glared but the moment of distraction bringing up my Occlumency barriers had cost me was enough. My wand went flying from my hand and into the Ravenclaw's. He pointed his and mine at me and opened his mouth to speak a spell. He cut off with a strangled yell as I lunged at him, bearing him to the floor under me. I punched him in the face shamelessly and snatched my wand and his from his startled hands. The fight ended with me straddling him, him groaning, and both wands pushed into his neck.

I panted. "You're good, but your foot work needs some attending to. And getting my wand, that doesn't mean you've won. Muggle fighting may be considered dirty pool but in a fight for your life you don't have the luxury of being nice. You want to throw your opponent off and grab a few precious seconds? Forget magic, punch the bastard. If it's a guy, kick him in the bollocks," I said shamelessly. "If it's a girl, punch her in the tit. Trust me, it'll take her down."

The other students were wincing and looking grudgingly impressed. I handed the Ravenclaw his wand and waved my wand over his cheek with a healing spell on my lips. I slipped off of him and stood up, looking around the room as he climbed to his feet and rubbed his jaw. He wasn't feeling the hit any more, my spell made sure of that, but I didn't doubt he wasn't used to being punched.

"Anyone else?" I asked, still breathing a bit deeper than usual.

"You know your stuff," admitted the Ravenclaw. "I think you've made your point."

I smirked. "Good. Now, let's get down to work."

* * *

A hand darted out and pulled me behind a tapestry. I had my wand out in a flash.

"You look like hell," Malfoy said, looking utterly unconcerned to have my wand at his throat.

"You're sweet," I grunted, stowing my wand. "What do you want?"

"You look like hell," Malfoy repeated.

"Yes, I got that," I huffed.

" _Why_ do you look like hell?" he clarified. "Did something else happen, were you attacked again, or…?"

I sighed. "Malfoy, I'm doing a lot this year. Quidditch is just the tip of the iceberg and it's taking up a lot of my energy. Invigoration Draught can poison you if you take too much so there's only so much I can do, okay?"

"What's all this you're doing?" Malfoy asked, placing his hands on my shoulders. I took a moment to reflect on how even a few weeks ago I would have shoved him off but now I let the gesture rest and even took comfort in it.

I wondered briefly what would happen if I just let it all spill out. About Umbridge, about Occlumency and Animagus studies, about the extra brewing I was doing, even about the DA – stupid name. But I knew that it would be dangerous. I still couldn't make myself fully trust him and if he betrayed me he could ruin months of planning and land me in ridiculous amounts of hot water.

"I can't tell you," I said bluntly.

"Why, is it illegal?" he teased. I didn't respond. His face fell slightly. "You're not actually doing anything illegal, are you?" he asked nervously.

"Not from a moral standpoint," I said slowly. He nodded.

"Okay, but I asked about a legal standpoint, didn't I?"

"In that case…" I winced. "A little."

"Merlin, Potter," Malfoy groaned, and hung his head, shaking it back and forth in exasperation. A few strands of his hair brushed the top of my head. I shivered at the tingly feeling but it was also oddly nice. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Let me do it?" I offered. "Not that you could stop me, but still…"

"Promise me you're being careful?" he begged. I sighed.

"Of course I am, but what does it matter?"

"It matters," Malfoy said intensely, "Because if you go and get yourself locked up then who will go on patrol with me? Who will play Chaser on the team? Who will give me a hard time and drag me into abandoned classrooms and behind tapestries for intense conversations? Who…who will hum while they walk between classes and smile every now and then for no apparent reason because they thought of something ridiculously clever?" he finished quietly.

My mouth dropped open slightly. I hadn't realized until he said something just how much I'd been integrated into his life and he into mine. I knew he was there often enough but I hadn't really looked at all that time taken together.

That wasn't even considering how heart-breakingly sweet that last sentence was. I did hum between classes and half the time I didn't realize I was doing it, but I hadn't sung since that disastrous encounter with Fluffy first year, not even in the shower. Humming was as close as I came these days and as far as smiling… I let my thoughts drift every now and then when I was caught by a subject but I had only noticed myself smiling about it once or twice.

I was suddenly slapped in the face with just how much attention Malfoy had paid to me over the years, noticing little things like that that even I didn't pay much attention to. His words were sweeter and held more sentiment than any I'd heard in ages.

I smiled faintly, knowing my cheeks were red but not being able to do much about that. "You're the one who pulled me behind the tapestry," I pointed out quietly.

"Yes, well, I like shaking things up," Malfoy replied with a shrug. He looked down at me fondly. "Seriously though… try and stay out of trouble?" I hesitated. "For my sake."

I chuckled weakly. "I suppose then. For you."

Malfoy smiled down at me softly. "Good to know. You're sure I can't help?" he asked one last time.

I shook my head. "No, I have to do this alone."

"Are you sure?" he challenged. "Or do you just think you have to?"

My mouth fell open. I didn't have an answer for that and Malfoy knew it. He just squeezed my shoulders and took his leave.

* * *

I stared around at the DA. They were on their cushions, watching me in rapt fascination.

"Dark Magic," I said quietly. "There are few things as taboo in the Wizarding World as the practice of it, but you lot already know some Dark spells."

"No we don't!" protested that same little third year Hufflepuff that had spoken against me when I first showed up.

His name was Stebbins and I disliked him immensely.

"The definition of Dark magic is any spell that causes harm or inconvenience to the affected person," I informed him shortly. "You're telling me that the Knockback Jinx doesn't do that? That the Bat-Bogey Hex isn't incredibly inconvenient?" I looked pointedly at Ginny, who didn't look remotely abashed. I smirked slightly. "Minor bits of Dark magic like that are accepted because they are, on the whole, harmless. But what happens if you're, say, dueling on the Astronomy Tower and someone pulls out a Knockback Jinx?"

"You'd fall off the edge," someone breathed.

"And then you've committed murder," I said, nodding in approval. "And here's the thing about murder." I took a deep breath and began to explain what Snape had told me. "It rips your soul apart."

Stebbins sneered, "Yeah right."

"I'm not being metaphorical!" I snapped at him. "I'm talking about cold-blooded murder! It's no laughing matter! You've heard people say that murder changes you? They're right, it does. Killing rips the soul into pieces because it is the greatest sin a person can commit and that kind of act comes with a price. It has to, for the sake of balance.

"You were all here when the fake Moody was teaching, you all know about the Unforgiveables. Do you know why they're called Unforgiveable?"

"Because they'll earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban," Hermione called from the back of the group.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, _thank you_ Granger, I was thinking a little _deeper_ than that."

"Because…" Cho's nose was scrunched up. "Because there's no other reason you might use them than to hurt someone?" she guessed.

"Correct!" I nodded approvingly. "But also, completely wrong."

"How is she right but wrong?" asked Ron blankly.

"Oh, she's correct in why they're called Unforgiveables," I explained. "But they are improperly named. Or at least, the Killing Curse is. There are good reasons to use that spell."

"What could possibly be a good reason to kill someone?" Stebbins protested. "You just said it rips up your soul! So what about that?"

" _Murder_ rips up your soul," I corrected. "Killing? Not always. Do you know the origin of Avada Kedavra, any of you?" I challenged. There were a couple of murmurs but for the most part I got blank faces. Even Hermione's nose was scrunched up, obviously displeased that she didn't know the answer.

"It was invented," I explained, "by mediwitches. It was to be used on patients who were dying. They were looking at long, slow, debilitating, and agonizing deaths. Now tell me, is a quick, painless end not a preferable choice?"

"While we're on the subject, yes, the Cruiciatus Curse is meant to cause pain. It has always been a torture tactic, but its original purpose was interrogation during war. And we all know that things that would be abominations in any other circumstance become allowable during a war."

"The Imperius Curse held a similar purpose – enchant a person in the enemy's inner circle and use them as a spy to report back. Is the information worth the cost of a person's freedom? Well if they're against you then chances are you would have killed them on the field of battle, at least this way they live longer and can be used for good purposes.

"You sound like you're trying to make us use Dark magic," said a Gryffindor girl suspiciously.

"You're forgetting my first point – you already _are_ using it," I reminded. "I'm trying to explain to you that magic isn't Light or Dark. Circumstances can be stressful and no magic is evil on its own. It depends upon the intentions of the caster. Spells that were used to win wars back in the day, as times changed, have been turned to darker purposes. For example…

I turned to one of the dummies. It now wore a robe and had a Death Eater mask carved into its face. I flicked my wand and it came forward. "Ossio Dispersimus!" I yelled for the benefit of the other students. Instantly a web of cracks was blasted into the center of the Death Eater, right in the target painted on its chest.

"The Bone-Breaking Curse," I explained, "can be used to take out an enemy's legs or, in a controlled burst, to re-break a bone that's healed improperly. _Converterent Corporis!"_

Suddenly the surface of the Death Eater was flat, unpainted and unvarnished wood.

"The Entrail-Expelling Curse," I explained, seeing some people's surprised looks. "In a fight, you can use it to rip your enemy's organs. In St. Mungo's? Skilled casters use it for exploratory surgery when normal diagnostic spells aren't finding the problem."

I reversed the spell and the dummy went back to normal.

"Even something as simple as the Severing Charm – we've been using it in Herbology to cut plants since day one. _Diffindo!"_ The Death Eater's head went spinning off and clattered to the floor. "A careless wave and you can take off a limb or two."

"And what about your curse?" Stebbins piped up. "It's called The Reminder, right?"

The Ravenclaw I'd dueled, Aaron Knightley, reached over and whacked him around the head. I looked at him thankfully, but the damage was done, people were looking at me curiously and expectantly.

"Yes, it's called The Reminder," I said slowly. "Because damage inflicted by it never fades. Not completely."

"Well, how's that not evil?" Stebbins continued smugly, and Knightley whacked him again.

"It can cut into flesh, it's true," I admitted. "But it can also cut into stone. It was invented by the Greeks. When they had a victory, they would come and carve it into a stone to commemorate it and thank their gods. The Reminder is the spell they used to do that. Eventually, as carving things in stone was replaced by documents, it became twisted and perverted.

" _Aionios!"_ I shouted, and dragged my wand through the air. A deep gouge dug into the fake Death Eater's chest following the line of my wand. My cheeks throbbed as the silence rang in the room. _"Reparo,"_ I muttered. The Death Eater's head reattached itself and the damage from the Bone-Breaking spell repaired itself. But the slash from The Reminder remained firmly in place.

"I think it's time for everyone to pair off and duel," Harry called over the silence. "Now, pair up, and try to stick to jinxes and hexes, okay? I'll come around and help…"

He ventured over to my side. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Of course," I replied with a smirk. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I… didn't know you knew how to cast it."

My smirk slid off. "Of course I know," I said dully. "Did you think I wouldn't learn everything I could about it? It's a really simple spell, actually."

Harry looked at me nervously. "You know, you sounded a lot… a lot like him."

"Who?" I asked carelessly, watching as the room lit with spells. As instructed they were sticking mostly to hexes and jinxes and there were a couple of the older students who'd already mastered those spells patrolling the edges of the duels and casting _Finite_ s every minute.

"Voldemort." I froze, looking at Harry sideways. He wasn't looking at me. I didn't think he could look at me, his eyes were seeing something in the past.

"In the graveyard?" I asked uncertainly, and Harry stiffened up.

"No," he said quietly. "Not there. It was first year."

"Quirrell," I realized. "He said something?"

"No, no it was him," Harry said darkly. "He said that there is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

I flinched. That did sound like a lot of what I'd just been saying. Harry looked at me sideways and I saw a look in his eye I'd dreaded for years – wariness. He was afraid of me, in a sense. Afraid of what I'd said. Afraid of what I believed. Afraid of what I might believe.

"He's a maniac, Harry," I replied weakly. "But that doesn't mean that, every now and then, he can't be right."

"You'd agree with him?" Harry demanded.

Did I?

I knew how Voldemort had grown up. He'd been abused by people who, on the whole, weren't particularly bad people, nor were they particularly good. But they had had power over him and that was what had led to their actions. Those who were above him had used that to beat him and nearly break him until he took the power his magic offered him and used it to beat them down.

I was starting more and more to see the differences between my boy, Tom Riddle, and Voldemort, and I hated those dreams for it. I hated myself for it. Voldemort was an abomination, a blight upon the world that needed to be eradicated not just for my sake or my brother's but because if he wasn't he'd spread across the world like a cancer. Because he'd taken the power and he was using it how he'd been raised to believe it was used.

Tom Riddle, though. Tom Riddle was a boy who wanted to read in the corner by himself. He was a boy who wanted to be the best he could be. He was a boy who wanted to learn everything he could about this amazing new world he'd been invited into no matter how much its inhabitants disdained him for something he couldn't control. Tom Riddle was ambition embodied. He was a Slytherin, literally and in demeanor.

And that wasn't a bad thing.

Really, he himself represented the duality of our house. Cunning, subtlety, those were tools we used to appease our ambition. Ambition wasn't a fault, either. It drove one to newer and greater heights. Ambition was the reason we had leaders and inventors and innovators, because they strove for something better in the world and they wanted to be the ones to provide it. That was Tom Riddle.

But ambition could go too far, from a desire for something to a desire for everything. Someone who was consumed by ambition couldn't be satisfied, couldn't be sated in their hunt for more control, more power, more of everything. They were the dictators, the despots, the ones who abandoned their humanity for the all-consuming pursuit of more. That was Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, Harry," I admitted, and refused to be ashamed for the fact because I understood Tom Riddle better than Harry ever could, and therefore I understood Voldemort. "In this, I do."

Harry's jaw clenched and I saw the disgust in my words. He couldn't believe that I would ever agree with Voldemort on anything. He overestimated what it was to agree with someone. He and Snape still hated each other, but they both agreed that Brussels sprouts were an appalling food. Agreement was not the same as support.

That was Harry's problem. He saw the world in black and white. Good and evil, Light and Dark, Gryffindor and Slytherin. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing – it was how he needed to think to get through this because when you started to consider the grey area you felt so much more pain because enemies were enemies for a _reason_ , not just because the story needed an antagonist. And maybe that reason made sense to you, and maybe you had to deal with that fact.

I was a creature of the grey area. I was a Slytherin and we reveled in that grey area and everything we could learn there, taking from both our friends and our enemies and building ourselves into some better, stronger version of ourselves. And maybe I was pulling from Voldemort's philosophy, but that didn't mean that I wasn't also pulling from Harry's determination, from Dumbledore's strategy, from Mrs. Weasley's tenderness and Moody's vigilance.

Harry didn't say anything to me. He just moved forward to correct Stebbins's form and I couldn't bring myself to me surprised. Harry believed in black and white and he was determined to stand in the white. I was lingering in the grey, and grey wasn't white, grey had some of that intolerable blackness mixed in and his Gryffindor honor wouldn't let him approve of me for that, wouldn't let him be the brother I used to have.

I sighed at that and resisted the urge to scream that I hadn't meant it. Harry and I were siblings, twins, but we were very different people.

I turned away and moved to adjust Knightley's stance, keeping my mind blank and my focus on my work.

My life had become a mind-numbing and backbreaking routine. Classes. Animagus. Brewing. Occlumency. Dumbledore's Army. Homework. Research. Quidditch was the stolen moments of freedom and enjoyment and childishness that I let myself have and I held them to my chest dearly. Those moments, and…

I thought of Malfoy squeezing my shoulders and looking at me like he cared and my heart warmed just a little bit. So perhaps I wasn't standing in the light with Harry. But at least I had someone lingering with me in the shade.


	57. Quidditch Drama

The morning of the Gryffindor v Slytherin match was sunny but cold. I sighed and stretched luxuriously before climbing out of bed. It was November, so the chilly temperatures were almost a given. Still, it would be nice not to have to cast Warming Charms on my fingers and nose before climbing on my broom just once. I'd been casting them so often preceding the practices we'd been having in the week leading up to the game that I was considering going into the business.

I grabbed a quick shower and dried my hair, forgoing my usual makeup. As per my pre-game routine I took the time to put my hair up into a ponytail on top of my head before braiding the length of it tightly. It kept my hair up and out of the way and made sure breezes wouldn't send tendrils flying into my eyes and mouth.

The others were just starting to crawl out of bed when I started donning my uniform, savoring the familiar feel of the green and silver robes. I tightly strapped on the fingerless gloves that would do their utmost to keep my hands warm while not interfering with my grip and headed down to breakfast. Daphne wished me a sleepy good luck as I passed her crawling her way out from under the sheets.

I walked over to the Gryffindor table and wasn't at all surprised by the filthy looks I got. Snape and my housemates hadn't been kind to Gryffindor in the usual turmoil that led up to the matches between our houses. As usual, hospitalizations and severe point docking had occurred. Put together it meant that Slytherin was even less approved of by Gryffindor than usual, and as one of their star players, I was at the bottom of most Gryffindor's lists of 'people they'd have a butterbeer with.'

Nevertheless, tradition dictated that I needed to sit down by Harry. Fred saw me coming and scooted out of the way for me to sit down next to him. Ron was on Harry's other side, looking pale and wan. I smirked. With any luck, his failures would be enough to get Slytherin our first win against Gryffindor since Harry had joined the team.

"Rena," Harry greeted me, although his voice was tighter than usual. Even he was less than thrilled with me lately – probably because I hadn't done anything when Bletchley hexed Alicia Spinnet in the Library right in front of me.

"Good luck," I muttered, and placed a kiss on his cheek. It might have seemed odd, seeing as we played on opposing teams, but it had become tradition in our first year and it's not as if I wished him personally ill during the match. The rest of his team could all fall of their brooms for all I cared, barring Fred and George of course.

But over the years the tradition had become more stilted, less natural. When I'd first done it I'd flounced over and plopped myself down at the Gryffindor table without a care in the world, totally focused on Harry. Now I was conscious of the insults being hissed about me from all down the table. I had no desire to linger and make sure Harry had something to eat, that he was ready for the match. I just kissed him, wished him luck, and moved on.

I slid out of the seat, ruffled Fred and George's hair as I passed, and settled myself in the knot of my teammates holding court in the middle of the Slytherin table. I raised an eyebrow when I noticed that Malfoy had left a spot open between himself and Bletchley. I let out a breath through my nose in amusement and slid into the place, guessing it had been left for me. He was currently occupied with Parkinson curled up against his other side.

"I hope you fall of your broom, Potter," Parkinson wished me from across Malfoy's shoulders.

I felt a surge of pride as I realized – somewhat belatedly – that even if I never got my revenge I'd still won. I had what she wanted more than anything in the world. I had Malfoy chasing after me when he only gave her the time of day to keep up appearances. For a moment I had a wild thought of reaching over and cuddling up to Malfoy's other side, just to see how quickly he switched his attention over, but I quickly brushed the thought aside.

Yes I had him, but the question was did I want him? Even if I did I couldn't show it. He was a Malfoy, I was a Potter. We were the Wizarding equivalent of Romeo and sodding Juliet, if Juliet had some sense and Romeo was a stuck-up ferret.

I flinched slightly, but not in response to Parkinson's remark. No, it was because a warm hand had just squeezed mine under the table briefly before pulling away, long fingers trailing across the back of hand deliciously as it left. My eyes flicked up to Malfoy just in time to see the faintest of smiles turn up his lips before it was gone less than a second later.

My heart warmed as my eyes skipped past Malfoy to Parkinson. I let my eyes go cold and my face go slack.

"That won't save you," I said softly, my words mostly hidden by the boisterous noise my older teammates were making as they celebrated the upcoming match. Parkinson still heard though, as she was meant to, and she paled slightly. She drew back from Malfoy and hastily turned away from me to strike up a conversation with a sixth year.

I hid a smirk behind my goblet as I raised it with my right hand for a drink. My left hand crept under the table. Feeling deliciously emboldened by seeing Parkinson blanch, I put a hand on Malfoy's knee and squeezed, his hands now occupied with his cutlery. He actually jumped in surprise, jostling his plate loudly.

"Something wrong?" Blaise asked him, arching an eyebrow across the table.

"You seem awfully jumpy, Malfoy," I said, tilting my head proudly and looked at him sideways, teasing smirk still on my lips. Blaise's eyes darted between Malfoy and me calculatingly and his eyebrow hiked higher. I wasn't overly concerned; Zabini was Malfoy's best friend, and he was smart. If he hadn't figured out Malfoy liked me after five years of being in close proximity to him, he wasn't nearly as observant as I gave him credit for.

"Just excited for the game," Malfoy said, clearing his throat and raising his goblet for a long gulp, giving him time to collect himself. His eyes slanted towards me. I kept my gaze fixed firmly on my plate, smiling around a bite of sausage.

"Just hope we can win this time!" Miles said bracingly. He glanced at me. "Potter, I guess it's too much to ask that you go over there and hex your brother for us?"

"Yeah, that close to that many Gryffindors?" I snorted. "You want me dead, Bletchley?"

"Not until we kick some lion arse!" he announced, slapping the table. I chuckled and shook my head as the rest of the team crowed in agreement. I added my voice to the call, smiling slightly.

Why couldn't this have been my school career? Happy, hopeful, and with the same sense of camaraderie I had with the team on game days. Why wasn't it always like that? If it was always like this…

I wouldn't be the person I was today. I would be so much better.

"Come on Potter," murmured Malfoy in my ear, grabbing my arm and hauling me off the table. I'd been so lost in thought that I hadn't noticed the rest of the team getting up to go down to the pitch. "Let's get you on a broom before you get too lost in your own head." He gave me a hearty thump on the shoulder, his own grin making my lips quirk up in response. "Smile, today's the day we finally _beat Gryffindor!_ " He pitched his voice higher and again the team cheered the idea as we left the Great Hall.

"I'll smile for that," I agreed, letting a wide smile cover my face as I drifted along, caught in the crush of my boulder-like teammates making our way to the locker rooms. We all poured inside and began pulling our brooms out of their lockers. I ran a hand fondly over my Firebolt, savoring the feel of the waxed handle under my fingertips. I saw Malfoy looking at me jealously from next to his Nimbus 2001 and couldn't resist. I bit my lip and bobbed my eyebrows at him.

"Jealous?" I mouthed across the room. Childishly, he stuck out his tongue and got to work straightening a twig. I laughed, unable to contain myself. The excitement before games was like a drug to me, the happiest and most enthused I felt about nearly anything all year. It made me feel like a normal girl about to play a normal game of Quidditch instead of a Slytherin or the Other Potter.

"Alright everyone!" yelled Montague, the captain. "Let's go!"

Brooms in hand we emerged onto the pitch and I could hear the cheers and applause from the Slytherin section, bravely holding their own and making themselves heard over the boos and hisses of the other houses. But strangely, they didn't seem to be shouting encouragement. AS the Gryffindor team emerged from the other side of the pitch, I realized that the Slytherins were… singing?

" _Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!"_

If it had been about Fred and George as well, I wouldn't have been nearly as amused. I wasn't pleased about the 'born in a bin' line even though I couldn't argue that the Burrow definitely wasn't the grandest dwelling Wizarding Britain had ever seen. But since the song was mostly targeting Ron, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to break his previous record of jerkiness this year, I wasn't particularly fussed.

"You're not angry?" Malfoy asked as Hooch made the captains shake hands.

I shook my head, laughing wildly. "Ron's been an ass to me lately. Let him have it," I replied, arching an eyebrow as I watched Montague try to crush Angelina Johnson's hand. Across the way I saw Harry wince in sympathy. I caught his eye and dragged a thumb across my throat, sticking out my tongue for extra emphasis. Harry rolled his eyes as we mounted our brooms on Hooch's order.

Hooch's whistle blared and we all shot into the air. My heart was racing with adrenaline as the Keepers shot off for the goal hoops and Harry and Malfoy moved into the standard Seeker grid search of the pitch for the Snitch.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.

I sniggered as I swooped towards Angelina, aiming for the Quaffle. I knew Jordan was a Gryffindor but I knew him through the twins and I swore that he was one of the best things about Hogwarts Quidditch. It would be a sad day for the school when he graduated and was replaced as commentator.

"-just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest."

Angelina dodged me as Montague came surging up next to me, trying to pin her between us. She put on a burst of speed and shot past the two of us.

"She's passed Montague!"

Crabbe came through for us. There was the familiar crack of a Beater's club hitting a Bludger and the ball went shooting between Montague and I. I went into a dive, knowing Angelina would get hit, unable to see the Bludger coming for her back.

To her credit, she did hear the thing coming. She managed to dodge enough that she took the hit in the shoulder instead of square in the back, which would have winded her and probably unseated her. As it was, the jolt knocked the Quaffle out of her hands and I was ready and waiting. The ball smacked into my palms and I tucked it against my side, swinging around and shooting up the pitch towards the Gryffindor goal posts.

"Ouch - been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe… the Slytherin Potter catches the Quaffle, she heading back up the pitch and-

"Son of a banshee!" I shrieked, and hurled the Quaffle towards Warrington as I was forced to go into a roll to dodge a Bludger from George aimed at my head.

"Nice Bludger there from George Weasley, and the Quaffle is intercepted by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away-"

Warrington and I were hot on Alicia's heels in a pincer-like formation, coming up behind her. Our brooms could outstrip her older model Nimbus with ease but she'd had the advantage of not having to swing around. She had a decent lead on us as we edged up behind her. I nodded to Warrington and we both poured on the speed, coming up on either side of Alicia. She looked from side to side and dropped into a shallow dive as we began to close in on her from the sides.

"-dodges Potter and Warrington, avoids a Bludger - close call, Alicia - and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"

Lee paused to listen and the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

" _Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring. That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!"_

"-and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, trying to drown out the words of the song. "Come on now, Angelina - looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! - SHE SHOOTS - SHE - aaaah..."

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal. He threw the Quaffle to Warrington, who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie. Katie headed for him determinedly and I soared overhead, flying perpendicular to his path. I gave a sharp whistle when I got close. Warrington hurled the Quaffle up and directly into my path. I grabbed the thing and tucked it against my side, going into a wide turn and heading for the goals. The singing from below grew louder and louder as I drew nearer and nearer Ron.

" _Weasley always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!"_

"-and it's Potter with the Quaffle, Potter heading for goal, she's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead-"

" _Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring!"_

"- so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team - come on, Ron!"

The smile on my face wasn't polite as I approached and I saw Ron pale. He dived wildly when I feigned but I needn't have bothered. The Quaffle soared right between his hands and into the central hoop. I punched the air triumphantly.

"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, "so that's ten-nil to Slytherin - bad luck, Ron."

" _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN…"_

"-and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch-" cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.

Montague, Warrington, and I all converged on Katie. I was above her, Warrington below, and Montague coming up behind her. She could either go right and run into the stands, go left where Goyle was waiting with his Beater's bat and looking incredibly threatening, or try and outpace us, which wasn't possible. Superior brooms could cover some faults, after all. We'd get her eventually, it was just a matter of when.

" _WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN, WEASLEY IS OUR KING…"_

"Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. "GET GOING!"

I glanced sideways to see Harry, white-faced and tight-lipped with rage, hovering uselessly in midair while Malfoy darted here and there, searching for the Snitch valiantly.

"WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING… WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN..."

Warrington shot forwards and skillfully punched the Quaffle out from Katie's hands. She tried to dive for it but Warrington cut her off, grabbing it. He tossed it up to me and braked hard, forcing Katie and Angelina to break instead of coming after me or risk smashing into Warrington and getting fouled.

"- and it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Potter, Potter's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't - but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway…"

Fred or George, damn the pair of them anyway, sent a Bludger careening right in front of me. I was forced into a sharp turn to keep from getting my ribs crushed and my grip on the Quaffle slipped. I tried to recover but fumbled it, the Quaffle dropping. Warrington, bless him, was hot on my heels and grabbed the thing.

"Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell - er - drops it, too - so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!"

Angelina and Katie came at Montague from both sides, flying figure-eights around him and trying to trip him up enough to drop the Quaffle or to get close enough to get it themselves. Montague wasn't having it though.

I jerked sideways, not turning though. I flipped so that I was hanging upside down off my broom. Twice I whistled sharply as I came up on him. Montague lifted the Quaffle into the air and I snatched it up, curling it against my side as I turned sharply for the Gryffindor goal posts.

Alicia came at me from underneath. I dodged left quickly and she soared up, coming at me from the right. I swung left as I pulled my broom right, barrel-rolling right under Alicia as she tried to break for me.

"- and Potter's dodged Alicia again with her standard acrobatics, and she's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"

Ron's expression was an odd cross between determined and nauseous as I came at him, and my feral smile as I bore down on him wasn't helping matters, I guaranteed it. This was the smile that so unsettled my house mates and made them sure I was plotting. I swung around to do a sweeping run along the line of goal posts, feigning at the first one I came to. Ron fell for it, surging towards the goal. I flew past him, Quaffle safely under my arm, and chucked it into the last one as I passed it.

There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins.

" _THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING WEASLEY IS OUR KING."_

Montague swept in to recover the Quaffle and pitched it up to Warrington. He hurled the Quaffle through a goal post, right between the arms of a distraught Ron. Angelina, apparently tired of us taking advantage of their Keeper's emotional instability, surged forwards and caught the Quaffle, screaming at Ron in rage as she raced past him for the other end of the field.

So busy was she that she didn't notice the Bludger from Goyle until it was right on top of her. She dove with a shriek, angling down so fast that she was forced to drop the Quaffle or risk throwing herself off her broom. Alicia, who'd been tailing her closely, made a pass for it but Montague swept in front the side and seized it an inch from her fingertips. Katie snarled in annoyance as he tossed the Quaffle to Warrington, still lingering by the goal posts. Warrington neatly put it away, Katie taking the Quaffle.

Montague and I both headed for her mercilessly, both of us coming dangerously close to colliding with her. Katie was forced into something like a mid-air ballet spin to avoid us both but she managed it.

"- and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Potter, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Potter has the Quaffle..."

I swore softly. We were still thirty points up but that meant that a Snitch catch from Harry now could still have us losing by an incredible margin. It had happened often enough in the past and I would be incredibly disappointed if the Slytherin team started our year with a loss of that caliber.

In some kind of once-in-a-lifetime miracle Crabbe and I seemed to be thinking along the same lines, going by the Bludger he sent careening Harry's way. Of course he dodged it deftly but it made me feel a bit better to see him distracted from his hunt for just a second.

"Potter, form up!"

While I'd been stunned by Crabbe's line of logic, Montague had apparently gotten his hands on the Quaffle. He and Montague were streaking up the pitch towards me, Angeline and Alicia on their heels. I spun around and fell into a vertical line, the three of us executing random passes as Angelina dived and darted to try and snatch the Quaffle from us

"- Potter throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Potter - Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good - I mean bad-"

"Damn it!" I shouted. I was closest, so I peeled out of the formation and hung in midair. Angelina had to turn around to head for the Slytherin goal posts and I was waiting for her. I performed a tight mid-air loop, kicking the Quaffle up and out of her hands. I caught it when I was righting myself and took off.

Almost immediately Katie snatched it from me but just as fast, she was hit a glancing blow in the arm from a Bludger. She hadn't gone very far, so it was easy for me to beat Angelina and Alicia to the Quaffle.

"Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Potter in possession again…"

" _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN. WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN…"_

I was going for the goals but it was too late. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Harry and Malfoy, neck and neck, inches from the Snitch. Harry was going to make it though, Harry always made it, damn him. I poured on the speed – maybe I could make that goal, make it ten points less that we lost by – but there wasn't enough time.

Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball. Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled at the back of Harry's hand hopelessly. Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval...

 _WHAM._

I screamed in rage as a Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch.

I may not have loved Harry when it came to Quidditch, but the moment the game ended he was my twin brother again and anyone that hurt him would answer to me. I abandoned the Quaffle carelessly – it would hit the ground and someone would get it eventually – and dove for the ground, coming in for a wild, skidding landing. I hopped off my broom and was forced into a staggering run from my momentum.

I collapsed next to Harry. My voice joined Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, and Angelina's frantic voice.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

"'Course I am, said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet.

"Thank god," I said, and drew my wand. Angelina stepped forwards furiously, mouth open in protest but Harry stopped her.

"It's alright, Rena's basically a mediwitch," Harry said, looking at me with just a hint of pride in his eyes. I tried to disguise it with a scowl, but that look lit a warmth hotter than a cauldron fire in my stomach and I stepped behind Harry, aiming my wand at his back and mumbling pain-easing and anti-bruising spells.

"It was that thug Crabbe," said Angelina angrily, "he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch - but we won, Harry, we won!"

I heard a snort from behind me and all three of us turned around, Harry still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand.

Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer. "Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry. I noticed his eyes flick to me momentarily, almost like he was looking for approval, like he was worried I would lay into him for going after Harry – he probably was. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he _was_ born in a bin... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"

Somehow I wasn't surprised Malfoy had a hand in writing the song. I recognized his style.

I backed up as the Gryffindor team landed around Harry, all smiles and pumping fists as they slapped him on the back. I faded back towards Malfoy, seeing Ron making his way morosely to the changing rooms alone.

"Always Harry," I muttered irritably, although I couldn't really be mad. Much as I would wish it weren't true, Harry was a better flyer than Malfoy and had the advantage of a faster broom. In a neck and neck dash for the Snitch Harry would come up the winner every time.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, see-"

I was halfway between Malfoy and the Gryffindor team, not quite sure who I should be siding with at this point. Harry was my brother but he was also the won who'd just snatched a victory from our fingertips and I had a right to be a bit peeved about that. Alicia and Katie were giving me dirty looks from behind Fred and George. And Malfoy, he cared…

"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. I sneered at the typical Gryffindor tactic of trying to take the moral high ground, like it made their smugness somehow better than ours.

"- we couldn't fit in useless loser either - for his father, you know-"

I hesitated again. I didn't exactly support that kind of talk about Molly and Arthur, but they weren't my parents. And while I'd sent Arthur bits and bobs from the Muggle world for years and Molly had been the one to teach me how to knit, neither of them had earned the official title of 'parental stand-in.' That honor went to Snape and, for a female role model, probably Amity, if I was honest.

Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

"Leave it!" said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-"

"- but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK-"

I was about to whip around and tell Malfoy to shut his damn mouth about my parents when I realized… he _wasn't_ insulting my parents. He hadn't mentioned them once. The people who 'dragged us up,' the people who raised us, were the _Dursleys_ … The ones who beat and starved us. I turned around, looking at Malfoy with my mouth open and my eyebrows furrowed. His eyes flicked to me, softening imperceptibly before icing over and I knew he'd made the distinction on purpose.

Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "the Weasley hovel reminds you of the hole you were raised in."

Harry was too caught up in adrenaline and anger to notice the distinction I did. Again, Malfoy had targeted the Dursleys and not our parents. It was a distinction I appreciated but Harry was too worked up to notice and it got Malfoy what he wanted – a rise out of my brother. I couldn't even be mad at him for it, because I was busy being silently impressed with how well he was dancing around an actual insult.

But it backfired.

Harry released George, eyes blazing with anger. Both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy.

"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!"

I yelled in surprise but I was used to things getting violent quickly at this point in my life. I had only a second but I managed to drop to one leg and swing a foot around, taking George's ankles out from under him. He dropped hard enough to eat grass and possibly knock out a couple of teeth but at least he wasn't heading for Malfoy anymore.

"Harry, no!" I shrieked, jumping up and running for him as he pounced on Malfoy. Goyle was yelling and Madam Hooch's whistle was blaring as his fists pounded into a cowering Malfoy but I was more concerned with the thought that there was a crowd, something Harry seemed to have forgotten. Specifically, one toad who was probably wetting herself with excitement over all the punishments she could heap onto Harry for this.

"Damn it Harry, get off of him!" I yelled, outpacing Goyle's rush. In a move I'd been a victim of too many times, I coiled my arm around Harry's neck, catching it in the crook of my other arm. Thankfully we were both skinny. I dug my heels into the ground and tugged as hard as I could. For a moment Harry resisted, but I knocked my knee into the back of his and it gave. The pair of us went flying back to land on the frosted ground.

I immediately released Harry and sprang to my feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry did the same. Her broom was abandoned a few feet away, her whistle in one hand.

Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose and mouth bloody and the skin around his eye red. I had no doubt that he'd probably been nailed with a couple of decent body shots as well. George was gingerly picking himself up off the ground and looking like he wasn't sure if he should be angry, ashamed, or sheepish. Fred was still being held back by all three of the Gryffindor Chasers.

"I've never seen behavior like it - back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!" Hooch ranted.

"Malfoy…" I moved uncertainly to his side and knelt down. He looked so pitiful there, curled up and bleeding. My mind flashed back to Tom Riddle, curled unconscious on the Slytherin hearth. I wondered morbidly if there was a stain, I'd never paid much attention. Without thought, I grabbed Malfoy under the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Punch-drunk, he swayed slightly and I hauled one of his arms over my shoulder to keep him upright. Montague swiftly took over for me, dragging Malfoy into a lean that ended with him slumping slightly against the captain's side, leaving me with less to support.

"What are you _doing,_ Lorena?"

Hooch had stopped yelling and I'd somehow become the center of attention. I turned back and Harry was looking at me in confusion and hurt. "Rena?" he demanded.

I stared at him, but I had nothing to say to make that look go away, so I didn't bother. It had been in place firmly since our conversation in the Room of Requirement. "You're a _child_ ," I said bitterly.

As far as I was concerned, violence was a resort for victims only. Real victims, not someone who'd had a few nasty words spat at them. I was justified in slapping Sirius when I'd thought he'd killed our parents – an act I later apologized for once I realized he was innocent. I was justified in knocking Parkinson's bloody block off if I felt like it.

But Harry? Harry, after so many years of being punched should know how weak it made one feel to be physically beaten down. A couple of snarky comments shouldn't have driven him to this and for a moment I was really unnerved by my brother's rage.

"A child," Malfoy said blearily from next to me, his knocked-silly way of supporting me. I rounded on him.

"Oh get off the moral high ground, Malfoy, you're just as bad!" I huffed, throwing up my free hand in exasperation. Calling their home smelly? Saying their mother was fat? He was only two steps away from yo mama jokes, for Merlin's sake.

I looked between the two of them darkly. "You both need to grow up." Harry look furious, and Fred and George were looking at me in disbelief, but I felt Malfoy stiffen up next to me. From our talks, the words meant more to him than they did to the Gryffindors and I saw him flash me an apologetic look as subtly as he could. I noticed it but ignored it – I'd address the matter later but for now I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Castle!" Hooch barked, looking at me uncertainly as if she wasn't sure if she should let me keep scolding if I wanted to. I shook my head at her and she pointed firmly towards the school. "Now!"

Madam Pomfrey made her appearance then, swooping down on us with Angelina, George, and Katie. The two girls had taken hits off Bludgers during the game, meaning they were required to get checked out, and George was bleeding all over his front from his nose and mouth. His nose was definitely broken and his lip was split, but he also looked like he'd cracked a tooth or two.

I felt bad about that.

Montague and I had to haul Malfoy along, and the six of us were a rather ragtag party as Madam Pomfrey herded us all towards the Hospital Wing. The Gryffindor girls were sending all of us dirty looks. I replied with a middle finger behind Madam Pomfrey's back, drawing even darker looks from them and a snort from Montague. Even Malfoy managed a weak 'ha' of laughter.

The worst part of it all was that George wouldn't look at me. He just stared resolutely ahead, Angelina and Katie flanking him as Madam Pomfrey urged us all into the Hospital Wing.

"Set him down here," Madam Pomfrey said, gesturing to a bed. Montague and I headed over the bed and deposited Malfoy on the edge.

"I'm going to go see what's been done about Crabbe," Montague said. "Idiot." He shook his head. "He should have known better than to try that… in front of the whole school…" He clapped Malfoy on the shoulder and got a wince in reply. He pulled his hand back. "Ah, sorry. I'm leaving Potter with you."

"You are?" I asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. Montague looked at me uncertainly.

"Uh… stay with him?"

"Better," I approved, nodding as Madam Pomfrey got started on George's teeth, trying to make sure that he hadn't gotten any pieces of them lodged in his mouth. Angelina and Katie took up posts on the beds on either side of him, completely unconcerned by their own minor bruises and watching worriedly as Madam Pomfrey dosed George with Skele-Gro.

Montague took his leave, pulling the curtain around Malfoy as he left and shooting the Gryffindor's angry looks.

"Draco, you're ridiculous," I chided Malfoy as I hopped up onto the bed next to him and drew my wand from my robes. "Look at me now, come on."

I grabbed his chin. I wasn't nice enough to be gentle as I yanked him around to face me. He made a pained sound of protest.

"Don't act like a fool then," I chided. _"Scourgify."_

With the blood gone I could see that the injuries were not as bad as I'd thought. A quick _"Episkey!"_ fixed his nose and I turned to his split lip, placing the tip of my wand against the break in the skin. It was a little odd to see Malfoy with my wand essentially in his mouth and it at least made me lighten up a little bit.

"Are you alright over there, Potter?" Madam Pomfrey called as she worked on checking George for signs of a concussion. I winced – he'd hit the ground harder than I'd intended.

"Yes ma'am," I assured her.

"Be sure to check his torso for bruising or broken ribs," she called as she lit her wand and stared into George's eyes.

"Of course," I muttered, although that meant getting Malfoy to take his shirt off and I could already imagine the comments that would come when I made that particular request. That was probably why I moved slowly as I traced my wand around the bruising on his face, making sure it was completely healed before I moved on.

With a sigh, I braced myself and got ready. "Lorena?" Malfoy asked, reaching up and prodding his right cheek which used to be bruised.

"Take off your shirt," I ordered him, keeping my wand aloft and trying to look business-like despite the red in my cheeks.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and his recently-healed lips curved into a smirk. Very nice lips they were too, sort of pillowy looking... _Damn it!_

"Can't wait to get me out of my clothes?" Malfoy said smugly as he began to lift his shirt. His face was healed but his torso wasn't and as soon as he started to lift his shirt the pain made itself known. He sucked in a pained breath.

"Alright, we'll do this a different way," I said, and flicked my wand. His Quidditch robes and shirt appeared next to him, folded haphazardly. I scowled. They should have been perfectly folded, but then I hadn't particularly practiced this much. It was the charm that had been used on me multiple times in the Hospital Wing that would put clothes on or take them off at the flick of a wand. I'd looked into it after my painful morning after the Cruciatus just for future reference but I'd only practiced it a handful of times.

"And why do you know a spell like that?" Malfoy asked wryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I get changed into hospital pajamas entirely too much," I replied, looking at him sternly. "Now enough with the jokes, this is uncomfortable enough without you being glib."

"What, you're not enjoying the view?" he asked smugly. My response was to press my hands into the side of his ribs firmly. "Ow! Bloody hell, Potter!"

The Hospital Wing door banged open suddenly and the sound of running feet could be heard.

"Where is he?" Oh hell, Parkinson had arrived. "Where's my Draco?"

"Miss Parkinson," Madam Pomfrey said angrily. "You are disturbing my patients!"

"Never mind them." I could imagine Parkinson's lack of caring for the Gryffindors and knew that would go over like a ton of bricks with Madam Pomfrey. "Where's Draco? Is he in there?"

"Miss Parkinson," Madam Pomfrey said sharply. "Mister Malfoy is currently being healed by Miss Potter. I'm going to get Pain-Relief potions from storage for Miss Bell and Miss Johnson, and when I come back I expect you to have left my ward!"

With that, Madam Pomfrey moved off towards the storage cupboard. The opportunity was too good to pass up. As Parkinson's feet hustled towards us, I reached out and wrapped my arms around Malfoy's shoulders.

"Sorry," I apologized, before pulling leaning back and pulling him on top of me. He came easily, too startled to protest, smacking a hand down on the pillow by my head to keep from falling onto me. Pain from the sudden movement lingered in his eyes and I felt a little bit bad about that.

"Lorena…"

This position had unforeseen complications. For one, I was entirely too conscious of shoulders strengthened by holding onto a broom and stirring cauldrons flexing under my fingers tips. For another, eyes that held a darker storm than usual were staring deeply into my own. I could feel him half on top of me, breath puffing against my lips, nose only a few inches from me. My leg had lifted to keep my balance as I fell backwards and now it was somehow draped across Malfoy's thighs. We'd ended up far more tangled together than I'd meant for us to be but as hard as I tried I couldn't quite muster up any regret.

It always surprised me, he was so warm…

The curtain was wrenched back and both of us looked up. Parkinson stood over us, horror etched on her face. I knew exactly what it looked like – Malfoy shirtless and on top of me, my arms around his neck, my leg across his lap. There was no way this position was necessary for healing.

"Wh-What?" Parkinson stammered. She was white as the sheets we were laying on. I arched an eyebrow, staring at her shamelessly as Malfoy levered himself up a little so not as much of his weight rested on me.

"Can I help you, Parkinson?"I asked quietly. I dug my fingers into his back a little bit – _mm, muscles… focus!_ "I'm making Draco feel better." I injected a little bit of the purr I'd learned from Iliya into my voice.

"I don't… understand…" Parkinson said faintly, and I was surprised to see her eyes filling with tears. "I don't… Draco?"

"Shut the curtain when you leave," I told her dismissively, removing one hand from Malfoy's shoulders and using it to catch his chin with one finger, pulling his face from Parkinson to me. "Where were we?" I murmured, and leaned closer.

Parkinson gave a sob and turned, fleeing the Hospital Wing. I immediately dropped my grip on Malfoy, slumping back against the pillows.

"I made one request," I muttered, flicking my wand at the curtain she'd left hanging open. It shut itself, ending my only form of distraction from the fact that I had a boy that had made it quite clear he felt something strong for me on top of me. I closed my eyes, childishly hoping that he'd somehow vanish and I wouldn't have to deal with the fall out.

"You just used me," Malfoy said softly.

"I'm not going to apologize for doing it," I mumbled, opening my eyes and slowly sitting up. Malfoy rose as well, letting me sit up fully. I could feel his eyes boring into my cheek as I stared determinedly at my wand in my lap. "I will apologize for hurting you, for not giving you warning, and for putting you in that position."

"The pain wasn't a problem," Malfoy replied quietly. "If that's your version of surprises, I think I like them, and… the position wasn't that bad."

I blinked, looking up from my lap to him. A faint smirk was lingering on his face. Malfoy was a nobleman's son, that was for sure, and there wasn't much muscle on him. Like most Seekers he was built for speed, not strength. What muscle he had was tight and streamlined. I was quickly realizing I liked it that way. Unfortunately, bruising marred the pale expanse of his torso.

"Ridiculous," I muttered again as I reached out and began gently prodding at his side, taking more care this time. I looked up at him and quickly back down when I met his eyes. "People will find out about that, Parkinson won't keep quiet."

"It will be inconvenient," Malfoy admitted.

"It would be best if we both pretended to be disgusted by the very idea of any claims Parkinson makes for what she saw," I agreed. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Pretended? So you're not _actually_ opposed to…?"

"Shh!" I hissed, nodding pointedly in the direction of the other occupied beds. Madam Pomfrey was back and instructing the Gryffindors on the dosage for their Pain-Relief but we might still be overheard. I didn't need George getting any idea about me and Malfoy when he was probably already incredibly pissed at me.

"Admit it Lorena," Malfoy breathed, leaning forward. He caught my hand and trapped it neatly in his larger one. I shivered as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, "For a second there, you considered actually kissing me."

I trembled again. "You have no proof," I said hoarsely. I felt more than heard Malfoy's chuckle.

"You just gave it to me," he said, grinning smugly as he leaned back. He looked at me imperiously. "You're warming up to me, to the idea, don't try and deny it."

"I am…" I swallowed, "giving it serious consideration," I allowed, getting on with my treatment. "But…" I looked up at him again. "That wasn't my revenge on Parkinson. You know that, right?"

Malfoy sighed. "I assumed a Cruiciatus earned her a little worse than that, right. Just promise me one thing?" he requested.

"What?" I asked edgily, watching him suspiciously.

"Don't cause any permanent damage?" he requested, looking at me softly. "I know it's not in your nature to let what she did to you lie but I also know that you're willing to walk far too close to the edge at times. I'm worried you'll fall without meaning to."

I sighed and removed my wand, the last of the haling completed. "I can promise… I can promise I won't kill her," I swore. "I can't promise she'll feel no pain, but I can promise she will recover… after some time."

"That's all I can ask for."

I looked at him sideways. "You won't… try and stop me?" I asked in surprise.

Malfoy shook his head. "You're forgetting… I'm a Malfoy. I'm not a Gryffindor, I'm not one of your brother's friends. I'm more familiar with the idea of grey areas and blurred lines than they are. I think the lines between right and wrong got pretty blurred with what Parkinson did. If you reported her and the system worked, she'd be in Azkaban for a decade or more. Is what you're planning worse than that? If not, is it really wrong? Or is it almost merciful?"

I stared at him in amazement. With all that Dumbledore had tried to do to make me feel bad for wanting to get revenge on Parkinson, the idea that someone didn't think I was doing wrong made me tremble with relief. "Thank you, I-"

I was cut off as Madam Pomfrey burst in, wand aloft. Malfoy and I subtly slid apart to make room for the Matron as she went about checking my work, congratulating me on a job well done. I murmured my thanks for the compliment and quietly slipped out of the Hospital Wing, feeling grey eyes boring into my back with every step.

* * *

Draco lay in bed in the boy's dorm, one arm slung over his head, one across his stomach. He stared at the swaying lanterns on the ceiling above him. They'd always soothed him, ever since his first night here when he wouldn't admit how afraid he was to be sleeping away from home for the first time.

It had been a hell of a day. The flurry of the game, and anger that Potter once again pulled a Gryffindor win out of thin air despite his best efforts. Shouting abuse at the Weasleys and insulting the bastards who had _dared_ to lay a hand on Lorena for nothing but being herself. Lorena moving, not for her brother, but to defend him. He wondered if she even really realized what she'd done.

It was a bit of a blur, but he clearly remembered the flurry of whipping green robes she'd been as she'd knocked one of the Weasley twins down. Then it had been pain as Potter fell on him, knobby knuckles burying themselves heavily in his face and ribs and stomach. And then Lorena's face popping over her brother's shoulder, anger and surprise and… _disappointment_ clear on her face as she wrested Potter off of him.

He hadn't been mature and he knew it, and he was embarrassed. He knew she wouldn't hold it against him – she was known to be incredibly childish on occasion after all – but he was still a little ashamed that he'd acted like that in front of her. Worse, that she'd called him out on it. Still, he supposed that meant he got a pass to call her out at some point.

The memories were less frantic, slower, after that. Small, soft hands helping him to his feet, guiding him to the Hospital Wing. She sat him down on the bed and as much as the sight of Lorena Potter with a wand pointed at him might have scared him witless a year or two ago he was reasonably confident that she wouldn't do anything to him these days.

It hadn't been bad, he mused with a smirk, having her fingers and wand trailing all over his face, chest, and stomach. He shamelessly admitted that he enjoyed having her hands on him in any capacity. The blush on her face was worth it too, the pink tint that covered her cheeks and made her eyes lower ever so slightly. He doubted she had any idea how adorable she was on occasion. And then…

And then.

He'd been annoyed when Pansy burst in asking after 'her Draco.' They might be betrothed but no way in hell would he ever marry her. Not after seeing what sort of pettiness she was capable of. Not after knowing that she'd ordered the Cruciatus used on someone. No matter what his parents said, this was something he was willing to put his foot down on.

On top of that, she'd ruined his moment with Lorena. A nice moment it had been too, her blush going even redder as he teased her. Oh, the teasing hadn't gone away, not by a long shot. It had lost its sting, become gentler. This friendly, flirtatious banter was a far cry from the hurled insults and names they'd spit at each other for years. It was also far more fun because her eyes still glinted when he teased her, but it wasn't with anger, it was with amusement, with enjoyment. She didn't mind and she gave as good as she got, seeming to have just as much fun with it as he did.

He had to admit though, his body warming at the thought, he hadn't expected her to suddenly pull him on top of her like that. Draco considered being angry at her for essentially using him as a prop in her little charade but he couldn't. He was fully aware that despite the fact that she was warming up to him and seemed to be opening to the idea of them being more than enemies, more than friends, there was still a very good chance that, circumstances being what they were, she would walk away.

At least he'd have a memory like that to take with him. He'd never been that close to her, hovering over her, red hair splayed on the pillow under her head. He could see his reflection in the lenses of her rectangular glasses and beyond them brilliant green eyes the same shade as her brother's. On Potter they made him sneer but on her he could easily lose himself just counting the different shades of green and didn't that just make him sound like a love struck girl?

The Slytherin mask was something he liked seeing less and less on her but he had to admit that she wore it well. The disdain, the manipulation, the word choice, it had all been flawlessly crafted for maximum impact as she had slowly and unflinchingly crushed Pansy's heart in her elegant fingers. There was no hint of shame, no hint of remorse. There was something incredibly sexy, too, about seeing her in all her cold, sneering glory, making someone dance to her whim with her words.

He was fully aware that there was darkness inside Lorena Potter. He couldn't judge, there was darkness in him too. It came from how they grew up, how they'd been raised, how they'd been treated. He didn't like seeing it in her any more than he liked having it in him but he understood it, he accepted it. Lorena handled it far better than many would have, no matter how she occasionally seemed to falter.

Draco admired her for that. Maybe that was how this all started - with respect. He saw strength in her once he began to look around and realize how alone she was, how isolated, how spit upon and put down she was. But she never succumbed. Faltered, sometimes. Flagged, occasionally. But never fell. She was right, he was a coward. But she was the bravest, strongest woman he had ever met and it startled him sometimes to realize she wasn't in Gryffindor. Lorena certainly deserved the title of brave more than some of those lions.

After Parkinson had left, the conversation, as it often did between them, turned serious. That darkness that was all the bad qualities of a Slytherin that she'd planted the seed of as a child and then been forced to nurture and assimilate into her character wouldn't let Parkinson's actions lie. He wished she would, but he also understood the need to lash out, to prove that someone didn't have power over you. Hadn't he done the same thing on a less extreme scale after losing the Snitch to Potter _again?_

He reveled in the way she'd trembled and shuddered, the way she'd sucked in an unconscious breath when he took her hand and froze solid when he leaned close. He affected her on some level, he knew that. It was always gratifying to see. It was proof that he wasn't wasting his time playing for the long run with her. The long run may not end up having a very long reward, but he'd take what he could get.

A coward he may be, but an idiot he was not. Draco knew exactly what he was feeling – love. He loved Lorena Potter. But he was smart enough too to recognize that the fairytales of children weren't reality. Love didn't conquer all and sometimes the prince didn't get the girl. Sometimes circumstances were too much and sometimes other things were more important. Sometimes the forces pulling two people apart were too strong to be overcome. What they were doing – if they went any further and Draco fully intended to – was dangerous in the extreme.

If Lorena was discovered to have a relationship with him she would be mistrusted by Dumbledore's bloody Order of the Flaming Turkey or whatever it was. Her brother would definitely not take it well and that would break her heart much as she'd pretend it wouldn't. And those Weasley twins would shun her too and that would hurt her as well. He wondered for a moment – if all of the people connected to her through her brother turned their backs on her would she have anyone left? The sad but honest answer was probably not. A bitter Potions Master and a coward for a consolation prize, wasn't that a treat?

And if Draco was discovered… He shuddered at the idea. He had honestly no idea what his mother would do but his father would be horrified. He'd say something about blood purity, about his duty as a Malfoy to their lineage. It would be mostly out of fear, fear that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would find out and if _that_ happened…

Well, there were two options. Option number one was that he'd be asked to use that relationship. To get as close as possible to her, and through her, to her brother. To learn what he could about the Death Eater's enemies and report back. Probably, in the end, to lure Lorena and her brother into a trap.

The second option was lengthy torture followed by death.

So yes, maybe he was a coward. But he loved Lorena Potter and maybe, for her sake, he could be a little less of a coward. He could not promise her true bravery, not the kind she had, but he could promise her at least an attempt at it.


	58. Banished

The next morning I made my way down to Hagrid's hut. I'd heard the rumors about smoke rising from his chimney the night before and I was completely content with spending the afternoon with him instead of closeted inside Trelawney's tower and hating life. I ventured to the Great Hall for a bit of bacon and some scrambled eggs crammed between two slices of bread and munched on that as I made my way down to his cabin.

"Hagrid!" I yelled around a mouthful of egg. "Let me in!"

"L'rena? Issat you?"

"Yeah, it's me, I-" The door swung open and my eyes went wide. "Holy shit."

"Yeh shouldn' say things like that," Hagrid grunted, but he held the door open for me to enter. I did so, having to c ram myself past Fang, who was jumping at me eagerly. I laughed lightly, rubbing behind his ears as I made my way to Hagrid's table and surrendered a bit of bacon from my semi-sandwich to the boarhound. He wolfed it down in one bite and happily put his head in my lap for me to scratch, drooling on my knees.

"Mind telling me why you look like warmed-over dragon dung?" I asked mildly.

Hagrid had never looked this bad. One of his eyes was swollen shut and the part of his face that wasn't covered in beard or wiry hair seemed to be a mess of purple and yellow, bruises in different stages of healing. He grunted and I noticed that he was moving like he had broken ribs, or at least a few cracked ones.

Immediately I began planning. Hagrid's giant blood meant that normal potions wouldn't work as well on him, but that could theoretically be countered with just larger doses. It looked like some Skele-Gro wouldn't be amiss, and definitely some Pain-Relief. A bruise cream was definitely in order as well, although I'd have to somehow make it stronger. Also, in ridiculously large quantities because I doubted Hagrid's face was the only thing bruised and that was already quite a bit of surface areas.

"Mission from Dumbledore," Hagrid grunted as he dragged a couple of mugs from the cabinet and limped over to the fire, dropping the mugs on the table as he passed. He pulled a kettle of hot water from the fireplace and poured us each a mug full before fetching the tea bags.

"Doing what? Wrangling Erumpets?" I asked drily, taking a sip of my tea.

"Giants, actually."

I spluttered, the tea scalding the roof of my mouth and burning its way down my throat as I hastily swallowed. "Beg pardon?" I wheezed, setting down the mug.

Hagrid nodded. "Aye. Dumbledore wanted ter make sure they were on our side this time."

"To make sure they didn't side with Voldemort," I mused aloud, ignoring Hagrid's shudder at the name, "And you were uniquely suited to talk with them."

"Me and Olympe," Hagrid corrected.

"Madam Maxime went as well?" I asked in surprised. "I didn't realize she was involved… He never reached the continent, I'm surprised the French are fussed."

Hagrid shook his head. "She's smart, Olympe, 'n even if the rest 'o the world's gunna ignore… _him_ … well, she's seen the signs same as the Headmaster."

"Well that's encouraging," I said thoughtfully. "That she's an ally. Did she do that to you?" I asked, nodding to him pointedly. "I'm assuming there's more to the story."

So Hagrid told me all about his mission, about how he and Madam Maxime's gifts had been making headway with the Gurg of the giants until the Death Eaters got a new Gurg into power. They'd had to flee for their lives and it had taken them a ridiculously long time to get back. Madam Maxime had split off for France a whle back and Hagrid had slowly made his way back to the castle.

"I was surprised yeh didn't come down wi' the others last night," Hagrid admitted, wincing as he shifted in his chair. Definitely a broken rib.

I raised an eyebrow. "Harry and the others came down last night?" I asked softly. "Hmm. No one told me."

"Good thin' too," Hagrid said, nodding. "Was a near miss when that' Ministry hag showed up."

"Ah yes, the Umbridge," I said, using the house elves term for her. "I'm working on that actually."

Hagrid narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "Wha's tha' mean?"

I smiled. "Oh, it means I'm her best friend, and that therefore my sudden but inevitable betrayal will hurt all the more."

Hagrid shook his head firmly. "L'rena it's too dangerous!" he protested. "The Ministry…"

"Is no threat to me, because Dumbledore wouldn't allow anything to happen to me for Harry's sake."

"The headmaster's not as popular as 'e was…"

I shrugged. "He doesn't need to be popular to be powerful, I'm very aware of that."

"'e can' protect you from everything."

"Luckily, I don't need him too."

* * *

I kept a close eye on the Marauder's Map, waiting and watching until as I saw it happen as the heated Galleon in my pocket had told me it would. Students from all over the school were converging on the Room of Requirement. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were making their way there from Gryffindor Tower, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb coming out of Ravenclaw, and a couple of Hufflepuffs coming up from the basement. I noticed, as always, a startling lack of Slytherins in the mix, but I couldn't even bring myself to be surprised. Of course no one would consider that we might need to know how to defend ourselves as well.

I ventured out of the girls dorm claiming a late-night Library run and made my way up to the seventh floor, watching the map as I went. Most everyone was already there but there were a few stragglers that seemed to still be making their way. That was fine, I'd rather wait until everyone was inside anyway. Hopefully, that would keep Harry from making a scene.

I lingered around the corner until the last student that seemed to be making their way to the Room of Requirement had ducked inside. I waited for about five minutes until presumably the defense group was in full swing and then came out, traipsing casually in front of the tapestry and thinking hard.

 _I need to see Harry's defense group, I need to see Harry's defense group, I need to see Harry…_

On the third pass I looked up and, sitting innocently like it had been there the whole time, was a heavily sculpted and ornate door made of dark worn and scarred with age. Smiling to myself – there were a lot of potential uses for this room – I pushed the door open.

Almost immediately I was greeted with spell fire and the sound of incantations. Partners were scattered around the room practicing spells on each other, some trying nonverbal and other just trying to manage the spells. I saw the Patil twins dueling each other and Fred and George Weasley going at it. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were going up against a Knightley and another Ravenclaw and giving them a run for their money. But again, while red was undoubtedly the overwhelming color, there were large knots of yellow and blue. I was the only drop of green there.

I saw Harry skirting the edge of the room and correcting a younger Hufflepuff's arm movement, lifting it higher and guiding her hand through the flick as he went. Keeping to the edge of the room, I made my way around the edge of the duelists, staying in the shadows and a making for Harry.

"You!"

The sound brought everyone to a stop and I paused as well, looking sideways at Stebbins who was aiming his wand at me. I supposed this had something to do with my actions after the game, which was what I was here to talk to Harry about. I blinked at him dispassionately.

"Your point?" I asked coldly.

"Y-You don't belong here anymore!" Stebbins said, pointing his trembling wand at me. He knew what I was capable of and it scared him. The tip glowed. In an instant I had my own wand out and shield charm up that was so strong it actually amplified the spell he sent at me. He went flying across the room from the force of his own enhanced spell.

All eyes were on me, some watching coldly or distrustfully. I could see Ron and Hermione abandoning their partners and forming up behind Harry. I smirked slightly. Drawing in the ranks, were they? By the fire in my brother's eyes he wasn't happy to see me.

"I came for a word with my brother," I said loud enough for the room to hear. "I didn't come to start anything."

"Tell that to him," snapped the Hufflepuff girl Harry had helped as she dragged her housemate to his feet.

"I said I didn't come to start anything. I never claimed I wouldn't finish anything," I corrected her firmly, looking back to Harry.

"I don't think you should be here, Lorena," he said coolly, eyes sparking with rage. He crossed his arms and glared. "I think you should go."

"Unfortunately I disagree," I said with a shrug, trying to hide how much that hurt. "Come on Harry," I wheedled, stepping towards him with my hands spread wide. A couple of older Gryffindors stepped in front of me and stared down at me warningly, including the sixth year I'd dueled. I looked up at them in distaste.

"Boys, this is between my brother and I if you don't mind," I told them calmly. "I'd appreciate it if you could kindly _piss off._ "

"Slytherins aren't welcome here," said the sixth year darkly. "Not anymore."

"Yes, I had noticed. Because of course, all of us are Death Eaters, even the first years, and we're all plotting the eventual downfall of the school. Not a one of us has ever had a single Muggle friend or family member we care about," I replied sarcastically. "Pull your heads out of your asses, boys, it's not doing you any favors."

"Lorena," Harry snapped as the boys snarled. "Knock it off!"

"I'll knock it off when you agree to have a word with me," I countered. "I think we need to discuss the game yesterday."

"What's to discuss?" Ron snapped. "You broke George's teeth and sided with Malfoy over your own brother!"

"Okay," I snarled, and ducked to the left around the boys. They both moved to stop me and I slipped between them deftly, advancing on Ron with my wand at my side. "You're getting more and more annoying Weasley, and much as I love your brothers and your sister very soon you're going to cross a line and they won't be able to stop me from jinxing you into the Hospital Wing!"

"Lorena!" Hermione said sharply. "Whatever you want to say, say it. Talking like that isn't helping."

I took a deep breath. "You're right," I allowed. I nodded to Ron. "Terribly sorry, Ron. In the future I'll ignore your drivel instead of threatening you."

Hermione let out a whimper and cast her eyes heavenward.

"What can you possibly say to make what happened yesterday alright?" Harry snapped at me. "D'you know what she's done, your pal Umbridge? A lifetime ban! For me, for Fred, for George, never mind the fact that they didn't do anything! None of us can play Quidditch again!"

I paled, my mouth dropping open. That bitch! She'd really stopped pulling her punches. Anyone who knew even a little bit about him knew that Quidditch was one of the things in this world that made my brother truly happy, that made him feel connected to our father. And Umbridge, damn her, had decided to rip that out from under him. And not just him, but Fred and George as well, when they hadn't even landed any hits.

"I didn't…" I said faintly.

"Don't pretend you didn't know," Ron sneered. "You've been buddying up with that toad all year!" He was looking vindicated. I wanted to hit him.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" I shrieked, throwing up my arms. "I've told you this before! The only reason I'm bothering with her is so that I can bring her down, so that I can make her suffer and hurt for everything she's done to Harry!"

"You keep saying this is all for me," Harry scowled. "But you sure seemed keen to help Malfoy."

"Yes because you beating him bloody in front of the whole school is doing wonderful things for public opinion of your sanity," I said shortly. " _Think,_ Harry! I was trying to keep you all from doing something stupid that Umbridge could punish you for! I didn't expect she'd punish you simply for the attempt," I admitted, looking sideways at Fred and George. "I'm sorry, boys."

"Next time, help us in a less painful way, eh?" George said ruefully, raising a hand to his mouth. It was fixed but I had no doubt that it had hurt like hell when it first happened.

"And you just helped Malfoy to the Hospital Wing to, what, keep up appearances?" Ron snapped at me. "Come on, George said you were closeted up pretty tightly with him. _Healing_ him!"

I doubled over laughing and prayed no one noticed the forced quality that I couldn't quite avoid. "You idiot," I gasped around my feigned laughter. "Anyone who knows us knows Malfoy and I just barely manage civility for the sake of Quidditch and prefect duties. I only went with him because he was a good opportunity to try and test my healing spells. If you want to let me beat you and heal you to get some practice in, by all means Ron, I'll be happy to let you stand in."

"You need to go."

It was those same two Gryffindors from before, one each with a hand on one of my shoulders. I glared at them over my shoulder.

"Let go of me," I said darkly. "Now."

"You're just mouthing off and I think you've said all you deserve to say," the sixth year said coldly. "Now you've gotta go."

"Oddly enough that's not your decision," I snapped, whipping around and jerking myself free of them. "I'll leave when I feel like it, thanks."

"Anyone willing to heal a Malfoy doesn't belong here," said someone in the crowd to my left.

"Oh like Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have patched him up anyway," I snarled in that general direction. "Grow a brain, the lot of you!"

"You act like you're doing this for Harry but all I saw was you pulling him off of Malfoy and bloodying George up!" Alicia said, stepping forward and scowling at me.

"Careful Alicia, let's keep the rivalry on the pitch, shall we," I warned her as George shifted uncomfortably. He and Fred looked like they wanted to say something for me but they were afraid to. Knightley looked the same, bless him. I didn't blame them. The mood against me in the room was rapidly turning outright hateful and anything they said to support me would definitely not help their situation.

"And I've seen you smiling at Umbridge and going to tea with her!" piped up Stebbins. "Explain that!" he said triumphantly, looking smug.

"It's called being a double agent," I told him coldly. "Go turn a match stick into a needle and let the grown-ups talk."

" _Lorena!"_ I whipped around at Harry's sharp shout. He was staring at me angrily. My eyes widened in disbelief as he said, "You need to go. You're done here."

"That's it?" I said in horrified disbelief. "That's all you're going to say to me? Lorena, get out?"

"You need to leave," Harry said firmly and Ron crossed his arms, nodding smugly. Hermione fidgeted at his side looking like she didn't quite agree with him but she didn't dare say anything either. I shook my head and felt tears prickle at my eyes. I refused to let them fall. I would not show weakness here, not in front of all of these people. Not in the hallways on the walk back to the Common Room, not in the dorm. I wouldn't show anyone any kind of weakness.

"A life time of defending you Harry, and you won't even take control of your own bloody classroom for my sake," I said bitterly. "Fine, I'll leave." I turned and began stalking to the door, staking my hair away from my face and staring around the room imperiously. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"If you knew that then you wouldn't have come."

I had no idea who said it but it didn't matter. I froze, my back going ram-rod straight as I stared sightlessly at the aged wood of the door in front of me. I tilted my head back, as much to fight the tears as for the drama of the gesture.

"Tell me something," I said in a tone of forced casualness. "If I were Gryffindor and came in making the claim of working as a double agent, I suspect none of you would question it. The only reason you do is because my robes are green and not red. Think about that, and tell me how any of you are better or less prejudiced than the Death Eaters themselves, you hypocritical _bastards!"_

The anger burst out before I could stop it. It had been a long time since I'd done wandless magic but I knew the feeling from when I was a child, knew how to guide the magic as it rose within me. I forced it out and a gigantic stream of fire went spinning over the heads of the crowd. They screamed and ducked and drew their wands but I was already out of the room, shutting the door behind me and taking off for the Common Room, for the lab, the dorm, somewhere where I could get some privacy to just lash out in some way. I didn't care if it was flinging some of my newly-expanded arsenal of Dark spells at the magically protected walls of the apprentice's lab or shutting the curtains around my bed and screaming into a pillow. I just needed something to do to let out the anger that was making me tremble or I was going to explode and do something rash.

"Lorena?"

Draco appeared around the corner. He was smiling when he saw me but the smile abruptly fell when he saw my shaking, my glazed eyes trying not to cry, the tooth-baring snarl I was sporting. He took an uncertain step forward.

"Lorena, what happened?" he asked worriedly. "Did someone hurt you again?"

I broke.

With a growl that only half-covered the sob it was supposed to be I surged towards him. His eyes widened as he saw me coming, my wand still in my hand, and he took a nervous step back.

"Lorena…?"

I jumped at him and flung my arms around his shoulders. My empty hand knotted in his hair and brought his mouth crashing down onto mine. I kissed him frantically, not thinking, just doing because god help me if anyone came across me when I was like this and made me mad. I couldn't be sure what I'd do.

And what was I doing now? Kissing Draco? Why? I didn't know anything about kissing, I'd never kissed anyone in my life. I didn't know how this was supposed to work and I had tears running down my cheeks. Oh god, I was crying, I was actually crying, and in front of him no less. I was crying and kissing and it felt wonderful and terrible at the same time.

I wrenched myself off of him and slammed my back into the opposite wall, digging my fingers into the cracks in the masonry. I closed my eyes and had to double over to fight the urge to scream in hurt and confusion, my teeth clenched together to keep the sound inside.

"Lorena…"

I looked up. Draco was standing in the middle of the hallway. He looked horrified, like he'd never seen me before, but he was still wearing that caring look of his, the one that made me feel like I was worth someone's concern when I clearly wasn't, using him as a form of stress relief.

"I-I'm sorry," I babbled. "I-I'm so-sorry. I shouldn't… I shouldn't…"

"It's okay."

And then he was on me, pulling me away from the wall and clutching me to his chest, hustling me down the hall to an empty classroom and shuttling me inside. He shut the door behind us and moved towards the teacher's table, still clutching me to him. I staggered after him, trying desperately to stop crying even though all I wanted to do was just let it out for once in my life.

"Lorena," Draco said softly, sitting down on the edge of the desk. To my surprise he reached around and picked me up, setting me on his lap and pulling my face into his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped around my waist, the other wrapped around my thighs. He whispered soothingly into my ear but he was trembling as bad as I was.

"Y-You're shaking," I said softly because I needed something to focus on or I was going to break apart right here in his arms.

"You know how you say I'm a coward?" Draco said quietly, the arm around my waist moving up to stroke through my ponytail and rub my back in soothing circles. I nodded against his shoulder, feeling horrible. How could I have ever said something that mean to him when he was willing to sit with me in a dusty, empty room and hold me while I cried? "I'm shaking because I'm scared."

"S-Scared?"

"Yeah," he continued quietly. "Because I've never seen you like this. I'm terrified about what's happened to you, what could make you cry like this. It has to be horrible."

"H-Harry," I began softly, but a hard sob wrenched out of my chest. I clutched Draco's shoulders and dragged myself more tightly against him. He gripped harder in response.

"You don't have to tell me," he assured me. "It's alright. Just… just let it out. Just cry, it'll be alright."

"I c-can't," I gasped out around my tears. "I can't cry. I can't… be weak."

"Weak?" Draco actually gave a small laugh at that, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. It was a wonderful feeling. "Lorena, you are one of the strongest women I have ever met. This year… yeah, you've been a bit less together than usual, but considering… last term… I think you're allowed. You could never be truly weak. You're overwhelmed, but you'll handle it just like you handle everything and you'll be standing tall and insulting Hufflepuffs soon enough."

I pulled back, staring at him in disbelief. "H-How do you… always know what to say?" I breathed. "Always?"

Draco smiled sheepishly, reaching up and cupping my cheek. "Well, I've known you since I was eleven and even when we were still kids and tossing dragon dung at each other in Herbology, well… I was paying attention."

"Oh god," I moaned as one of my fears crashed over me again. "Please tell me… Tell me you haven't felt this way for that long, that I haven't been hurting you in some way. If I have and you're still doing this for me I… I can't…" I shook my head helplessly.

"Not that long," he assured me. "I don't know when it started really. But I think part of it is because you're so strong. That's why seeing me like this terrifies me, because I know something horrible must have happened to you to make you cry. And I'm guessing it had something to do with your brother, which kind of makes me want to go and kill him."

"Don't," I murmured, even though I kind of wanted to as well. "I just…" I shook my head. "It was stupid. Silly."

His thumb was rubbing my cheek, right over the edge of the patch that covered my scar from last year. It was horribly distracting and I wondered if he noticed the edge of it. Would he try to take it off? Would I really mind if he did?

"It's not stupid if it's hurt you this much," Draco assured me. I bit my lip and began to gather myself at least enough to speak in full coherent sentences without sobbing every other word.

"I went to talk to him about… about what happened after the game," I began slowly. "I wanted to explain… There were other people there, they started in on me, and Harry… he didn't stick up for me," I said miserably. "He just told me to get out, that I shouldn't be there."

"That bastard," Draco growled out. I looked at him darkly even though I was sure the look was less effective given the fact I'd just been sobbing into his shirt for the past couple of minutes. "What?" he asked unrepentently. "Clearly you won't say it so someone should on your behalf, and I happily volunteer."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, a faint smile on my lips. "It's just… I've spent so much of my life doing for him and he couldn't even tell someone to sod off and leave his sister alone? I can't even get that much from him?"

"Well, if you want me to, I can go hex some people for you?" Draco offered. "Give me names and I'll give them antlers."

I couldn't help but laugh as my mind supplied an image of Draco in shining armor, clanking around the castle and giving my enemies antlers. Draco smiled back at me, the hand on my cheek sliding around to cup my chin.

"There's a smile," he said fondly, and I blushed, pulling my chin out of his hands to duck my head, wishing my hair was down so that I could hide inside of it.

"For what it's worth," I said shyly. "I… I'm sorry I kissed you. I don't… really know what I was thinking." I shifted uncomfortably on his lap and wondered if he was getting pins and needles yet. Then again, I didn't weigh much.

Draco looked at me wryly. "It wasn't how I'd hoped to kiss you for the first time – I pictured less crying – but I can't pretend like I'm opposed to kissing you in any capacity." He quickly added, "I'm not going to be after you for snogs in a broom closet after this, Potter, I hope you know that. I told you that I'd give you time until you felt the same and I meant it," he assured me, clutching me tightly again. I willingly laid my head on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around him. Draco wore petrichor cologne, I noticed absently. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

"I'm learning," I admitted slowly, my face still buried in his shoulder, "that when someone cares about you, it's hard not to care right back. You've been so good to me Draco even though you've had no guarantees you'll ever get anything back for it. I asked you when this first started if you were playing me. You said you weren't, but I… I don't know, I guess I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Draco winced. "I can see… why you might think that."

"The thing is," I pulled back so that I could look him in the eye, "I'm not waiting anymore. After everything you've done for me I can see that you really mean this, and I…" I smiled weakly, trying fruitlessly not to blush. "I'm starting to mean it too."

Draco's eyes went wide. "Do you… do you mean that?" he asked hoarsely, staring at me like I was the cookie jar on the high shelf he'd just figured out how to get to. "Do you?"

"Yes." My voice was rough too, from crying and emotion as he looked at me like I'd just handed him his fondest wish. The part that got to me was that I was that wish.

A brilliant grin split Draco's face and his hands moved to my hips. I shrieked in surprise as he stood up and spun me around, laughing as he did so. He set me down on the desk, wide-eyed and startled, and grinned at me.

"Potter, I'll have you know this is the longest it's taken me to woo a girl," he told me sternly, but his eyes were still laughing.

I smiled back and I wondered if he could see the affection in my eyes as much as I could see them in his. "Sorry to be so difficult."

"I love a challenge," he assured me, leaning forwards and hugging me to him tightly again. I wrapped my arms around him just as tightly, flattening my palms against his back and loving the feel of expensive silk over skin. I wondered dizzily how this had all happened, how Draco had gone from my arch enemy to… well, whatever the hell he was now.

"I don't want to ruin he mood," I said softly. "But this is still dangerous. We won't be able to… I dunno, hold hands in the halls and have lunch at Madam Puddifoot's or anything."

"We'll be careful," Draco assured me and I sensed that nothing on earth could have ruined his mood at this point. "We're both Slytherins, secrecy and sneaking is our stock-in-trade, right?"

I felt a smile splitting my face as well. "Right."

"Besides, I've always hated that bloody place."

I snorted into his shoulder and he let me loose, standing between my legs as he reached up to cup my face between his palms.

"I'd like to kiss you when you're not crying," he admitted. "Is that alright?"

I was hesitant, but I nodded. I gave a small sound of surprise as Draco kissed me hard, lips pulling and stroking at mine. I sighed and let go, reaching up to tangle my hands in his soft hair, an action I was quickly becoming fond of and moving my lips in reply.

The door opened. "L-Lorena?"

The pair of us sprang apart. Hermione was standing there in the doorway. She looked between the pair of us like she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing or how to react to it.

"Granger," Draco said tensely. "Don't you knock?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I was… looking for…"

I put a hand on Draco's arm, stopping him. "Go back to the Common Room," I urged him. "I'll be along in a minute, but I need to talk to her."

"I'm not sure I should leave you with her considering how I found you," he said angrily, glaring at Hermione. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Oi, just because I let you snog me doesn't mean you get to start calling the shots, sir," I said sternly. He smirked at me.

"You're clearly back on form. You can handle Granger," he said confidently. He reached out and caught my cheek, kissing me on the forehead before pulling away. "Go on Granger, Lorena wants a word," he said, strolling out the door jauntily. I smirked faintly. If I thought he swaggered about before… Give him what he wanted and he was an absolute peacock.

"Lorena?" Hermione said faintly, looking at me as I hopped off the desk and began to straighten my clothes and get the streaks of makeup off my face. "I don't understand…"

"You don't?" I asked mildly. "You were there when Harry refused to defend his own sister to some snot-nosed Hufflepuff. Did you expect me to be skipping through the halls singing Disney because of it?"

Hermione opened her mouth to defend him. "Harry didn't mean-"

"Oh, Harry meant," I said shortly, narrowing my eyes at her. "He meant. His problem is that he doesn't think. Never once does he consider someone else. I've known for a long time that my brother doesn't particularly like me. Tonight was simply the last straw."

"Harry loves you," Hermione tried again. I scoffed.

"Of course he does, but that doesn't stop him disliking me, does it?" I said pointedly. "Come on Hermione, as hard a time as you give Ron for being insensitive you should be able to tell the difference."

Hermione threw up her hands angrily. "I came here to make sure that you were okay and you're berating me? Why do you always do this? Why can't you just let someone care?"

"When you care about me for my sake I will," I said shortly. "But you're here because you're worried about how this will affect Harry, if I'll lash out at him or not for this."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I-I'm not…"

"Yes you are," I said, chuckling. "Gryffindors, can't ever hide your emotions… To answer your question, I do let people care. But care about me for my sake, not my brother's."

"And that's Malfoy, is it?" Hermione asked challengingly. I blinked.

"Yes," I replied simply, a soft smile stretching across my mouth unconsciously. "Yes, that would be Draco. I was as surprised as you are but somewhere along the line he began to care for me."

"And you don't think this is some kind of trick?" Hermione asked in disbelief. I glared.

"I'm no fool, Hermione, that was my first reaction. But I know it's not. He's proven that."

"How?"

"Because he found me crying in the hallway and instead of breaking what was left of my heart he brought me in here, sat me on his lap, and let me cry on his shoulder until I felt better," I said bluntly. "If he was in this to try and humiliate me or break me he could have done it just now but he didn't. He's proven himself and, sadly, Harry hasn't."

Hermione looked at me blankly. "And how long…have you and him been…"

"Oh?" I pretended to look at a watch. "About eight minutes, thanks for asking," I said, and brushed past her towards the door. I lingered in the doorway. "It goes without saying, but Hermione, if you tell anyone about this… you should start wearing a Shield Charm at all times."

And with that, I turned and left her standing in the classroom alone, a warmth that had nothing to do with the torches on the wall having settled nicely in my chest.


	59. Revenge

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. The Forbidden Forest wasn't made any more inviting by his bruised and battered appearance or the dead cow thrown over his shoulder. I hadn't finished brewing the potions for him yet but they should be done by tomorrow night, hopefully.

"Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

"What prefers the dark?" Draco said sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark - did you hear?"

I smiled faintly. The last time we'd gone in there had been third year, the incident involving Buckbeak slashing him. Understandably he didn't seem all that keen about going back in.

I rolled my eyes as I strolled past him. "Twitchy ferret… we'll be fine, most of what's in there respects Hagrid enough not to touch us."

We couldn't hint at all at the new turn our relationship had taken. Something about that thrilled me – a secret romance, when had my life turned into a dime store novel? Still, I couldn't deny that I felt lighter since the few nights before when Draco and I had become Draco and I, at least as far as we were concerned. That meant that our traditional teasing was still in full swing and I was having even more fun for it.

"Ready?" asked Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

I knew what we were studying. There were few things in there that could be conceivably tamed and I knew for a fact that Hagrid was the only one with a domesticated thestral herd. I straightened up in interested – I'd read about thestrals and of course I'd seen the ones pulling the carriages at the beginning of this year but getting to really interact with them was new.

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" said Draco, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

"They're tame," I muttered to him as I took up a position not too close to him and not too far from Lily and Tracey. "Calm down, Malfoy."

The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.

"Course they're trained," said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" demanded Draco.

"Mind yer own business!" said Hagrid angrily. "Now, if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

He turned and strode straight into the Forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who sighed but nodded, and the three of them set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.

We walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow at all on the ground. With a grunt, Hagrid deposited his half a cow on the ground, stepped back and turned to face his class, most of whom were creeping from tree to tree towards him, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid encouraged. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm going ter give em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me."

He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed. Most of them looked too scared to make a sound.

Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third lime and expanded his enormous chest, Harry nudged Ron and pointed into the black space between two gnarled yew trees. I followed his eyes and sighed happily.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It surveyed the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

Most of the rest of the class were looking confused and nervously expectant and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people besides Harry and I who seemed to be able to see them: Nott, standing just behind Goyle, was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face; and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" said Hagrid proudly, as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery-wings closer to its body and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. "Now... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

I raised my hand with Nott, Neville, and Harry.

"Yeah... yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry, L'rena," he said seriously. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An'-"

"Excuse me," said Draco in a sneering voice, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

For an answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. Bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.

"What's doing it?" Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," said Hagrid proudly and Hermione gave a soft 'Oh!' of comprehension at Harry's shoulder. "Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows - ?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once-"

"No, no, no," said Hagrid, chuckling. "Tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate - an' here's another couple, look-"

Two more horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," said Hagrid patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some can't?"

Hermione raised her hand.

"Go on then," said Hagrid, beaming at her.

"The only people who can see Thestrals," she said, "are people who have seen death."

The temperature in the clearing might have dropped ten degrees as everyone looked at we lucky four who could see them edgily.

"Tha's exactly right," said Hagrid solemnly, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals-"

"Hem, hem."

I scowled, "Son of a-"

Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from Harry, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest Thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

"Hem, hem."

"Oh, hello!" Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" said Umbridge, in a loud, slow voice, as though she were addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see - or, I dunno - can you? We're doin' Thestrals today-"

"I'm sorry?" said Professor Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. "What did you say?"

Hagrid looked a little confused. "Er - Thestrals!" he said loudly. "Big - er - winged horses, yeh know!"

He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard: "Has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language."

"Well... anyway…" said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered, "erm... what was I sayin'?"

"Appears... to... have... poor... short... term... memory," muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Hermione turned scarlet with suppressed rage and I doubted I looked better. Under the guise of getting farther from the horse, Draco moved past me.

"Down girl," he whispered, and as much s I wished he'd chosen not to address me like a dog his point still stood. Saying something now would ruin several months of hard work getting into Umbridge's good books.

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but ploughing on valiantly. "Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he patted the first horse to have appeared, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favorite, firs' one born here in the Forest-"

"Are you aware," Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as 'dangerous?'"

I knew this but that didn't negate the fact that we should know at least the basics about them and given that Hogwarts had access to a domesticated herb why should be learn from hands-on experience?

Hagrid merely chuckled. "Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them-"

"Shows... signs... of... pleasure... at... idea... of... violence," muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.

"So does Potter."

I whipped around to scowl at Zabini, who'd moved to stand by Draco. He smiled and waved at me innocently as I made a rude gesture at him over my shoulder.

"No - come on!" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it - but Thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing - people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?"

Umbridge did not answer. She finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk," she mimed walking "among the students" she pointed around at individual members of the class "and ask them questions." She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.

Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English. Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now, mumbling furiously under her breath as Umbridge approached Parkinson.

I heard sniggering behind me and whipped around. Zabini and Draco were both hiding smiles behind their hands. I gave Draco a firm look. He quickly shook his head and mirrored one of Umbridge's movements. He was laughing at her, not Hagrid. I was satisfied.

"Erm... anyway," said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, "so - Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them..."

"Do you find," said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, "that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter. Her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.

"No... because... well... it sounds... like grunting a lot of the time..."

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid's face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy's answer.

"Er... yeah... good stuff abou' Thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go-"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," said Parkinson loudly, and collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.

"You can see the Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?" she asked sweetly. Neville nodded. "Who did you see die?" she asked, her tone indifferent. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to hide my snarl.

"My... my grandad," said Neville sadly.

"And what do you think of them?" she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.

"Erm," said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. "Well, they're... er... alright."

"Students... are... too... intimidated... to... admit... they... are... frightened," muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.

"No!" said Neville, looking upset. "No, I'm not scared of them!"

"It's quite all right," said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer. "Well, Hagrid," she turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, "I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive" she mimed taking something from the air in front of her "the results of your inspection" she pointed at the clipboard "in ten days' time." She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toad-like than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione and I actually shaking with fury and Neville looking confused and upset.

We began the trek back up to the castle and again I placed myself between Lily and Tracey and Draco, closer to the girls. Walking in front of us were Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"I'm surprised so many people could see them," said Ron. "Four in a class-"

"Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering," said Draco maliciously. "D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

He, Crabbe and Goyle roared with laughter as they pushed past on their way to the castle, then broke into a chorus of 'Weasley is our King'. Ron's ears turned scarlet.

"Ignore them, just ignore them," intoned Hermione, pulling out her wand and performing the charm to produce hot air again, so that she could melt them an easier path through the untouched snow between them and the greenhouses.

" _He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our king_ ," I sang shamelessly as I lengthened my strides past my brother and his knot of friends.

"Lorena, knock it off!" Harry hissed as I passed.

" _Weasley is our king!"_ I sang, whipping around and glaring. _"He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!"_

"I've had about enough of you," Ron snarled, his hand jamming into his pocket after what was undoubtedly his wand.

"Shame," I said, smiling sweetly. "Because I'm just getting started."

"Leave him be, Lorena," Harry said shortly. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Tell me, brother-mine, when did your friend trump your twin?"

Hermione eyed me, looking torn between pity and anger as I spun around and stormed back up to the castle.

* * *

It was Pansy Parkinson's birthday, and Merlin help us all.

The last Friday in November dawned with Parkinson strutting around the dorm like she owned the place and loudly bragging about the gifts she expected to get. There was already a large pile on the foot of her bed purely from her parents. There was jewelry, sweets and cakes, clothes, perfume. Anything and everything a girly-girl might want Parkinson had two of spread across her sheets before I'd even come out of the bathroom.

"And my aunt and uncle always send me something exotic from their travels," Parkinson was saying as she dressed in a new pair of silky robes. "I wonder what it'll be this year?"

"I don't know," Daphne said, and much as she was usually Team Parkinson even she seemed fed up with the never-ending celebration of all things Pansy already.

Parkinson sniffed and threw me a triumphant look. "And I'm sure Draco will get me something lovely," she said loudly, making sure I could hear her as I dug into my trunk for my textbooks. "I do feel so sorry for all the people who don't have a family and a wonderful boy to give them gifts on their birthday. Tell us Potter, how does it feel?"

I closed my trunk, turned around, and smiled brilliantly at Parkinson. "Happy birthday, Pansy," I said sweetly. "Many happy returns."

And with that I turned and left the dorm, leaving a gaping Parkinson behind me. Immediately my smile dropped and my expression went dark. I was cruel, perhaps, but her birthday was the day I'd chosen to get my revenge on Parkinson. It was less for sense of timing, although I appreciated that, but because it would be more convenient.

"It's going to be a good day," I announced as I sat down next to Zabini. He looked at me sideway and swallowed his bite of sausage.

"Look who's up on the right side of bed," he said suspiciously. "Why are you so happy, Potter?"

"The birds are singing and the sun is shining," I said innocently as I dragged some fruit onto my plate. "How could I be sad?"

Zabini turned to look at Draco on his other side. "Who d'you think hexed her?" he asked. Draco leaned around him and observed me in confusion.

"I dunno," he answered, his eyes narrowing at me in a way that said he clearly wanted an explanation for my mood.

"Oh, no one," I replied breezily. "Not recently."

Draco's eyes widened as he caught sight of Pansy entering the room, dressed to the nines to celebrate her special day. I looked from Parkinson to him out of the corner of my eye and calmly began slicing bits of peaches into my oatmeal. Draco's face went flat and as much as I knew he didn't approve of my actions he wasn't saying anything against them either.

"Good morning, all," Parkinson chirped as she sat down. She looked around at our year mates already seated. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

"Er… happy Friday?" Zabini said uncertainly. Parkinson huffed.

"No, that's not it," she said irritably.

"Happy birthday," Draco grunted into his plate. Parkinson practically glowed.

"Ooh, I knew you'd remember Draco!" she cooed. "You're so sweet to me! Tell me, what did you get me?"

Draco froze. Clearly, he hadn't gotten her anything and honestly I'd have been less than pleased if he had. I was quickly learning that I was a bit jealous when it came to him now that I had him, or maybe that was only in the case of Parkinson seeing how often she draped herself off of him.

"Uhm…"

"Never mind!" Parkinson said, perking up as the owls began swooping in. "I'll find out in a second, won't I?"

Four owls bearing packages landed around Parkinson. She removed them and waved the owls off irritably as she tore into the package and began to coo over the genuine Chinese jade bangle her aunt and uncle had sent her.

"The gold must be at least eighteen karats," Parkinson guessed loudly as she fiddled with the gilded clasp. "They wouldn't bother with anything else."

"It's lovely," Bulstrode grunted as Parkinson tore into the second package. She made a face and chucked the book inside straight at me. I caught it with the deftness of a Chaser and stared from it to her in surprise.

"My grandfather always sends me the dullest books, but I figured you're always looking for something to hide those scars behind, right?" Parkinson said, simpering. I smiled back sweetly and tucked the book into my lap. In all honesty, _Dark Curses Through History_ looked interesting.

"How kind of you," I replied politely.

Parkinson tore open a set of emerald green silk robes and loudly flaunted the designer label for a moment before tossing them haphazardly back into the box they'd come in and reaching for a much smaller package.

"I guess I know which one's from you," she said to Draco as she ripped the paper off. She squealed in a pitch bordering on what dogs could hear as she pulled out a bottle of the sickeningly sweet, sickeningly expensive perfume she always wore.

"Oh, and I had just run out!" Parkinson swooned as Daphne reached out and picked up the card curiously. She frowned slightly.

"Pansy, it's not from-"

Too late, she'd already pointed the bottle at the throat, tossing her head in a way that was probably supposed to be sensual and batting her eyes at Draco as she sprayed herself twice. She coughed delicately, then again harder. The bottle fell from her fingers and clattered to the table as she continued to cough and choke, her eyes streaming.

"Wha-?" Parkinson raised her hands to cover her mouth and screamed in horror when the next cough brought up blood. She continued to cough more and more, harder and harder, and the blood kept coming, flying from her lips and onto the table.

" _Professors!"_ Daphne screamed, rising to her feet. "Something's happened to Pansy!"

In a flash the teachers were moving as people from all over the hall strained to get a look at Parkinson, who was still coughing up blood and crying fearfully. Her watery eyes darted around in search of help. Her eyes landed on me. My smile said it all and Parkinson screamed, rearing away from me and sending herself sprawling to the ground.

McGonagall, Dumbledore, Pomfrey, Snape, and Umbridge were all there as Parkinson began to writhe, the blood coming out of her lips in foamy bubbles.

"I have to get her to the Hospital Wing," Madam Pomfrey said, grabbing her wand and waving it. A napkin turned into a stretcher and she levitated the spasming Parkinson onto it. Moving her wand and muttering diagnostic spells, she hustled to get Parkinson out of the Great Hall and into the Hospital Wing.

"What happened?" McGonagall demanded sharply, but Dumbledore was staring at me. Just staring, with disbelief and rage in his stupid twinkly blue eyes. I widened my eyes and putting on an innocent expression so fake not even a Hufflepuff would fall for it and Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.

"I-I don't know," Daphne stammered. She pointed at the bottle of perfume lying there innocently on the table. "Sh-She got a bottle of that for her birthday and when she sprayed it she… just started coughing!"

"Severus," Dumbledore barked.

"Right." My Head of House swept up the bottle and hurried from the Great Hall, no doubt to start running tests. I didn't doubt that he'd soon realize the perfume was tainted with a virulent poison, but the fragrance had diluted it to the point where it would injure someone, make them cough up blood and seize, and scare the hell out of them, but not kill. I didn't want to cross that line just yet but I walked up to it unflinchingly.

"Oh my god," Tracey said, staring in horror at the blood-stained dish at Parkinson's place. The robes she'd been so proud of were also speckled with blood and I was glad that my revenge had added that extra little oomph. I hadn't planned for that but I found it wildly amusing.

"Miss Potter, why don't you come with me?" Dumbledore said grimly.

"Hem, hem." I'd never think this again in my life and I was sickened to even think it now but thank god for Umbridge. "Why do you want to speak to Miss Potter?" Umbridge simpered. "I'm certain she had nothing to do with this horrible act!"

"No, of course not," McGonagall snapped. "That's not what the headmaster is thinking at all."

The hesitation was slight but present as Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Potter is the Slytherin prefect, she may have some sort of insight into her house that I do not. Also, she did witness the attack."

"It's like Daphne said," I replied calmly. "Parkinson sprayed the perfume and then she started coughing. You know, I wonder if the perfume was poisoned?" I mused, looking around the table innocently. Draco was determinedly avoiding my eye.

"There you are, Professor," Umbridge said proudly. "Miss Potter didn't see anything!"

"Sir?" Daphne said, and offered Dumbledore the card that had come with the perfume. It simply read _A Secret Admirer_ and couldn't be traced to me. Dumbledore took the card and pocketed it.

"Hem hem," Umbridge coughed daintily. "I believe an attack on a student is a matter for the Ministry…"

"This will be handled within Hogwarts," Dumbledore said firmly. He looked to the table of Slytherins. None of us looked back at him, all of us either too shell-shocked by what we'd seen or quietly reveling in revenge. The last, obviously, was just me, although I saw a couple of the younger children who Parkinson had bullied over the year looking awfully pleased as well.

"I think we should excuse them from classes this morning," Umbridge offered, "in light of this terrible scene." She smiled at us sweetly, obviously trying to insinuate that she was doing this for our sakes.

"Fine. I must inform Miss Parkinson's parents," Dumbledore said, sweeping from the Great Hall. Umbridge smiled at us once more before traipsing cheerfully back up to the table. McGonagall eyed us all suspiciously before following Dumbledore out of the Great Hall.

"What the hell was that?" Lily hissed. "Someone poisoned Parkinson?"

"That's the only explanation I can think of," I agreed, rising.

"Where are you going?" Zabini asked.

"I'm going to see what I can dig up about inhalants," I explained as I grabbed my bag. "Since Umbridge was nice enough to give us the morning off…"

"Let us know," Nott approved as I made my way out of the Great Hall, resisting the urge to skip and whistled as I went. I felt lighter and freer than I had in months. No longer was I afraid that Parkinson was around every corner. She had seen the look on my face, she knew it was me. And, hopefully, she'd be too terrified to ever come near me again.

I made my way down to the apprentice's lab, not the Library. I didn't need to look up poisons seeing as I knew exactly what she'd been given. I gave the password to the statue and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

"What have you done?"

Professor Snape was standing by the counter, his arms crossed. The bottle of perfume rested next to him and he was staring me down with an intensity he usually reserved for only the clumsiest of Gryffindors.

"What have you done?"

"I got revenge," I said shamelessly. "Parkinson knows what I can do now, and she knows what I will do if she comes near me again." Snape's eyes narrowed slightly and I flinched. "Are you… angry sir?"

"I of all people cannot lecture you on the dangers of revenge," Snape replied slowly. "But I will caution you – do not do this again. Albus is furious and he won't take a second attempt on a student's life lightly."

"It wasn't an attempt on her life," I said with a snort. "I was careful. I've seen Parkinson put on perfume so many times I could probably calculate it down to the milliliter. I was careful about how much I put into the bottle and tested to make sure it wouldn't diffuse far enough to get anyone else."

"And it was just coincidence that she decided to use it at that moment?" Snape urged.

"Funnily enough, she'd just run out, and that's her favorite," I said, nodding to the bottle. Snape shook his head and sat down wearily.

"Potter, I will not lie. I'm not pleased with what you've done even though I understand the reason. This is not the time to be making enemies."

"Parkinson has been my enemy since day one," I said darkly, taking a seat on the other stool. "I'm not making enemies; I'm making sure that when the time comes she fears me too much to make a move against me. We all know war is coming sir, and I've finally decided to start acting like it."

"I had noticed a change in your reading material," Snape said, nodding to some of the books on the shelf. They were Dark volumes copied from and smuggled out of the Restricted Section for me to read at my leisure. Some of them detailed curses and rituals that turned my stomach but I made sure to read every word.

"The Death Eaters won't hold back," I said bluntly. "What am I supposed to do if I don't know what I'm defending against?"

"What did you give Parkinson?" Snape asked wearily.

"Moonseed poison."

Snape snorted. "And it will of course not be possible to trace to you because every student wandering the halls has a supply of moonseeds for brewing."

"That's the beauty of it, sir."

Snape shook his head. "I will admit that while your deviousness does give me pause I can also admire you skill at planning."

I smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"I will ask you once more Potter: do you still care?"

I paused. Faces flashed before my eyes. The professor in front of me, Harry, Amity, Hagrid, Fred and George… Draco. "Yes sir," I replied confidently. "I do."

Snape inclined his head. "Then I will say nothing to headmaster."

* * *

I stared at Artmeisia as she winged her way away from the school a red envelope clutched in her talons. It was a Howler, but what most people overlooked was that a Howler was just an animated letter. The only reason they screamed was because the speaker screamed the words at the paper. However if one spoke at a regular tone they were just like sending someone a recording of your voice.

This made them perfect for communicating with Amity. I could only hope she'd have the sense not to open a letter from an owl in the middle of her shop and that the letter itself wouldn't give her too much of a shock, but I needed to talk to someone. Putting my actions down on paper wasn't terribly smart and there was no telling how Amity would take the news but I needed to tell someone about it, someone other than Snape.

As I walked back to the castle the words ran through my head again.

 _Amity,_

 _It's me. This is called a Howler. Neat, huh? Most of the time mothers send them to scream at students for getting detention or something but I figure it will suit our purposes fine. You can't really send anything back but I just… I need to tell someone what's going on and the only person I can think of is you._

 _Well, that's not entirely true. My Potions professor, Severus Snape? I've mentioned him to you before. Someday, I really need to introduce the pair of you, it would be hilarious. He knows some of what's going on but it's not the same. He gives good advice – underneath all the sarcasm and disdain – but I really miss your brand. You know, commiserating followed by blunt instructions. Splitting a pint of mint chocolate chip wouldn't be amiss either._

 _Let's start with the new teacher. Her name's Umbridge, and she will hereafter be referred to as Umbitch. Now, Umbitch works for the Ministry, who is very much against my brother and the headmaster of the school. I'm not overly fond of the headmaster either so I don't mind that bit so much but she's been making Harry write lines in his own blood. Trust me, it's as crude as it sounds. She's also banned him from Quidditch, which is as close to purely happy as my brother gets. I'm going to have to make her suffer for that._

 _My plan thus far has been to get on her good side and it's been working well. She's convinced she's manipulated me into spying on my brother for her when really I'm just trying to undermine her. She's even put me in contact with some very important people in the potions world! Really it's all kind of hilarious from my point of view. She thinks she's got me on a leash when I'm running her in circles._

 _On the subject of my brother- he's an arse. I mean I always sort of knew that but it's never been like this before. Part of the problem with Umbitch is that she teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. With Voldemort back, this should be a critical class. But since the Ministry party line is that Voldemort's gone and my brother is a crank, she's been teaching us worthless theory._

 _Cut to Harry forming a secret defense club, and me becoming assistant teacher – only after I proved myself worthy by handing a couple of older boys their arses in a duel. It's as clandestine and dramatic as it sounds, trust me. I went to speak to him about an incident after a Quidditch game – Gryffindor won –where Harry attacked a boy on my team for mouthing off. I dragged Harry off and helped my teammate up, took him to the Hospital Wing, and healed him. This wouldn't be a problem, except this boy is Draco Malfoy, who is only slightly below Voldemort on Harry's list of people he could do without._

 _I went to the club to try – not a Slytherin in sight mind, despite the fact that we need to defend ourselves too - and explain to him why I did it. Umbitch was in the crowd watching him, what did he think was going to happen? Anyway, I try and explain then Ron starts in on me. Then other students start getting involved and putting in their two cents. What does Harry tell me? 'Leave. Get out, Lorena, you shouldn't be here.' He let them say those things to me and he didn't defend me and I can't believe it. I know we're not as close as we used to be but I still can't believe he'd treat me like that._

 _On the subject of Draco Malfoy… I have a boyfriend, Amity, and it's messing with my head. Malfoy and I have sniped at each other for years, you know that, but after the graveyard last year he was kind and that's continued. He's been sweet and he confessed in his own way that he's had feelings for me for a while. I tried to be suspicious and keep him at arm's length, but he's been so good to me. He cares about me, I can't believe it, and I can't believe that I care too._

 _All of that isn't really the big news. I poisoned a girl, Amity. Not fatally, I was careful of that, but I still did it. It was out of revenge. She froze me in a corridor and used the Cruciatus on me. You don't know what that is, but it's a Dark curse. It's the torture curse, and using it will earn you a ticket straight to prison. I can't even begin to explain the pain… I had to make sure she never crossed me again and poison was in my wheelhouse and it was the best way I could think to scare her off._

 _I'm begging you, please don't hate me for it._

 _Something's coming, Amity, and I don't know what. I'm afraid, more afraid than I've ever been. This is war and I have to be a soldier because I don't have a choice. I'm a Potter, either I fight or I end up kneeling at the feet of the man who killed my parents and I can't do that, I really can't. It would break me. I'm worried about how many faces will be gone within the next few years. I'm scared mine will be one of them. Harry, Snape, Fred and George, Remus and Sirius, you, and now Draco. I promise, the moment I'm seventeen and able I'll come to your store and set up so many protections not even god will be able to touch you. I care more than I thought I did about what happens to you, I hope that's alright and I hope you don't hate me for putting you in danger just by knowing me._

 _Snape says that's the key. He says that as long as I have people I care about he's not worried about me so long as I don't start leaping over too many lines. He's brilliant, Amity, really, you have to meet him sometime. And Draco, I'd like you to meet Draco, I think. You'd have nearly as much fun teasing him as I do._

 _Hoping you are a thousand times better than I,_

 _LP_

* * *

A few hours after I returned from the owlery I was being shaken awake. I opened my eyes, blinking madly. My glasses were pressed into my hand and so was my wand. I quickly forced them on and the dark blur hanging over me resolved into my Head of House.

"What's happened?" I asked quietly. It had to be after midnight and Snape was in his normal clothes shaking me awake. He didn't come to the Common Room very often and I assumed he came into the girl's dorms even less.

Snape merely shook his head and gestured to the girls sleeping soundly in the beds around us. I nodded and dragged myself out of bed, pulling on my robe and tucking my wand into my robe. I looked around curiously.

"Am I coming back here after?" I asked him, wondering what had happened. Something bad, obviously, going by the pinched, harried quality of Snape's face. Presumably, Harry and I were both being summoned for a briefing on whatever new shade of horrible had occurred.

Snape shook his head. I nodded and raised my wand. Nonverbally I cast a Summoning charm. My toiletries came floating out of the bathroom and landed quietly in my trunk. I shut it, locked it, shrunk it, and tucked it in my pocket.

Snape clapped a hand on my shoulder in silent approval and pushed me towards the door. I walked, eyes lingering on Parkinson's empty bed with a smug smile. He steered me down into the Common Room and towards the portrait hole.

We left and I soon recognized that we were taking the path to the Headmaster's office.

"What's happened?" I asked Snape. He flicked his wand, presumably setting up a ward that would keep us from being eavesdropped on. The air around us rippled and then resolved.

"Arthur Weasley has been attacked while on Order business," he explained tersely. "You, your brother, and the Weasley spawn are being removed to headquarters for your own safety."

"Attacked how?" I asked.

"He was bitten by a snake. You brother, as I understand it, saw it in a vision of some kind."

"Nagini? Was Voldemort there?"

"Not that your brother has reported."

I frowned at that. Harry didn't dream through Nagini's eyes, he dreamed through Voldemort. And the only explanation for him seeing through Nagini's eyes would be if… I glanced up and saw Snape looking down at me. He was waiting for me to ask the question that had just sprung to mind.

"Can Voldemort possess Nagini?" I asked, already confident of the answer. Snape nodded approvingly.

"Yes he can. I believe that is the source of your brother's dream."

"And Dumbledore decided Harry and I need to leave?"

"You and the Weasleys. He's not taking this attack lightly," Snape said grimly.

"And where are we going?"

"You'll be spending the holidays with your godfather. I'm certain it will be disgustingly familial," was the reply twisted by a sneer. I sniggered.

"What, you won't drop in for some hot cocoa, sir?" I asked drily.

"I would sooner two-step with Trelawney than have hot chocolate anywhere near Black."

"On the bright side, I think he feels much the same way," I agreed as we approached the headmaster's office. "Check my potions for me while I'm gone, sir? I'd hate to have something blow up."

"If I can spare the time," Snape replied, which was a yes.

Snape gave the password and we mounted the steps. He didn't bother to knock on the door, just pushed it open and ushered me inside. Harry was already there with Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. The Weasleys were looking worried and Harry was staring blankly at the ground.

"Quickly, before anyone else joins us," Dumbledore said, beckoning us all towards his desk. I made to stand beside Harry, then remembered what he'd said to me in the Room of Requirement like a slap in the face. I moved instead to stand between Fred and George. They both looked a little more tense than usual but that could be attributed to the fact that their father was potentially bleeding out somewhere.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asked Dumbledore, and we nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle sitting on his desk. "Good. On the count of three, then... one... two... three…"

There was a jerk behind my navel. We spend backwards in a whirl of light and color, fRed and George banging shoulders with me. I could feel the both of them and see a blur of green that was Harry's eyes, the black of his hair, and I wished to Merlin things were different. My feet hit the ground hard, but I was ready for it. I bent my knees and absorbed the shock, straightening easily when everyone else staggered and the kettle dropped to clatter across the floor.

"Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?"

"Out!" roared a second voice.

We were in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth. Sirius was hurrying towards us all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes. There was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him. I narrowed my eyes.

"What's going on?" he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured-"

"Ask Harry," said Fred.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," agreed George.

"I'm going to go to bed," I said quietly, slipping towards the door. I was ignored, the Weasleys purely focused on Harry for his story, as they should have been. Sirius watched as Harry made eye contact with me, looking to me for support. My jaw tightened. A week or two ago, maybe I would have helped. Now I didn't give a damn if poor Harry was uncomfortable. Alright, I did care, but I was angry enough that I could ignore it.

Instead I left the kitchen and started up the stairs, giving Kreacher a dark look as I passed when he muttered about blood traitors and half breeds. I ventured up the creaky staircase to the room I'd shared with Hermione and Ginny this summer. It was unoccupied, which wasn't surprising. No one stayed at headquarters for any length of time but Sirius and occasionally Remus when he needed a place to crash.

I waved my wand to dispel the layer of dust that had accumulated since summer and sat down. I pulled my trunk from my pocket and enlarged it, letting it rest at the foot of my bed. I lay back, ignoring the blankets, and stared at the cobwebs on the ceiling.

There were things to be done even still. Umbridge would be furious that we had escaped her grasp early. I'd need to send her a note, something that made it sound like Dumbledore's fault and made me sound completely innocent. And Christmas was coming up – I needed to do my baking.

For the sake of giving my mind something to focus on, I grabbed a piece of parchment, ink, and quill from my trunk and began writing down names of people to give whatever I made to. Snape and Hagrid, Sirius, Amity, and Remus. Harry and the Weasleys were added somewhat grudgingly, as were Lily and Tracey. I hesitated, and then added a D to the end of the list. Draco had never gotten any of my Christmas baking before, I realized with a small smile.

That reminded me that I needed to send him a note and let him know I was safe. I had to wait for Artemisia to come back, but for now I could go ahead and scrawl out my notes.

I dragged out more sheets of parchment and began writing. The one to Draco was simple, short, and to the point.

 _D,_

 _Safe. Will return._

 _L_

The letter to Umbridge was a bit harder. I crumpled the parchment a bit and wrote hastily, letting my letters smear slightly like I was writing on borrowed time.

 _Professor Umbridge,_

 _I literally cannot write down where we are. Can't tell what part of the country. Safe house of some kind. Don't know why. More when I get back._

 _LP_

The box that held my flowers had been treated to as many protective measures as I could throw at it and I was confident that not even Dumbledore himself could break into the thing as I lifted the lid. I was going to just slide the letters in under the papered bottom for safe keeping until they could be sent but I lingered, staring at the dried white petals, the different wild flowers Fred and George had given me over the years, and some from the bouquets Zabini occasionally sent me when I was in the Hospital Wing.

By far, there were more tulips than anything else. I reached out to tenderly lift a few out, bringing them to my nose. The smell had faded and mixed with the other flowers but I could still remember the scent. I smiled fondly and dragged a finger against the stem. The color reminded me of Draco's hair a little, I thought with a wistful smile, and immediately scowled. I was getting sappy.

There was a knock at the door and it was pushed open. Sirius stood in the doorway. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Shouldn't you be tending to your flock in the kitchen?" I said carelessly.

"They're too exhausted to even notice I've gone," Sirius replied, stepping inside and shutting the door. He raised an eyebrow at the box of dried flowers on my lap. Thankfully, the letters were already buried. "Well, aren't you popular?" he noticed.

"This was accumulated over all my years at Hogwarts," I said quietly, staring into my box of treasures. This box held things besides flowers. The photo album from Hagrid that held pictures of my parents was in the bottom, along with a few random papers or letters that meant something to me. The chocolate frog card from my first time on the Hogwarts Express and a black ribbon from a Christmas gift Snape had sent me one year. A leaf I'd pressed that I'd picked up on my first illegal venture into Hogsmeade.

"Blaise Zabini sends me bouquets sometimes when I'm in the Hospital Wing. And the wildflowers are from Fred and George." I picked up one of the daffodils and smiled. "This was the only normal one mixed in with a bunch of the honking kind from Sprout's greenhouse."

"And the tulips?" Sirius asked, sitting down next to me. He cautiously dragged a few of the flowers back until he could see the album and papers, the chocolate frog card poking out from the album cover and the ribbon tied around it, holding it closed.

"A mystery," I said with a small laugh. "They started showing up after I was hurt by Fluffy. Ever since then they've shown up on my birthday, at Christmas, and any time I'm in the Hospital Wing."

"You don't know who sends them?" Sirius asked in surprised.

"I have theories," I said vaguely.

"And you've never confronted them?"

"So many of the mysteries in my life are the life-altering sort," I replied, trailing a hand around the edge of the box. I shut the lid and slid it back into my trunk. "It's nice having one that's simple."

Sirius looked pained as I straightened up and tugged my robe tighter around me, staring at my slippered feet. I reached up to scratch my cheek. My nails caught on the edge of the patch covering my left cheek. I carelessly peeled it off and tossed it into my trunk as well. I wondered faintly if Draco had heard about my hidden scar from his father. Was that something Mr. Malfoy would have bragged about?

"I noticed some tension between you and Harry in the kitchen," Sirius said slowly. "Can I ask what happened?"

So I told him. I told him everything, starting when I tripped George and pulled Harry off of Malfoy right up until I ended up crying in an empty classroom. I of course left out the intimate moments with Draco – Sirius would be about as thrilled with that relationship as Harry – but I told him about my motivations for doing what I did, what I had said in the Room of Requirement, and how Harry had let me be driven from the place.

"You weren't innocent, you know that, right?" Sirius asked uncertainly. "You walked in there and started that fight, mouthing off like you did."

"You would have done the same thing," I said, but I knew he was right. I'd known what I was saying the whole time. I just hadn't cared.

"True," Sirius admitted. "But I'd have known what was going to happen."

"I did," I agreed. "But I assumed Harry would cover for me. I was wrong."

"He's been going through a lot this year," Sirius began, placing a hand on my shoulder. The look I gave him was spiteful enough that he pulled it back. "I'm not saying you haven't," he assured me. "I'm just saying… you know, Harry's not nearly as good at handling things as you are. You're like your mother used to be." He smiled fondly. "Lily could file things away in some kind of mental to do list and when an emergency cropped up she took care of it and then got right back to whatever else needed to be done.

"Harry's much more like James. You could never hold him back. Whatever he wanted to do, James did. And if he was angry, god help you, because he would do something about it. James ran purely on emotion. So does Harry. You've got some logic mixed in with that," Sirius said, reaching up and stroking the hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. He reached out and wrapped me in a hug. I let him tug me against his side, listening to his heartbeat.

"You're very different people, you and Harry," Sirius murmured. "Regulus and I, we were as different as night and day. He was still my brother though, and you're still Harry's sister. When it comes down to the wire, Harry will choose you over anyone else."

"Will he?" I asked. "I used to think that but now I'm not so sure."

"He will," Sirius promised. "Or I'll kick his arse."

I chuckled at that and Sirius nodded approvingly. "There we are, finally a smile. Get some sleep," he advised. "You've been working yourself to the bone, McGonagall's said."

"A bit," I admitted, and lay back on the bed. To my surprise, Sirius dragged the sheets up over my chest and placed a kiss on my forehead.

"Am I godfathering well?" he asked wryly.

"Well done," I approved, and Sirius gave a quieter version of his bark-like laugh as he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 **Reviews: I love reviews, love them. I love constructive criticism because it helps me make sure I'm getting across the motivations of characters correctly and that I'm keeping everyone interested. What I don't like is pointless hate for the sake of being hateful.**

 **What brought this on? A guest who left a lovely comment that Lorena is stupid... But only because I wrote her that way. That rather useless bit of criticism has since been deleted. Again I don't care if you tell me you hate Lorena and you hate my story and you hate everything I've ever written - just tell me why instead of spitting insults and maybe the problem your having is something I can improve, maybe we're thinking about things a different way. But give me something I can work with.**

 **To everyone else who leaves those fabulous reviews I love all of you, particularly the ones of you who review fairly consistently. It means a lot that you've stuck with this story for so long and continue to keep up with it. As many of you know, some of you have raised issues with some scenes or character choices and I have done my best to explain why I chose to write those things the way I did. You guys are the kind of constructive criticism I like to get and I strongly believe you're the reason this story is going as well as it is - because you keep challenging me to write better. So thanks to all of my reviewers and even those who just read the story. You guys really are the best**.


	60. Dumbledore

Harry was nodding off over his butterbeer. Ron and the twins were already out and Ginny had curled up like a cat and passed out within minutes of him finishing his story. Probably during one of the long periods when he 'blinked' Sirius had left the room, though he couldn't think why.

The door creaked open and Harry looked up blearily as Sirius poked his head in. Sirius cast around to make sure the Weasley's were out and then crooked a finger at Harry. Harry was confused, but he stood nonetheless and abandoned his drink, following Sirius out of the kitchen.

"Up here," Sirius said, beckoning him toward the second floor. "We need to talk."

That was never a good thing, Harry thought nervously. What did they need to talk about? Was Sirius rescinding his offer to let Harry and Lorena live with him at some point? Had something happened? Was there news? Bad news?

Sirius brought him into the drawing room and they sat down on a couch, facing the Black family tapestry that no one had yet figured out how to get down. Sirius cast the thing a nasty look before twisting so that he faced Harry.

"I just spoke with Lorena," he began.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He remembered Lorena's spiteful face spitting all kinds of venom at Ron, looking worriedly over Malfoy… His sister was not his favorite person at the moment. "What about her?" he snapped irritably.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. "I noticed you two didn't seem to be getting along."

"And did you ask her why?" Harry challenged. Sirius nodded.

"She told me."

"Bet she didn't tell you everything," Harry muttered, wishing he'd grabbed a blanket at some point during the hectic night. It was cold in Number 12. "Did she tell you about how she picked Malfoy over me?"

"She told me about how she tried to keep you from getting into a fight in front of the whole school. In front of Umbridge," Sirius replied, nodding to himself. Harry scowled.

"And what about the things she said to Ron?" he demanded.

"Ah yes," Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, she mentioned that."

"How could she say those things to him after she broke George's teeth?" Harry said angrily. "Ron had a right to be angry."

" _George_ had a right to be angry," Sirius disagreed. "But, funny thing, he and Fred seem to be the only ones who will talk to her."

"Yeah, well… they're not her brother and she didn't pick Malfoy over them," Harry grumbled.

"For Merlin's sake!" Sirius exclaimed, throwing up his head. "She didn't _pick Malfoy_ , she picked what would keep her cover in place! She picked what she was _supposed_ to pick to stay out of trouble! She picked trying to help you!"

"Help me?" Harry said incredulously. "I've been banned from Quidditch!"

"And is that her fault?" Sirius countered, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Or did she pull you off before it was worse? Tell me, what would have happened if she'd let you keep pounding Malfoy? What if you'd done him serious damage, eh? You think Lucius Malfoy would let that lie?"

Harry gulped. He didn't like where this conversation was going. Suddenly he was in the wrong and his self-righteousness didn't like it. "Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore doesn't have nearly the pull he once had," Sirius reminded him gently. "And a determined Slytherin, one who you've hurt… that's not someone you want to cross."

"Yeah, or you get 'Weasley is our King' sung at you," Harry spit out. Sirius snorted.

"Really? You're angry about that? I've heard that song, it's not even close to as bad as some of the things I've heard students say to each other. I think Lorena has a right to be angry at Ron as well. He provoked her and you know he did."

"His brother-"

"His brother is a Wealsey, and the Malfoy's have enough power in the Ministry to make their lives very difficult. Ron should be glad that Lorena stopped George before he start in on Malfoy, but instead he was insulting her. And you sided with him," Sirius said. Harry looked up and winced.

Sirius was his godfather but he had never been stern with him. He'd never been one to tell Harry to stay indoors and let the grown-ups handle it, to try and act like a parent. But there he was, staring down at Harry in… disappointment. If there was one person Harry never wanted to disappoint, it was Sirius. It was too close to disappointing his father.

"As far as what happened after the Quidditch match," Sirius said quietly, "you'll never convince me that what Lorena did was wrong or for the wrong reasons. As far as what happened in your DA… I've spoken to her and she knows she shouldn't have gone in spells firing. But you know why she did?"

"Because she's petty?" Harry said pettily. Sirius snorted.

"Ah, no. She did it because she thought she'd have her brother supporting her. And do you know what happened? Her brother turned his back on her."

Harry shifted in his chain uncomfortably. "You didn't hear some of the things she's been saying lately… like she agreed with something Voldemort said and… and right when she left the Room of Requirement."

"I agree with Voldemort," Sirius said bluntly. Harry looked at him incredulously. "I believe whole-heartedly there are people the world would be better off without. The difference is that I don't go around causing a genocide. Agreeing with someone on one thing isn't the same thing as joining up with them.

"What did she say when she left the Room?"

"She said…" Harry had to wrinkle his nose to remember the exact words, and he knew it was important to get the exact wording because it always was with his sister. "She said, 'Tell me something. If I were Gryffindor and came in making the claim of working as a double agent, I suspect none of you would question it. The only reason you do is because my robes are green and not red. Think about that, and tell me how any of you are better or less prejudiced than the Death Eaters themselves.'" He left out the cursing.

Sirius shrugged. "I think that's a fair question."

" _What?"_ Harry demanded. "We're training to fight people like the Death Eaters, we're not anything like them!"

"Sounds like you were about as intolerant as my dear cousin can be," Sirius said coolly. "I don't blame her for being angry with you lot after what it sounds like happened. I wasn't there so I can't pass judgment on any of this, but Harry…" He sighed. "Your sister has bitten off a lot this year and she had been stressed beyond belief."

"She doesn't seem any different," Harry said, but some of the anger was gone, replaced by guilt.

"That's because the day Lorena Potter asks for help is the day that Dumbledore shaves his beard," Sirius said with a snort. "Do you know she's taking some kind of advanced lessons with Snape? I don't have the details but I know him enough to know that he's not being easy on her. And trying to become an Animagus on top of that…"

Harry jerked. "What?" he asked, startled. "She's what?"

Sirius looked at him in surprise. "She hadn't said…?"

"No," Harry breathed. "I… didn't know."

Sirius sighed. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

"Why is that?"

"Because Rena will brag to anyone else about how amazing and powerful she is without blinking because she doesn't care what they think of her. You… she wants to make you proud Harry. I think you and Snape are the only people Lorena has ever cared about having the good opinion of. She wouldn't want you to see her failing, she'd want you to see her succeed."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Snape…"

"I hate him just as much as you," Sirius said quickly. "But he has been good to your sister when a lot of people weren't. You included," he said firmly. "I'm not saying Lorena's always perfect – god knows she isn't. But you aren't either and neither is Ron. But she's your sister and she loves you more than life itself, and I think you forget that too easily."

"I don't…" Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, I know she loves me… and she knows I love her…"

"Does she?" Sirius challenged. "Because there was a time when I really didn't think Regulus gave a damn about me. When you don't hear it for years and years… you start to wonder."

"You want me to make up with her," Harry summarized.

"I think you know you should," Sirius corrected. "I'm not going to force you but I am going to say that losing a sibling… it's not easy." There was a haunted look on Sirius's face. He was looking at the tapestry. Harry didn't have to follow his eyes to know he was staring at the boy with long, dark hair next to the burn mark where Sirius's picture used to me. "It's not something I ever want you to have to deal with. I don't think you've pushed Lorena close to that edge… but I think you have pushed her farther than you ever have."

The silence lingered and stretched as Harry considered.

He'd never thought of his life without Lorena. Sure he spent more time with Hermione and Ron than her but that was because she was in a different house. But she'd always been there. At Hogwarts, at Privet Drive.

He tried to imagine walking into his potions class and not seeing Lorena sitting with the Slytherins, that gleam in her eye that she only got around a cauldron. He tried to imagine mounting up his Firebolt at the Quidditch pitch and not seeing Lorena in green silk on the opposite team. He tried to imagine going to sleep in his bed in Privet Drive and not feeling Lorena pressed up against his chest and freezing his legs with her icy feet.

It was all in his head but even then it made his heart pound and his mind spin. Life without Lorena… he'd be lost. Even when she wasn't _there_ , she was there. He'd always been completely confident that no matter what happened, no matter where he was or what he was doing, Lorena would be by his side the moment he asked, staring people down and slowly but surely crushing them all for his sake.

He remembered in the Room of Requirement there had been a moment when she had looked to him. Her eyes were… hopeful, expectant. And what had he said? Get out. You're not wanted. He'd turned her away when she'd never done that to him before. She would never turn her back on him yet he'd let Ron say whatever he wanted about her. Now that he considered what Ron had actually been saying, he was actually a bit mad at his friend. Where did he get off saying those things about his sister?

And right when Lorena had left… He'd been paying attention to her words then and looking back he knew he shouldn't have. His sister wielded words as easily as she wielded a wand, he knew that better than most. She could say anything and make someone believe her, believe that she meant every word. You had to listen to her tone and when she'd said those words there had been a barely perceptible crack and hitch that spoke volumes. He hadn't even noticed at the time that she'd been closer than he could recall seeing her since the graveyard to tears.

* * *

The trip to St. Mungo's to see Mr. Weasley had been awkward, to say the least. Harry and Ron weren't pleased with me, and neither was Hermione, come to it. Fred and George were less than thrilled as well but they at least would deign to speak with me. Mrs. Weasley looked confused by the awkwardness but she didn't say anything. Mr. Weasley was more interested in saying thanks to Harry and I couldn't blame him for that. Once again, I faded into the background of the Gryffindor gathering and just lingered at the rear of the crowd around Mr. Weasley's bed.

We trooped back into the corridor. Mad-Eye and Tonks went in and closed the door of the ward behind them. Fred raised his eyebrows.

"Fine," he said coolly, rummaging in his pockets, "be like that. Don't tell us anything."

"Looking for these?" said George, holding out what looked like a tangle of flesh-colored string.

"You read my mind," said Fred, grinning. "Let's see if St Mungo's puts Imperturbable Charms on its ward doors, shall we?"

He and George disentangled the string and separated six Extendable Ears from each other. Fred and George handed them around. Harry hesitated to take one.

"Go on, Harry, take it! You saved Dad's life. If anyone's got the right to eavesdrop on him, it's you."

George pressed one into my hesitant hand, looking down at me with a soft smile.

"Go on Rena," he urged, and I felt a surge of joy that no, at the very least the twins didn't hate me. I fit the end of the string into my ear and waited.

"OK, go!" Fred whispered.

The flesh-colored strings wriggled like long skinny worms and snaked under the door. At first, I could hear nothing, then I jumped as I heard Tonks whispering as clearly as though she were standing right beside me.

"... they searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur... but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?"

"I reckon he sent it as a lookout," growled Moody, "'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter says he saw it all happen?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this."

"Yeah, well," said Moody, "there's something funny about the Potter kids, we all know that."

"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," whispered Mrs. Weasley.

"Course he's worried," growled Moody. "The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him-"

Harry pulled the Extendable Ear out of his own, his heart hammering very fast and heat rushing up his face. He looked around at us. The others were all staring at him, the strings still trailing from their ears, looking suddenly fearful.

I made a move because they were too scared to. I shoved the bitterness out of my heart – I knew Harry would get just as angry as I could, I just wasn't used to it because it happened to be directed at me very rarely, partly by my own design. I knew he loved me, I knew he needed me. I could see it by the sheer terror and hesitance in his eyes.

I stepped forwards and cupped Harry's cheeks, dragging his forehead down so that it met mine. I stared him in the eye determinedly. "You're not possessed," I growled to him firmly. "You're not, Harry!"

Harry's voice was weak as he whispered, "How do you know?"

"Because I know _you,"_ I muttered fiercely. "I know that you are too good for Voldemort to _ever_ be able to touch."

"But he _can_ touch me," Harry whispered back, wrapping his arms around me and crushing me to him tightly. I remembered the moment in the graveyard, when a long white finger had brushed my brother's skin and it hadn't hurt Voldemort, it had hurt Harry, made his scar split with agony.

"Not without hurting you," I reminded him gently, even though I had a feeling he'd have bruises on his shoulder and back from how tightly my fingers dug into him. "You would have told me if you felt pain like that again. At least, I hope you would."

Harry winced and I saw the regret in his eyes. "Lorena, I'm so sorry… about the DA, about the game, about all of it. You've always been there for me and I… I've been a terrible brother."

"I haven't been the best of sisters either," I admitted sheepishly, conscious of all of the eyes on us. I would have preferred not to have an audience for this but there was no way I would stop Harry now.

"Yeah, but you're _my_ sister, and _I love you_ ," Harry said, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I inhaled sharply and I might have started crying right there if I hadn't had years of practice conditioning me against that sort of breakdown. I hadn't heard him say that in… Merlin I couldn't even remember the last time, really.

"Love you too," I whispered back, and wrapped my arms around him as well, squeezing tightly. I hid my face in Harry's chest and breathed deeply, a sense of peace I hadn't felt in ages washing over me. All I had to do suddenly seemed bearable because I had Harry at my side again.

* * *

"Dumbledore wants to talk to you."

I was sitting on Fred and George's pushed-together beds playing a round of Exploding Snap with them, Harry, and Ginny. Hermione read in the corner while she oversaw Ron, who was sulkily working on his homework.

We all looked up when Mrs. Weasley stud her head in the door. I turned my eyes back to my cards and Harry started to stand up. Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

"No, he wants to see Lorena."

"Why?" I asked blankly, even though I had a faint suspicion. But no way would he bring that up here, would he? Yes, yes he would, I thought irritably as I abandoned my cards.

"Rena?" Harry looked at me questioningly as Mrs. Weasley turned and began creaking her way down the stairs.

"No idea," I shrugged, and I honestly didn't know for sure. I had several strong theories, however.

I left the room and ventured downstairs to the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was waiting by the door. She ushered me inside and shut it behind us. She brushed past me, shooting me a nervous look as she took a seat at the kitchen table.

The mood in the kitchen of Number 12 was even grimmer than usual. Sirius and Lupin sat grim and straight in their chairs. Moody was looking me over suspiciously and so were Tonks and Kingsley. McGonagall was sterner than I'd ever seen her. And at the end of the table next to her stood the headmaster, from whom all this bad energy seemed to emanate.

"What's this about?" I asked as I took the only empty seat – the one at the head opposite Dumbledore.

"Miss Potter, some concerns regarding you have arisen," Dumbledore began gently. I raised an eyebrow. Never before had he addressed me so kindly. It was immediately obvious why – in this scenario he had set up, he was the concerned authority figure. He had to be kind.

"What kinds of concerns?" I asked, but it was easy to guess. I crossed my legs and let my forearms rest on the arms of my chair lazily as I sighed. "Regarding what specifically?"

"Your behavior," Lupin said tensely.

"And what have I done?"

"Merlin, a girl was poisoned!" McGonagall said sharply. "Miss Parkinson will be recovering for two weeks in St. Mungo's. And the headmaster seems convinced that you did it, Potter!"

"Ah," I said, nodding in understanding. So that is what this was about – my revenge upon Parkinson. "That makes sense."

"Lorena," Mrs. Weasley said, looking at me hopefully. "You didn't do it, did you? Just tell us you didn't do it and you can go."

"I could," I allowed, letting my fingers trail absently along the edge of the wood. Something in me was removed from this situation. Lorena Potter was fading into the background and the Slytherin was coming forward. This was why I kept this mask, for situations that the Lorena who was sweet to the people she cared about couldn't handle. "I'd be lying though."

Disgust, disappointment, anger, they were all written on the faces of those around me. I cast around looking for a supportive expression and was unsurprised to find them lacking.

"Why?" Sirius asked, looking at me like I'd personally betrayed him. "Why would you try to kill Parkinson?"

The hypocrisy of that one smacked. "Considering you once tried to feed my Head of House to your best friend, you're perhaps the worst person here to lecture me on morality, Sirius," I said sharply, thoroughly unimpressed. Sirius recoiled in shock and Lupin winced. I regretted my words only so much as they hurt Lupin – he hadn't done anything yet.

"I notice my Head of House isn't here," I continued, casting around. I tilted my head back, staring challengingly at the headmaster. "I'm assuming that's your design, to make sure I have no one who might support me here. Is this your plan, then? To get so many Gryffindors concerned about saving me that I can't blow my nose without having to justify myself?"

"Lorena." Mrs. Weasley sounded hurt. "We all care about you and we want to help you…"

"No, actually, not all of you do," I sighed, setting my chin in my palm glumly. "You want me to be exactly like you people when I'm not. If you wanted to help me, then you would be congratulating me on getting away with it.

"Do you honestly think that if I wanted Parkinson dead she'd still be breathing? I'm the best brewer in the castle bar Snape. I was very careful to make sure that the dose in her perfume wouldn't kill her, it would only make her _feel_ like she was dying."

"You do understand that poisoning someone is still illegal, right?" Kingsley snapped at me. "Even if you didn't mean to kill them."

"Oh yes," I nodded, smiling at him graciously. "Of course I do. You see, I'm not actually a complete and total _moron._ But I can't help but notice that none of you have yet asked _why_ I did it."

"Very well," Moody growled. "Why'd you do it, Potter?" His magical eye was fixed firmly on me but for once I didn't feel unnerved. I recognized it for what it was – an intimidation tactic. Once I knew that it became far less intimidating.

"Her motives pale in comparison to the fact that she actually did it," Dumbledore cut in, his voice still holding that disappointed edge. "Miss Potter, I can understand wishing ill upon someone who had angered you – even I have done that a time of two in my youth – but to actually act on such urges?"

I smirked. "Oh, our dear headmaster hasn't told you, has he?" I guessed, understanding washing over me. "I see, I'm not surprised – it does make me rather more sympathetic, which can't help his cause."

"Told us what?" Lupin asked slowly, looking between me and Dumbledore. "Albus?"

But Dumbledore remained quiet. His blue eyes were fixed on me, now rather less kind than they had been when I entered. Instead he looked somewhat annoyed. I didn't blame him – I was stepping all over his plans. The best part was that he couldn't stop me from speaking now or it would only look more suspicious.

"The reason I attacked Parkinson was because around the middle of October, she did the same to me. She put me in a Full-Body Bind, threw me to the ground, and brought two older students along as muscle. She broke my nose, my glasses, a rib. And then she told one of her goons to pull out his wand.

It wasn't until later I found out how long," I admitted bitterly as I recalled the pain. The remembrance brought a throb to my whole body and a winced. "For nearly ten minutes I was held under the Cruciatus."

Silence. Then…

" _What?"_ Sirius roared, leaping to his feet and glaring at Dumbledore. "My goddaughter had the Cruciatus used on her and you didn't _tell me?"_

"Albus!" McGonagall gasped. She hadn't known either, apparently. The Weasleys were looking sickened and Lupin looked more wolf-like than I had ever seen him when the moon wasn't full.

"She refused to tell me who had assaulted her," Dumbledore said, spreading his hands innocently. "There was nothing I could do."

"But I did tell you I'd be going after them," I countered swiftly. "If you had really wanted to stop me then you could have set the portraits to watch me or asked the ghosts or house elves."

"You seem to have an abnormally large sway over the house elves and ghosts of Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied tightly. "I could not be sure they wouldn't defend you-"

"Which still leaves the portraits, stop making excuses," I said shortly. "Just tell the truth – you wanted to see what I'd do. You were testing me, and you knowingly used a student as bait. Not terribly caring for a headmaster, is it?" I asked him saccharinely.

"Albus, don't tell me…" McGonagall looked pained but not disbelieving. She was Deputy Headmistress and Dumbledore's closest confidante. She knew better than anyone here how ruthless the headmaster could be.

"I needed to know," Dumbledore admitted quietly. His eyes attempted to pin me to my chair but I had passed being afraid of him. Dislike had solidified into hatred. He could no longer touch me. "I needed to know how far Miss Potter had fallen…"

"Oh, keep your buzz words to yourself," I snarled at him. "It was just a bit of moonseed poison, like I said, and not enough to kill her. I haven't _fallen_ anywhere. Why don't you tell them the real reason you're harping on about this? You couldn't care less about what's happened to Parkinson – she's already a lost cause. You care because you're terrified that I'm about to jump ship and join Voldemort, and you're scared how that will affect Harry."

Silence reigned in the kitchen as everyone stared at me in horror. Mrs. Weasley looked like she'd never seen me before. Sirius and Lupin looked offended by the very idea and the Aurors were still suspicious. McGonagall was looking between the headmaster and myself, disapproval written on her face no matter which of us she looked at.

"And am I wrong to worry, Miss Potter?" Dumbledore asked dangerously. "You've confessed some sympathy for Voldemort in the past."

 _"Lorena!"_ Mrs. Weasley whispered, sounding agonized.

"You wordsmith," I praised Dumbledore. I clapped twice. "Nicely phrased, I applaud you, but let me ruin the illusion for you – I have expressed sympathy for Tom Riddle," I said to the table at large. "So little remains of him at this point that it is pointless to mention, yet mention it he does." I looked at the headmaster darkly.

"You see, while Harry's dreams provide us with insight into Voldemort's present movements, mine are a look into his past. I dream his history as a child in an orphanage who no one cared about, who was beaten and mocked and abused in ways such a young child should never have to go through. I have no idea why I have these dreams, and though he says he doesn't either I strongly suspect our esteemed headmaster of lying on that account. What I have confessed is that I feel sympathy for Tom Riddle… because I understand him very well.

"You know _exactly_ what you left Harry and I to," I said darkly, rising to glare at Dumbledore. "You know what kind of abuse we suffered. You know how our aunt and uncle hate magic. You know that they starved and beat us and locked us in closets, but yet you insisted we return to them every summer, that we grow up with them. You ensured that the only people Harry and I had to rely on were each other.

"Then you pulled us to Hogwarts where we were ripped apart. You and that damned school…" I leaned forwards, pressing my hands to the table and scowling furiously. "You tore us apart. You marked me down as an acceptable loss as I was tossed into the snake pit with the vipers. Let me explain something about Slytherin – it is a place that kills innocence. Once I was a kind girl, and maybe somewhere deep down I still am, I don't know." I scoffed.

"The problem is that I had to suppress it. I had to become angry and arrogant and bitter and sharp to survive that place. And now that I've climbed up out of that snake pit, you have the audacity to look down on me because I have venom in my veins, because... because why? Because I'm a Slytherin and most of you here are Gryffindors? Because you take the moral high ground?

I sneered. "While you've been standing so proudly up there, so confident in your self-righteousness, I've been digging in the dirt and the muck to survive. While you served everything up to Harry on a silver platter I've been scraping for every bit of knowledge I could get to drag myself through. The headmaster is quick to mention that I poisoned Parkinson, but has he told any of you that I've become nearly an insomniac because I've been brewing mass amounts of murtlap essence and antidote to Veritaserum for Umbridge's victims?

"No, because that's a good and noble thing to do. That paints me in a good light, and he can't have that, because the truth is that the headmaster is _afraid_ of how much sway I have over Harry. There was a time when we were children when he would have died for me. Well, Hogwarts may have stripped that from us, but I am still his twin sister. The headmaster is terrified that I will pull Harry off the path that he's guided him down trying to save him, that I'll ruin all of his plans.

"So his solution? I gave him a very easy out when I poisoned Parkinson. Bring it to the attention of friends and family, let me see their judging faces and let it cow me. But here's the thing – I don't give a _damn_ what you think of me. I'm doing what I have to, what I need to. Is it petty? Is it childish? Mm, probably, but do I care? Not particularly.

"And there is the headmaster's other fear. He is scared that I will become just as bitter and spiteful as Voldemort. He fears that I will follow in his footsteps in his hatred of Muggles because of what they've done to me in the past. You'd know that was foolish if you bothered to pay even half as much attention to me as you do to Harry, but I've learned not to expect that much from you. As much as you've molded Harry into what you need him to be for this war, you've molded me. Thank you for that, headmaster. Because of you, I've lost enough of my morals to do what needs to be done, so congratulations on that, but don't try and rebuke me for being what you've made me.

I spread my arms wide before sweeping my right across my stomach and bowing deeply to the headmaster. My head snapped up and I sneered at him viciously. "Bask in your creation, headmaster."

And with that I turned and walked from the room, ignoring the horrified expressions behind me.

I fled to Buckbeak's room, curling up with the hippogriff and stroking his beak and feathers fondly. I wasn't surprised when there was a knock on the door an hour later, but I was surprised when it was Snape who answered my call to come in.

"Did they call you in to contain your student?" I asked wryly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Snape moved into the room and shut the door behind him, conjuring a chair on which to sit. "Something like that," he allowed. "The headmaster still seems to think that you listen to me a great deal more than you actually do."

"He's actually quite stupid for all he's hailed as a genius," I mused.

"Unobservant is perhaps a better word," Snape suggested. I nodded.

"Yeah, probably."

We sat in silence for a moment as I continued to scratch under Buckbeak's wings. The hippogriff made a happy chirruping sound.

"You've managed to thoroughly horrify everyone who was in the meeting with your little speech. Terribly melodramatic as usual, Potter."

I smirked at that and looked up at him. "But was I wrong?" I challenged.

Snape shook his head. "Hardly. I know as well as you that the headmaster is not quite the gilded beacon of morality most of the Order idolizes him as. Unfortunately, it doesn't help to point that out."

"Because they won't believe you?" I offered. Snape shrugged.

"That, and because it throws those who might be willing to consider into a conflict that we can ill afford."

I bit my lip. "Perhaps I was a bit too dramatic," I allowed softly. "But I truly do hate that man."

"So do I at times," Snape admitted. "But I can't deny his effectiveness."

"So do they all hate me?" I asked him, bracing for the worst.

"You have forced them to reevaluate their opinions of you, but no, they don't hate you," Snape explained. "Many are disappointed or angry, but that will fade. I believe you've held up a rather bitter mirror for Black to look into today though, so I approve of that portion of your display."

I smirked. "Of course you do. Mrs. Weasley? Lupin? How are they taking it?"

Snape's jaw tightened. "Lupin has seen evidence of the headmaster's favoritism before… and he's clever," he admitted grudgingly. "He knows that he is not infallible. As for Molly, I believe she mostly feels sorry for you."

I nodded. "Sounds about right," I murmured. "So, I've just tossed a stone into the water?"

Snape snorted. "Put simply, yes. Must you always be so much trouble?"

"Oh yes sir, how else will I entertain myself?"

The door opened and Sirius stepped inside. His expression immediately darkened when he saw me sitting with my head of house.

"Snape."

"Black."

"Can I have a moment with my goddaughter?"

I nodded and Snape did as well, standing up. He brushed a random feather from his robes and moved for the door, shamelessly running his shoulder into Sirius's as he passed. I rolled my eyes. Children, both of them. I wondered if they'd ever grow up.

"So," Sirius said, sitting down next to me. "Parkinson."

"If you're going to lecture me you're too late," I said coolly.

"No." Sirius shook his head. "It hurt but… you were right. I don't really have the right to talk after what happened with Remus. At least you had justification. I was just petty."

"Knowing Professor Snape I'm sure he deserved some kind of retribution, just maybe not that," I said with a faint smile.

"Parkinson… I'm not pleased that you did it but I can't say I'm sorry it happened," Sirius admitted.

I nodded grimly. "She knows it was me too. When the time comes, she'll be too afraid of me to try and cross me... which was the goal."

"Are you alright?" Sirius asked uncertainly. "Cruciatus, that's… I can't believe Dumbledore didn't tell me."

"Sirius, you're perhaps even less fond of the man than I am but surely you can see why he didn't tell you," I said patiently. "You would have come tearing up to the castle to rip Parkinson's throat out besides, I… I'm fine," I said hoarsely.

"Try it again like you mean it," Sirius said wryly.

"It hurt," I said bluntly. "And I… I'm more cautious. I don't feel as safe at Hogwarts. But in a way, I think that's good."

"And why's that?" Sirius urged.

"Because I'm not." I shrugged. "I mean, I know Voldemort's not made his move yet but when he does the castle won't be as safe as everyone expects. There are people there who are angry enough or scared enough or prejudiced enough to help him from the inside and working together they'll be able to do some damage. Look at Parkinson – she got away scott free except for what I did."

"You didn't tell anyone it was her," Sirius reminded me.

"Would it have mattered if I did?" I countered swiftly. "She's a pureblood and considering how the Ministry feels about me and Dumbledore right now… You really think they'd do any real investigating? It would just give them more ammo against us, but, more importantly, against me."

We remained in silence for a moment. Sirius pitched Buckbeak a dead rat that the hippogriff devoured like a candy happily while I scratched behind his wings. He warbled in satisfaction and laid his head down, closing his eyes and settling in for a nap. I smiled fondly.

"All that you said to Dumbledore, about him writing you off and who you were… do you believe all that?" Sirius asked seriously.

"Snape agrees with me-"

" _Snape_ can suck an ashwinder egg," Sirius said bluntly. "I want to know what _you_ believe."

I sighed. "I don't believe. I know. I'm the _other Potter_ , I've heard it all my life. I'm not the main propriety and I never will be."

"You are to me, you and Harry both," Sirius assured me. I snorted.

"Thanks. But you know, I'm pretty sure you're required to say that, being our godfather and all."

"Doesn't make it any less true. How are your Animagus studies going?"

"Good. I can cover my arms in feathers by now and I'm starting to get some on my chest and back."

"That's great! You know, what you can try is…"

* * *

A few days before Christmas I tossed everyone from the kitchen under the claim that I needed to do Christmas baking. Mrs. Weasley was treading lightly around me these days, as were most of the other adults. I wasn't surprised when she cleared out with only a vague offer to help.

I'd decided to make the chocolate-stuffed cookies Aunt Petunia liked and Remus had been kind enough to supply the chocolate bars I'd be using. I sat at the kitchen table with a knife, a bowl and a cutting board as I got to work. I unwrapped the bars and cut the bars into small square bricks, tossing them into the bowl. I had a nice assortment of milk, dark, and white chocolate to go through.

As I worked I sang under my breath.

" _Try the grey stuff it's delicious! Don't believe me? Ask the dishes! They can sing they, can dance. After all, Miss, this is France_ _and a dinner here is never second best_ _! Go on, unfold your menu, take a glance and then you'll be our guest, oui, our guest, be our guest!"_

"I haven't heard you sing in a while."

I looked up in surprise to see Harry standing in the doorway. He was just standing there, looking at me with a little smile on his face as he stared. It made a smile come to my own mouth.

"I'm happier than I have been in a while," I admitted. I nodded to the seat across from me. "Want to help?"

"Am I allowed?" Harry asked drily. "I won't be ruining some big secret?"

"You've seen me cutting the chocolate so you clearly already know what I'm making," I said pointedly. "Come on, help me square it," I said, getting up and fetching another knife for him. "No snacking," I said sternly as Harry sat down and grabbed a bar.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and immediately popped a square of milk chocolate into his mouth. I huffed.

"Well, to keep things even," I said, and grabbed a piece for myself. Harry and I grinned at each other around mouthfuls of chocolate. Harry, he liked to chew his up but I liked to let mine sit on my tongue and suck on it until it melted into syrupy liquid.

"So, who's on the list this year?" Harry asked as we got to work cutting.

"You, the Weasleys, Hermione. Remus, Sirius, Hagrid, Snape, Amity. A couple people from my dorm," I kept my eyes on the table. "I'll have to make some batches for the house elves too."

Harry choked. "You… what?"

"I make cookies for the house elves," I repeated, using the back of my knife to slide a neatly-chopped bar of chocolate into my bowl as Harry pitched in pieces. I snagged a piece and looked at him pointedly. He smiled and took one too.

"Why do you do that?" he asked curiously. "I mean… it's not like they can't cook for themselves."

"Because it's a nice gesture and it keeps them being nice to me," I said with a shrug. "They make sure my bed's always warm and they fix my clothes for me and clean my section of the dorm. Also, they do me favors every now and then."

"Do me a favor?" Harry asked. "Don't tell 'Mione. They'll be no living with her if she finds out."

"Promise," I swore as we tossed the last of the chocolate into the bowl. "Now get out, it's about to get hot in here and you only ever get in my way when I'm baking."

Harry huffed. "I try to help, if that's what you mean."

"That's what I said, get in my way."

* * *

I sat on my bed staring at the cookies in front of my in their little individual boxes, a large wrapped basket holding the cookies for the house elves. They'd all come out well and I was pleased with my work for the year. Most of the presents I'd made were for Order members and would be given out whenever they showed up but some needed to be owled, which presented a small problem.

Artemisia had returned and then been immediately sent off to Hogwarts with my note for Umbridge. Much as I wanted to send Draco his letter first, there was no way I could put off Umbridge any longer without her getting suspicious. One owl wouldn't have been able to manage all the deliveries anyway. I needed the school owls, which meant I needed to be at school…. Which wasn't going to happen.

If I could get them to the school, maybe ask one of the teacher's to send it for me… Or…

I sat up straight and called out firmly, "Dobby."

There was a crack and the house elf appeared in front of me in his baggy shorts and mismatched socks. Next to him was Tippy, both looking pleased to see me.

"Lorena is okay!" Tippy cried, hugging my calf tightly. "Tippy was worried, she was, she was!"

"I'm fine," I assured her, patting her head. "I actually called you to give you your Christmas presents!" I pointed to the huge basket of cookies. "That's for you and all the Hogwarts elfs!"

Dobby's eyes filled with tears. "Miss Potter is so kind to us elfses!"

"Dobby, Dobby," I said hastily. "It's fine, please, I wanted to."

"But…" Tippy looked horrified. "We haven't got anything for Lorena!"

"If you want to pay me back," I told her, and gestured to the smaller bags of cookies, "you could take these to the school and owl them to the names on the tags for me?"

"Yes Miss Potter, of course!" Dobby said eagerly, and he and Tippy began to gather up the bags. I passed them the basket and made sure they both had a tight grip on it before letting go.

"Merry Christmas!" they chorused before vanishing in a wisp of smoke.

The door was pushed open and Harry poked his head in, frowning slightly and looking around. "I'd swear I heard Dobby in here…"

I widened my eyes innocently. "Dobby? I think you're hearing things, brother dear."


	61. Presents and Practice

We had been at Grimmauld place for a week. It was Christmas, and Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys were going to see Mr. Weasley in St. Mungo's. Me? I was staying closeted in Black House with Sirius, shut away in one of the little-used upstairs bedrooms. A flick of my wand had cleared away the dust from the bed and I lay back on it while Sirius took up the chair in the corner.

"Lying down helps," he explained quietly. "When we were trying to learn we would practice at nights before we went to sleep, just laying in bed and drifting and when we felt like we had it, we made an attempt." He snorted. "I can't tell you how many times I woke up to James with antlers."

"You never sprouted a tail?" I said wryly. Sirius smirked.

"Maybe once or twice," he admitted. "Go on, try it."

I had never tried to clear my mind this way while I was lying down. I was always standing and facing either Snape or McGonagall in my lessons and therefore a tiny part of my focus was always on staying upright. The moment I closed my eyes and let myself relax into the mattress I noticed a difference. My muscles were looser, my mind calmed more easily. There wasn't the random thought that I was standing half on an uneven cobblestone or that my knees hurt from hitting the ground after a particularly nasty Legilimens from Snape.

I drifted in the eddies of my mind, trying to float within nothingness and fade into that lack of substance. Random thoughts flickered at the edges of my mind like torches but I calmly pushed them away instead of getting irritable like I did in my first lessons. I had weaned myself from the habit of _trying_ that Snape had pointed out to me in the very first lesson. It wasn't a state you could force, it was one you had to find for yourself.

And all at once it clicked and I was nothing. My mind and my magic responded to the switch the way I'd been training them to as I grew closer to the necessary mental state and I felt the shift start to take place. The slight tingle as feathers sprouted from my fingers… from my wrist… up my forearms… they'd never gone that high before!

I couldn't help myself. When the tingling reached my shoulders I opened my eyes and stared in awe. I no longer had arms. I had a pair of gorgeous scarlet wings with glittering golden feathers lining the bottoms. I let out a cry of delight and looked to my godfather.

Sirius was grinning, and not the mad grin he'd worn fresh out of Azkaban, but the grin he had in the photos in my album. The one that could make a woman swoon in a second and was pure mischief and glee. His eyes glowed proudly and I'd never been so happy to call him my godfather.

"That's great, Rena!" He beamed, standing up and rushing over to me. He stood up and rushed to the bedside, reaching out eagerly. "Can I?"

I nodded, wishing that I could touch the wings to see what they felt like but with my fingers gone, that wasn't an option. Sirius reached out and gently stroke along the top of the wing before trailing his fingers down across the width of it. I shivered slightly at the feeling – I wasn't used to people touching feathers and not skin.

"Soft," Sirius approved. He looked at my jealously. "You know, to be honest I always hoped I'd get a bird of some kind. Thought it would be cool to fly around."

I didn't even have to think about that. "You're a dog," I said confidently. "You couldn't be anything but a dog."

"I know," Sirius said, "and I wouldn't trade my form for anything. You, for example, will never know the wondrous feeling of scratching behind your ear with your foot."

"I think I'll take flying," I said drily.

"You say that now…" Sirius teased. "Come on, let it go. That's enough for one day, I think."

I let the magic fade and the feathers retreated back into skin, fingers and a hand forming out of the wing. I flexed my fingers, appreciating them a little more now for knowing what it felt like to not have them.

"I've got something for you," Sirius said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I sat up as well as he pulled out the drawer on the bedside table. "I brought this up here earlier, but this is from Remus and I. I had him commission it and pick it up but he had some design input. He's known you longer, after all." To his credit, Sirius only sounded slightly bitter about that fact.

He was offering me a package about the size of a ring box. I stared at it in confusion, not sure what could be in a box that small. Most people who gave me gifts went with books on potions, always a safe bet. Flowers when I was sick came from some of the guys in my house, and Daphne was determined to keep the girls in our dorm in jewelry. It was thanks to her that I even owned nice, real jewelry, aside from the few pieces I'd inherited.

"Most pureblood families have a tradition like this," Sirius said as he handed over the box. "Something passed down mother to daughter, usually goblin-made, usually ridiculously old and with more than a few protective enchantments. But the Potter ring Lily refused to wear and since she'll be the one carrying on the Potter name, it will go to whoever your brother marries. If he does," Sirius tacked on.

I pulled the paper off, now admittedly curious. Sure enough, I was holding a ring box covered in black velvet. I knew enough from living with pureblooded royalty to know when a piece was expensive or not just from the look of the box, and this was undoubtedly expensive. The fabric was nice and it wasn't peeling, and the hinge on the back was only barely visible.

"I'm not a pureblood," I said slowly, staring at the box in my palm.

"You don't need to be," Sirius replied with a careless shrug. "You're more powerful and skilled and brilliant than any pureblood I've ever met and I'm including your dad in this."

"And he _was_ brilliant," I said proudly. I hadn't just gotten brains from my mom, although that was undoubtedly where my aptitude for potions had come from. James Potter had become an Animagus at age fifteen. Uagadou, an African magical school was well known for its Self-Transfiguration programs and had quite a few student Animagi, many as young as fourteen, and that was with full-time lessons. My dad had taught himself and he and his friends had created the stunning bit of magic that was the Marauder's Map.

"I just hope you don't mind the design," Sirius said sheepishly. "Go on, open it," he urged.

I lifted the lid of the box and gaped. It was a crest ring complete with a shield that I'd never seen before. I could recognize the elements of it though and suddenly I understood what Sirius meant about Lupin having design input. The pair of them had gotten together and made me a crest. Nut just a shield but a full, true _crest._

The supporter on the left was a dog and on the right was a wolf, just like Remus and Sirius. The shield was divided into quarters. In the upper right and bottom left were the cinquefoil that decorated the Potter shield. In the other two sections were cauldrons. As usual the shield was topped with a helm, but the mantling looked a bit like an antler design and above the helm was coiled snake for my house.

"It's perfect," I breathed, touched beyond belief that they'd gotten together and that they'd considered me in the design. I felt tears prickle my eyes but I was determined not to cry as I lifted the ring out of the box and slid it on my right ring finger, the finger where I'd seen Daphne wearing a Greengrass ring and Millicent wearing a Bulstrode ring for years. Theirs were undoubtedly older but I doubted that theirs fit them personally nearly as well as mine. I loved every curl in the mantling and every symbol they'd chosen and why. I could see myself in the symbol. My father's best friends supporting me, my mother and the Potters in the shield, my father in the antlers, and my Slytherin pride in the snake.

"Normally there would be a motto," Sirius said awkwardly. "But we figured you should pick that yourself. And you don't have to wear it if you don't like it," he added hastily. "It was just something Remus and I thought you might like and technically you should be wearing one even if you aren't a pureblood – which no one really is anymore – but we thought since you're growing up it would be an appropriate gift so-"

I had to bite my lip to keep from crying as I flung my arms around Sirius and hugged him tightly, moved beyond belief as I buried my face in his shoulder-length dark hair.

"Thank you," I said hoarsely. "Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius smiled and hugged me back just as tightly, running his hand across my back comfortingly. "You're welcome, Rena. I'm glad you like it."

"It's perfect," I assured him as I pulled back, smiling widely as I looked down at the ring on my finger. I liked the way the silver looked against my skin. I'd always preferred silver jewelry rather than the typical gold. "I've got to tell Remus next time I see him… Best gift I've ever gotten."

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "Well now you're just trying to butter me up." He grinned crookedly. "Keep going, it's working."

"I'm not exaggerating," I insisted, because he _needed_ to know how much this meant to me.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Better than all those white tulips?" he asked knowingly. "You're a smart girl Lorena, you know who sent them and if you're keeping them then that means they mean something to you."

I flushed, embarrassed. I should have known Sirius would be clever enough to realize that I had more than just theories on where my flowers came from.

"I do know," I said slowly. Sirius nodded.

"And you're not going to tell me who they're from." It wasn't a question but I answered anyway.

"No."

"And Harry doesn't know either."

"He doesn't even know I get the tulips, I expect."

Sirius snorted. "That wouldn't surprise me. But you know, if you intend for this to go anywhere you'll have to tell him eventually."

"He won't approve," I told Sirius flatly. Somehow it wasn't odd sitting here discussing my love life with my godfather. Maybe it was because neither Sirius nor I were particularly easy to embarrass but it probably also had something to do with the fact that the focus wasn't on my love life, not really. It was on Harry would react to it.

"Why? Is he funny looking?" Sirius nudged me and wagged his eyebrows.

"He's a Slytherin." Even that little bit narrowed down the candidates to a potentially dangerous degree. Sirius's smiled dropped and I could see the wheels working behind his grey eyes.

"I can't think of a Slytherin boy I know of who doesn't have ties to Voldemort," he said slowly. "Lorena…"

"His father has the mark," I said quietly, staring at my hand. I was absently turning my ring around my finger in what I could already tell was going to become a habit.

"You know how dangerous that is." Sirius wasn't rebuking. He wasn't trying to gently remind me, to coax me into recanting. He wasn't trying to scold me. He wasn't trying to poke a reaction from me. He was simply stating a fact: I knew how dangerous it was to have feelings for the son of a Death Eater, me being who I was.

"He isn't his father," I said simply, and that was all that mattered really. That was all that had mattered when I walked out of the graveyard, sat among my house mates, and told them that they weren't going to go home and find they'd lost a mother or father. They were not their parents and if I was going to hate or love them it would be on their own actions, their own merits, their own personalities.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. It wasn't a derisive question, it wasn't mocking, and it wasn't trying to lead me into changing my mind. He was asking what he was asking, and that's what I liked about Sirius, his straightforwardness. He was shameless and that meant that whatever he said wasn't sugar-coated and it wasn't layered. There was no deception to it and there was no hidden judgment.

I bit my lip. A year ago I would have said hell yes, Draco Malfoy was exactly like his father, just as a spiteful, just as stuck up, just as wretched. At the end of last year, I probably would have said the thing but I would have hesitated. I would have had to, because of what he'd done for me after the maze. He'd seen the pain I was holding in and he hadn't tried to pick and prod at my wounds, he hadn't tried to goad a reaction out of me, he had simply been there. Even a few months ago, I would have probably said that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree with only a few minutes of thought on whether or not that was true.

Now? I would deny it and defend that opinion to my dying breath because whatever small virtues Lucius Malfoy may have had were far outweighed by his vices. His son was by no means perfect but he came far closer than his father. Lucius Malfoy was sly and calculating and had a cruel streak and his son was the same, but Draco also had a warmth to him that I couldn't imagine Lucius Malfoy ever possessing. He had a kindness that, like me, he kept mostly smothered except in the presence of a select few that he cared for because that was how we survived.

"Yes and no," I answered Sirius. "He is his father's son but he is not his father's image."

Sirius nodded. He understood. With a jolt, I realized that he probably understood better than I might have expected. He was the son of Orion and Walburga Black and whatever he might have hated about them he was still their child and he had to have inherited something of them. But he had good in him too and that's what he had chosen to act upon. The only difference was that I didn't think Draco had made his choice yet.

"Okay," Sirius said simply, and that was the end of the conversation. He picked up my hand and kissed my new ring fondly, smiling at me. "Then I think we're done for the day. We can work on this some more tomorrow."

I nodded, and together we left the room. Sirius headed to the kitchen, probably to try and look for something to snack on until Mrs. Weasley cooked dinner. I returned to my room, where my Christmas gifts were still strewn across the bed. Flowers from Blaise and Nott that I'd dry a bloom from later. Daphne's piece of jewelry for the year was a simple silver choker with a cameo. Lily had sent the usual nightgown and Tracey had bought me a set of potions ingredient encyclopedias that I couldn't wait to get started on - right after I finished the book on Dark potions Snape had given me in what was perhaps his most controversial gift yet. From Ron there was a package of chocolate frogs, from the twins some of their joke products that would be finding their way into Umbridge's path very soon, and from Hermione a planner that would never be used. Mrs. Weasley had come through on her usual sweater and fudge despite the circumstances and Hagrid had shipped some rock cakes. Harry had given me a book on dueling that included some interesting moving pictures that illustrated various stances and footwork.

Put frankly, it was a mess, and despite the fact I appreciated all of the gifts to varying degrees – I definitely could have done without the rock cakes – I was a little regretful. I hadn't gotten a gift from Draco, not that I'd reasonably expected one. He could hardly go out and purchase the kind of gifts a guy would give a girl he had feelings for without raising suspicions and I had only just managed to get him some baked goods, for Merlin's sake.

It was still a little prick of disappointment though.

"They're back!" Sirius called from downstairs.

" _Traitors! Filth! Defiling the house of my fathers!"_

"Oh shut _up_!"

I smiled slightly as Sirius's thoughtless yell woke his mother and headed for the stairs.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley pulled out all the stops for Christmas dinner. Mr. Weasley was on the mend and with even more people to cook for that usual she had been a virtual tornado in the kitchen as she frantically prepared dish after dish in massive amounts. She'd looked exhausted but happy by the time dinner rolled around but I had to give her credit – I think it was her best meal to date, and that was saying something.

I lay in bed feeling stuffed, warm, and happy. Perhaps because of my explosion at Dumbledore or perhaps because there were simply more rooms de-cluttered than there had been in the summer I had the luxury of my own room instead of sharing with Hermione and Ginny, which meant that I was free to practice like Sirius had coached me without getting caught.

I smiled as my fingers traced across the surface of my ring before schooling my thoughts and beginning to fall into myself. It wasn't the same as falling asleep, but the feeling of being separated from the world was something similar to dozing. Again, the comfort of lying down instead of standing took away from of the random stray thoughts.

I was just about to make an attempt at maybe working the feathers up onto my neck when a tap at my window distracted me. I jerked out of myself and opened my eyes, staring around blearily. I peered into the blurry darkness and began patting around on my night table for my glasses. I slid them on – and jerked as I realized that a very familiar eagle owl was tapping at my window.

Post owls were bred to possess magical tracking abilities, so I wasn't entirely surprised that Draco's owl had found me despite the Fidelius Charm on Grimmauld Place. I threw off my covers and hurried to the window while avoiding the creakiest of my floorboards. The window stuck a minute but a strong hit from the heel of my palm knocked it loose and the owl fluttered inside to land near Artemisia's cage and sneak some sips of water from her bowl. I wasn't sure how my owl would feel about Draco's encroaching on her territory but I figured I couldn't begrudge the bird a bit of water.

"What have you got for me?" I asked, moving forwards. There was an envelope attached to his leg. He offered it to me and I traded him for an owl treat. He headed out the window while I sat down cross-legged on my bed and slid the seal with my wand. I pulled the letter out and set the envelope aside. I lit the tip of my wand and began to read.

 _Lorena,_

 _You should open a bloody bakery. I've eaten sweets prepared by trained chefs and I swear I've never tasted anything as good as those cookies you sent. Now I see why Greengrass, Moon, and Davis were always so smug about getting some for Christmas. My mother caught me with them and she even complimented them. Of course, I told her they were from some French bakery I heard Greengrass raving about, but still._

 _I needed that. Not sweets, but something from you. As you can imagine, things have been a little tense here. Nothing too bad has happened yet but sometimes father comes home and you can just look at him and tell where he's been. I've never seen him that pale – I was too young to remember last time. He's been touchier than usual because of it and mum and I have been walking on eggshells around him. It's definitely not the merriest Christmas I've ever had, but knowing you were thinking about me… it helped._

 _I'm not so good with gifts and I figured we've passed the point of bouquets of white tulips. You're damn hard to shop for, Potter, you know that? I figured you've got enough books to start your own library by now. Jewelry seemed like a bit too much and besides, you never wear it except for the random pair of earrings every now and then. It took me forever to come up with this so you better appreciate it, understand?_

 _I've come to an unfortunate realization – I miss you. It's strange, I never really had that problem before and it's only the holiday, it's not even summer yet, but I miss you. I think it's because you're mine now. And I don't mean that in any possessive sort of way, so put your wand away. I reckon I've got a solid claim to at least a little bit of your heart now, though. I'm looking forward to seeing you on the train._

 _Who knows, maybe I just haven't been glared at enough lately?_

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Draco_

I ran the gamut on emotions reading through Draco's letter. The first part made me laugh and smile. I'd seen him shoving his face full of dessert at enough feasts to know that Draco Malfoy possessed a pretty big sweet tooth. I was glad he'd liked the cookies so much, although I wasn't quite sure what to do with the knowledge that I had Narcissa Malfoy's approval of my baking skills.

I wasn't surprised that it wasn't a very merry Christmas at the Malfoy home. My face dropped as I realized what Draco must be going through. Christmas was a time for family and his, it seemed, could barely stand to be in the same room together with any kind of ease. Lucius Malfoy was far from being my favorite person but I wished him a little peace if only for his son's sake.

I was honestly surprised that Draco had put that much thought into a gift for me. Most people looked at me, thought 'potions,' and stopped there. Flowers were a standard for us and I had to admit they would have seemed a little… I don't know, easy, now that we were whatever we were these days. I was even more surprised that he'd taken notice of my jewelry. He was right – I didn't wear much jewelry aside from the occasional pair of earrings, though thanks to Daphne I did own quite a few nice pieces that stayed safely away from Aunt Petunia, shipped to Gringotts.

My cheeks warmed at the mention that he missed me. I missed him too, although there wasn't much time to dwell on it considering that Grimmauld Place was constantly occupied with either Weasleys or other Order members. I smiled at the joke about being glared at and made a mental note to shoot him my filthiest of glares the moment I saw him next. I didn't want to deprive him, after all.

Still, that left the question of what exactly Draco had sent me. I hadn't noticed anything in the envelope so whatever it was had to be light. I set the letter aside to tuck into my box later and reached for the envelope, tilting it towards the tip of my wand so that I could see inside.

I gasped, reaching inside and pulling out my gift. Wrapped up in an emerald green ribbon was a lock of silvery unicorn hair about as thick around as my pinky. The prices of unicorn hair was constantly fluctuating but it was somewhere around ten Galleons a hair these days. The amount Draco had sent me would be several hundred, possibly even over a thousand Galleons. Money wasn't a problem for him or me, really.

More poignant was how many potions I could make with this much hair. I'd always wanted to experiment with unicorn hair but it was ridiculously expensive so Snape saved it for his sixth and seventh years, where there was far less chance of them screwing up the potion and wasting the hair. I'd never been able to justify the expense just because I wanted to work with the stuff but now I could probably brew a dozen potions and still have a few strands left over.

The gift meant more than him simply giving me ingredients for my favorite hobby, though. I'd mentioned to him in passing weeks ago during one of our rounds that I'd always wanted to work with unicorn hair but I had never been able to convince myself it was worth the price. He'd snorted and reminded me that I had half the Potter fortune at my disposal and we'd changed the subject. I was touched he'd remembered the throwaway remark.

Someone cared about listening to me, cared what I had to say. I looked down at the letter, trailing my fingers across the parchment. These was so much proof in those words that Draco had paid attention to me, had listened, and even better, he had remembered. He didn't just nod and forget my words immediately, he held onto them for months. It was a relatively new feeling for me and it blew my mind.

Artemisia was out but that didn't matter. I put the hair into my potions kit, lovingly tucked the letter away under years of dried flowers, and retrieved ink and parchment from my trunk. Settling back against my headboard, I began to write.

 _Draco,_

 _I will not 'open a bloody bakery' thank you very much, although I'm glad to know I'd have your mum's endorsement if I ever did. If I did open a bakery then when would I have time to brew with all that lovely unicorn hair you sent me? Thank you so much for that –I can't believe you remembered. I think I only mentioned it once and to think you actually kept that tucked away in your head is… surprising. I feel like I owe you a lot more than some Christmas cookies now._

 _I'm sorry things aren't so good for you now. Your father isn't my favorite person and I doubt he ever will be but I wish him a little peace for the holidays if only for your sake. I know you can't tell me anything more about how things are going and I can't tell you much about my holiday thus far either. Just know that if I'm suddenly not prefect anymore it's because I sort of ranted at Dumbledore for a while and stepped all over some of his plans. Ah well, I'm sure Parkinson will happily keep you company on patrol._

 _Oh god, I just made myself throw up in my mouth a little bit. Scratch that last._

 _I'm terribly sorry the lack of glaring is starting to get to you. Rest assured, I'll send you dirty looks aplenty when we're back at school. I can even just sit and glare at you for a while if you like but I feel that would get boring pretty quickly. We'll have to work out a schedule._

 _All jokes aside, I'm actually a bit glad to hear you miss me. To be honest, I miss you too. I'm surrounded by people here but strangely I've felt fairly alone. Probably because a fair few of them are pissed a me but I think it also has something to do with the fact that none of them here really know me, not the way you seem to. And yes, as I write that I realize how very sappy it sounds and I plan to immediately go punch something hard so that I feel like a badass again._

 _Off to find a rock or something,_

 _Lorena_

* * *

It was about two weeks into January when something happened that made Harry and I both less than pleased about the prospect of going back to school.

"Harry, dear," said Mrs. Weasley poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny, Crookshanks, and I. Or rather, Hermione was watching, Ginny was dangling a bit of string trying to get Crokshanks to chase it, and I was lounging with my feet propped up in Harry's lap, immersed in my encyclopedias. Snape's book wasn't approved reading in this house.

"Could you and Lorena come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you."

One of Harry's castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically.

"Squash him - squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot." I kicked Harry in the side as I set down my book. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?"

"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word.

Harry's mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. I rolled my eyes.

"Snape?" said Harry blankly.

"Tall bugger, dark hair, swoops around like a bat?" I offered teasingly.

"Professor Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. "You haven't done anything, have you?"

"No!" said Harry indignantly, obviously racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place.

"He won't eat you, come on!" I said, grabbing his arm and dragging him upright and out of the room. I was actually happy to see Snape but Harry moved like he was walking to the gallows. I kept tugging until he was forced to either quit dragging his feet or get hauled down the stairs on his stomach.

A minute or two later, I pushed open the kitchen door to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.

"Well this is cozy," I said sarcastically, walking into the room and sitting down at the table next to Snape. "Good to see you, sir."

Snape nodded to me. "Potter."

"Er," said Harry, to announce his presence behind me.

Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair. "Sit down, Potter."

"You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see."

An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.

"I was supposed to see you both alone, Potter," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black-"

"I'm their godfather," said Sirius, louder than ever.

"And I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel... involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back on to all four legs with a loud bang.

"Merely that I am sure you must feel - ah - frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order."

It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry. "The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to join your sister in studying Occlumency this term."

"That's what you've been teaching her?" Sirius demanded incredulously. "And she let you?"

"I trust him," I said with a shrug.

"Sorry, study what?" said Harry blankly. He turned to me. "What have you been learning now?"

Snape's sneer became more pronounced. "Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

Harry was visibly shaken. "Why do I have to study Occlu - thing?" he blurted out.

"Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Who's going to be teaching me?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said.

If Harry had looked shaken before he was positively horrified now. He looked quickly round at Sirius for support.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a headmasters privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them."

He turned to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait a moment," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair.

Snape turned back to face him, sneering. "I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather smaller than Snape, who had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what I was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

"Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly.

"Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly.

I would have protested if that wasn't, to an extent, true.

Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he went. Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand-tip to his face.

"Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him.

"Sir!" I shouted, but it did me no more good than it had done Harry.

"I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better-"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?"

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform... gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?"

Sirius raised his wand.

"NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them. "Sirius, don't!"

I flung myself out of my chair. It clattered to the ground as I pressed back to back with my brother, the pair of us inserting ourselves between the men. "Snape, please!"

"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape, grabbing my shoulder and attempting to force me aside. I grabbed his wrist and clung on, planting my feet.

"Both – of - you - get - out - of - it!" snarled Sirius, pushing him aside with his free hand.

I was the only one between the two of them now. I reached out, placing a hand on both of their chests and trying to force them apart. I sucked in a breath and yelled at the top of my lungs, "HEY!"

The sudden noise distracted them enough that I was able to shove them apart a little. I stood between them, glaring.

"The pair of you are completely ridiculous!" I shrieked. "I know you hate each other but news flash – you're on the same bloody side, so you could maybe try acting like it for once? Sirius, I know he's an ass…" I paused, glancing over my shoulder to Snape. "Sorry sir, no offense?"

"How could that possibly not be offensive?" I heard Snape grumble, but I was focused on Sirius again.

"But you don't need to whip your wand out on him any time he starts getting pissy with you. And you!" I rounded on my professor, who actually looked mildly startled. "Just because you've got some gigantic stick up your ass doesn't mean you need to take it out on Sirius. What good is poking and prodding him going to do except make you both look like idiots?

"Here's some more news, while I'm ranting at the both of you." I glared between the two of them. "Even if you don't give two shits about whether the other lives or dies, the both of you do care what happens to me and Harry even if it's only because you're ordered to," I stressed when Snape opened his mouth. "So maybe you should consider that next time instead of whipping out the rulers for some kind of juvenile measuring contest!"

Sirius looked horrified. "Where did you hear that phrase?"

I glared. "I'm fifteen, not five. Also," I admitted grudgingly, "my boss is a nutcase."

The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.

"Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!"

He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking towards the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry and I immobile between them, my face red with anger.

"Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?"

Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harry looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, but my speech seemed to have at least eased their desire to tear out each other's throats. Snape pocketed his wand, turned on his heel and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.

"Six o'clock, Monday evening, Potters."

And he was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.

"What's been going on?" asked Mr. Weasley again.

"Nothing, Arthur," said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends." I snorted. With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. "So... you're cured? That's great news, really great."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward to a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly.

"Yes, Molly dear," said Mr. Weasley meekly.

* * *

 **On Dumbledore: I've had a couple of people bring up that they think the Dumbledore-bashing is getting to be a little much. I agree. but what you've got to understand is that we're viewing this story through the eyes of Lorena, who has already made up her mind to hate Dumbledore and will find a way to find fault in whatever he does, because she _is_ very petty. I'm glad everyone is liking her times with Sirius and Draco. There are more Draco moments to come, but her reconciliation with Harry will soon be shattered. Last time though, I promise, because I'm getting sick of writing it too. I just don't want to make things too easy on them. **


	62. Return to Hogwarts

**This chapter is officially dedicated to RKamelot, my lovely faithful reviewer. Happy birthday, darling!**

* * *

Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys and I were sent back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus, meaning that I didn't get to see Draco on the train like he'd mentioned in his letter. In fact, I didn't see him until I got down to the Common Room. That's when I spotted a familiar platinum-blonde head sitting in a corner with Zabini, looking a bit worried.

I walked over to him and Zabini grinned when he saw me coming, quickly standing up and moving off. I supposed that answered the question of whether or not he knew, at least. Draco looked up to see where Zabini had run off to and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Potter!" he exclaimed loud enough to draw a few looks.

"Keep your voice down," I commanded imperiously, glaring at him. "I just wanted to tell you we're patrolling together tomorrow night." I lowered my voice and added, "Abandoned classroom, third floor, ten minutes."

His eyes lit up and he nodded subtly before sneering, "I can't even begin to tell you how little I'm looking forward to it."

With that he turned and exited while I moved towards the dorms. Lily and Tracy were already there, so I said a quick hello to them and brushed off their questions of where I'd vanished to. I left my trunk and exited the Common Room, using secret passages to make my way up to the classroom I'd mentioned. I popped out from inside a cabinet on the wall and Draco whipped around, his wand in his hand.

"Potter," he said, in a way that was both a greeting and a curse. "What, you can't use the door like a normal person?" I glared. He shifted uncomfortably. "What?" I kept glaring. "Oh _bloody_ … what have I done _now_?"

"Apparently you missed my glaring," I snickered, my expression clearing. "Just making sure you get your daily dose."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Has anyone told you that you're ridiculous?"

"Mm, not lately," I admitted.

"Consider yourself told."

"Noted," I said, and swaggered forward, flicking my wand at the door to ward it. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked at me as the sound of the lock clicking echoed.

"Well well, what sort of welcome back have you got planned for me?" he asked, his voice low and his eyes doing that unfair smoldering thing.

I stopped where I stood and scowled. "The violent and painful kind if you keep that up."

"Can't blame me for hoping," Draco shrugged, sitting down on the edge of a desk and beckoning me over. I grinned and walked over to him. I was going to sit down next to him and yelped in surprise when his hands grasped my hips and pulled me down to sit on his lap instead.

I opened my mouth to ask, but I was quickly and efficiently distracted by a very talented pair of lips on mine. Draco and I hadn't kissed a whole lot since that first time but I was realizing how much I'd missed kissing him, and how much I'd missed him in general. I shifted so I was turned towards him a little more and wrapped my arms around his neck in contentment.

I was a tactile person by nature. Of course, Harry was one of the few who'd ever been privy to that part of my personality. Maybe it grew from the fact that the very few times I felt safe in my childhood was snuggled up to Harry at nights in our tiny bed, as much for warmth as so that one of us didn't fall out. Either way, Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys had seen parts of it – my laying across Harry and him stroking my hair. However, I liked to instigate the contact. I didn't like someone to just grab me and hug me. Again, this probably stemmed from a childhood of getting punched in the face.

That's why it wasn't surprising when Draco scoffed and looked down at me. "You should go away more often, if this is what happens when you come back."

I snorted. He wasn't used to my being particularly touchy, but he'd better get used to it. Clingy as it sounded, I liked touching him, and not in a sexual way. I liked the reassurance touch could provide as much as I feared the pain it could bring.

"You want me to leave?" I asked, sliding off his lap. I headed for the door. "That can be arranged."

Arms closed around my waist, bringing me up short. "Are you going to be this difficult all the time?" Draco groaned into my ear. He kissed my neck softly and I shivered. That was a new feeling.

"You wouldn't like me if I made it easy for you."

"Too right," he agreed, and rested his chin on my head. "Where did you vanish off too?" I stiffened slightly. Pressed up against my back like he was there was no way he could miss it. Draco slumped and his grip on my waist slackened a little. "You can't answer me that."'

"Something happened." I said slowly. "An attack. I can't tell you where, or how, or on who. Suffice it to say that we were relocated for our own safety. Really we weren't in any danger but it made the powers at be happier to have us in a place they deemed safe."

"Safer than Hogwarts?" Draco pressed.

I sneered. "Don't be dim, darling, it doesn't suit you. Hogwarts is far from as safe as it used to be, just look at what happened to me and poor Parkinson."

Draco winced and turned me around to face him. "You're done with her now, right?" he confirmed. "I mean, you're not going to start hexing her in the halls?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That depends on how she behaves herself from now on. If she comes at me again I won't hesitate to drive the point home once more. If she keeps her hands to herself, I will too. Why do you care?" I challenged.

"Jealous?" Draco shot right back.

"Mm, you're with me right now, not her, and you've made it clear that that's where you'd prefer to be," I reasoned, draping my arms over his shoulders. He looked pleased by the gesture. "Of course, should you change that stance, I reserve the right to hex you both to within an inch of your lives," I added, leaning against him and smiling slightly.

"Somehow I guessed that," Draco said drily. I hummed and leaned up, rising onto my tiptoes. He guessed what I wanted and met me halfway in a kiss. I smiled in satisfaction before dropping back flat-footed.

"I have things I have to do," I admitted. "I've just returned but there are still things to be done."

"Stay a while longer?" Draco asked, pouting cutely. I snickered, unable to help myself. He looked completely ridiculous.

"Would if I could," I assured him. "But I do have to go. Meetings and all that."

"With who?" Draco asked a bit defensively. I raised an eyebrow.

"Now look who's jealous," I grinned, kissing him on the cheek before pulling back. "Come on, we've got the rest of the year."

Draco grinned widely in reply. "I suppose we do, don't we? When you put it like that…"

"Good," I said, relieved he wouldn't press.

Did I like Draco more than I'd ever expected to? Yes. Did I love him? The answer to that one was still no, but I could see the potential for that answer changing. Perhaps even soon, depending on how things progressed. A future with him would be ridiculously complicated and hard to manage, but when had I ever shied from a challenge?

But none of that changed the situation. There were things about my life that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't tell Draco, as much for his own sake as for mine. I physically couldn't tell him where I'd been over the holiday and I couldn't tell him about Mr. Weasley getting bitten or where it had happened. He couldn't tell me anything he'd overheard from his father concerning the Death Eaters or Voldemort. Secrets would be a part of life for us, at least for now.

I didn't like it but I understood the necessity of it.

I left the room first and Draco followed a few minutes later. He headed to the Common Room but I was headed for Umbridge's office. I didn't have much of a choice, after how abruptly we'd left. The letter I'd sent her wouldn't cut it as far as an explanation went and it would be a bit telling if I completely ignored the event.

I tapped on the door and called out, "Professor, are you in there?"

"Come in!" was Umbridge's shrilling reply. I sneered at the door and then hastily school my expression before pushing it open. Umbridge was seated behind her pink-draped desk with her pink walls and her pink carpets and her pink clothes and her garish kitten plates and her lace doilies covering every square inch of the furniture. Dear sweet Merlin, I'd forgotten how much this room made me want to vomit and then punch a wall.

"Professor," I greeted, stepping inside and hustling over to Umbridge's desk. "About what happened before holiday…"

"Yes, yes, tell me everything!" Umbridge asked eagerly, eyes glowing maliciously.

I sheepishly stared at my shoes and winced. "I… can't tell you everything, honestly. The place we went… I don't know where it was." I had no _idea_ the exact longitude and latitude of number 12, Grimmauld Place, London. "Even if I did, it's under a Fidelius Charm so I couldn't tell you."

Umbridge scowled furiously. "Damn it! Well, what was the place like?"

"It was a safe house of some kind," I explained. "The Order of the Phoenix set it up." I highly doubted I was telling her anything she hadn't already guessed. I assumed the Ministry had already guessed that with Dumbledore insisting Voldemort was back he would have reformed the Order.

"Then you must have been privy to their meetings!" she continued eagerly. "What did you overhear? Tell me!"

Again I let my face crumple into annoyance. "Nothing! They were always very careful about what I was and was not allowed near. The room where they held meetings was warded so you couldn't eavesdrop and any papers were cleared away before I could get a good look."

"That says at least that they're working on something they don't want spread about," Umbridge said grimly, rubbing her fat little hands together. "Well?" she snapped at me. "So your only report is that you can't tell me anything?"

"I wish I could!" I protested. "But they know what they're doing."

"Hmm…" Umbridge sighed sweetly. "What a shame. And Cutler had seemed so impressed by you."

My eyes widened. "No, professor, please-!"

"If that's all you can offer me…" Umbridge shrugged innocently.

"McGonagall showed up!" I burst out. "And Dumbledore, of course. And… and Professor Lupin! Mad-Eye Moody! I saw them all there."

McGonagall was known to be Dumbledore's right-hand woman. It was not in the slightest bit surprising that she was with Dumbledore, and of course the man himself would be there. Umbridge already hated Lupin and he was a known supporter of Dumbledore as well. It wouldn't surprise her at all to hear that Lupin was involved. Moody was again known to be on Dumbledore's side – he'd been invited to teach at the school for Merlin's sake, even if he never actually did any teaching. But his reputation was such that he couldn't be touched with anything less than solid physical evidence of sedition. Besides, the man who espoused _constant vigilance_ would probably not be surprised if the Ministry started keeping tabs on him. Kingsley was in charge of the hunt for Sirius and Tonks was an Auror. Their identities needed to remain secret. The Weasleys had to be protected as well, given that Mr. Weasley was a Ministry worker.

"That monstrous halfbreed," Umbridge snarled. I resisted the urge to plant a fist in her squashed nose. "I'm not surprised that filth like him is involved in this. How the old man ever got away with hiring him is beyond me."

Excellent, now I had another reason to make her suffer. Bad-mouthing Sirius was one thing – most of the Wizarding world knew him to be a mass-murdering lunatic. Bad-mouthing Remus for something he couldn't help and made effort to control, even at great personal inconvenience? She'd pay for that as well.

"Perhaps you _are_ useful," Umbridge simpered. "Well done, Miss Potter. I shall delay that letter to Cutler then, but I'll need more information like this in the future, you understand."

I slumped, feigning relief. "Yes, professor. Of course, professor."

"Good, now run on down to dinner, Miss Potter!" she giggled girlishly. "I hope to have another of our talks very soon!"

I took my leave the moment I was allowed to, but instead of heading to the Great Hall I headed back to the Common room. Predictably, my roommates were eating dinner, so I had the freedom to pull out an envelope from the bottom of my trunk and pull out the two letters from Cutler Barnes. The first was a response to Umbridge's letter to him, a general introduction and an invitation to solicit advice. The second was where things got more interesting.

 _Miss Potter,_

 _Of course I must say that I knew of you before Delores Umbridge contacted me on your behalf. How could I not have heard of the famous Potter children? But beyond that I was also aware of your abilities in our shared interest. I don't know if you know, but I attended the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year and I was very impressed by your use of warming potions and gillyweed._

 _As such, I was already aware that you were gifted in the area of potions and Herbology. However, I had no idea how gifted you were, not only in that area but in general, until you contacted me with a request to look over your business plan for your own brewing company. Rarely have I seen such a well-written and effective proposal even from potioneers twice or three times your age. To think you are only fifteen! Your grasp of business blew me away._

 _To answer your question – you're right in your assumption that being the only creator of Sine Fraxinus would mean you could set the market prices. And you're also correct that given the rarity of the ingredients, that price can be set high. Thankfully, you also seem to grasp that you cannot charge outside the realm of feasibility. Your idea to generate a demand for the potion by giving it to dragon reserves ostensibly as a 'sample' is brilliant. Once news of the potion has spread and it has been confirmed to work you will be able to charge for it. Orders, I have no doubt, will flood in from not only sanctuaries, but private researchers as well._

 _Also I agree with your plan to sell your version of potions with the cut-down or replaced ingredients at a lower place. I caution you to be wary, however – too low of a price often signals to customers that you are selling a less-than-quality product. Lowering the price by a few knuts can build up surprisingly quickly, but lowering it by a Galleon or two can drive down demand like you wouldn't believe. Trust me, I know, I've attempted it myself. And yes, I do understand your reluctance to tell me your adjusted recipes for the potions. Protect your intellectual property, it's a cardinal rule._

 _I look forwards to consulting with you in the future and even if we do not develop a business relationship in the future, rest assured I will still be following your accomplishments quite closely. It's rare to see someone with your talent enter the market these days and it's always fascinating to watch them climb, even when they do end up falling._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Cutler Barnes_

I smirked. No matter what Umbridge did at this point, I had Barnes so thoroughly enamored with the possibility of me that I doubted she could do much to turn him away at this point. After a bit of research I'd discovered that Barnes, somewhat unsurprisingly, had been a Slytherin. My less-than-stellar representation by the press would hardly warn him off if he sensed money to be made by investing in me and that was why I had spent nearly two weeks drafting my first letter back to him. I needed to impress him and, depending on what Umbridge said to him in following letters and how well my own was received, it might be my only chance to impress on him just how talented I was, not only as a brewer, but as a businesswoman. If I would ever thank Uncle Vernon for anything, it would be for ranting about businesses and the economy so often.

* * *

Snape's office, which had long been a sanctuary for me, became ridiculously awkward with Harry there as well. Tonight was the night of his first Occlumency lesson, and I was less than pleased. I understood the importance of Harry learning it, of course, and I was glad he was being taught by someone as skilled in the practical application as Snape was.

But this was mine. I was supposed to be the one who learned Occlumency and yet Harry had gotten himself involved in this part of my life as well. I had Quidditch, but Harry was there. I had classes, but Harry was there. I had Occlumency, but now here was Harry, horning in on that as well. Sirius had even admitted that he'd told Harry I was trying to become an Animagus. I had wanted that to be a surprise, to grandly reveal my form to him. Now even that was gone.

I swear if Harry started trying to become an Animagus I'd kill him.

"Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said. "The Headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than at Potions."

"Right," said Harry tersely.

"This may not be an ordinary class, Potter," said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, "but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times."

"Yes… sir," added Harry grudgingly.

Snape continued to survey him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then said, "Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence."

"And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?" asked Harry.

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, "Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency-"

"What's that? Sir?"

"It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind-"

"He can read minds?" said Harry quickly, looking like his worst fears had just been confirmed.

"You have no subtlety, Potter," said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. "You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker."

I smirked and fiddled with my ring absently, rotating it around my finger. Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing.

"Only Muggles talk of 'mind-reading.' The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader, the mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter - or at least, most minds are." He smirked. "It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so can utter falsehoods in his presence without detection."

"So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?" Harry was horrified.

I snorted. "If he could tell what we were all thinking from the other side of the bloody country he'd have won the first time around."

"The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them," said Snape. "Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency."

"Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?"

Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.

"The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord, and your sister as well. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable - when you are asleep, for instance - you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord."

"But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?" he asked abruptly. "I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean... I saw that snake attack Mr. Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?"

Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

"It appears that the Dark Lord has bee a unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions, and sharing his thoughts, without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas-"

"The one with the snake and Mr. Weasley?"

"Do _not_ interrupt me, Potter," said Snape in a dangerous voice. "As I was saying, the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts-"

"I saw inside the snake's head, not his!"

"I thought I just told you _not_ to interrupt me, Potter?"

Harry clearly didn't care. He'd been starved for information by Dumbledore and now that Snape was giving him some answers he wanted to know everything, despite the fact that the likelihood of that happening was very slim. Snape was loyal to Dumbledore, even if grudgingly, so he would follow Dumbledore's directions to keep us in the dark. And he would deny Harry answers just to spite him. He was perhaps the worst person Harry could have asked.

"How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?" Harry demanded.

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" spat Snape.

There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.

"Professor Dumbledore says his name." said Harry quietly.

"Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,' Snape muttered. 'While he may feel secure enough to use the name... the rest of us…"He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

I'd long theorized that the Dark Mark had a reaction to the sound of it's creator's name. I had seen Snape react, even if only a little, on more than one occasion when the name was mentioned. It could have simply been him, but the reactions oftentimes seemed involuntary and instinctive. I didn't know if it was just a sort of tingling or a stomach ache or if it was actually physical pain, but I was confident there was some kind of sensation.

"I just wanted to know," Harry began again, forcing his voice back to politeness, "why-"

"You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment," snarled Snape. "He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it, too."

"And Vol - _he_ \- realized I was there?"

"It seems so," confirmed Snape coolly.

"How do you know?" said Harry urgently. "Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or - ?"

"I told you," hissed Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, "to call me 'sir'."

"Yes, sir," said Harry impatiently, "but how do you know - ?"

"It is enough that we know," said Snape repressively. "The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realized that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return-"

"And he might try and make me do things?" asked Harry. "Sir?" he added hurriedly.

"He might," said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. "Which brings us back to Occlumency."

Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed in his chair, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery-white, neither gas nor liquid. Twice more, Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behavior, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harry with his wand held at the ready.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter."

Harry got to his feet, looking nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them. I sat in my chair, watching interestedly. I was far more advanced in this area than Harry although, I still couldn't completely hold Snape at bay. Harry had no hope and Snape would be even harder on him than he was on me, and not for the same reason. He was hard on me so that when the time came I could stand up to someone even stronger than him. He was hard on Harry for sport.

"You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of," allowed Snape.

"And what are you going to do?" Harry asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.

"I am about to attempt to break into your mind," said Snape softly. "We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this... brace yourself, now. _Legilimens!"_

Harry was obviously not even close to being ready. His eyes went misty and blank as Snape peered into his mind and he was forced to relive whatever the professor decided to pick over. He was shouting wordlessly. His face went white and he trembled for a moment. His wand went off randomly before he dropped to his knees. One knee collided with the leg of Snape's desk with a painful thud. I would have been angry at anyone else for putting Harry thought this, but we didn't have the time to be gentle with him in this and that would have been too much to ask of Snape anyway. This was happening for Harry's sake.

Snape had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.

"Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?"asked Snape coolly.

"No," said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.

"I thought not," said Snape, watching him closely. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."

"Did you see everything I saw?" Harry asked, uncomfortable.

"Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "To whom did the dog belong?"

"My Aunt Marge," Harry muttered hatefully. I winced – he must have remembered the time Ripper chased the pair of us up the tree and the Dursleys gathered to laugh.

"Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, raising his wand once more. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand."

"I'm trying," said Harry angrily, "but you're not telling me how!"

"Manners, Potter," said Snape dangerously.

"You can't be told," I informed him shortly. "That's something I picked up quickly – no one can hand you a manual. You've got to work out how to do it yourself. Everyone's mind works differently, so everyone needs to shield theirs differently."

Snape nodded approvingly. "Now, I want you to close your eyes." Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. "Clear your mind, Potter," Snape instructed coldly. "Let go of all emotion..."

I could tell by the way Harry's jaw was clenched that there was no way that was happening. He was angry at Snape and Harry didn't cool down from being angry at Snape very easily. It could take hours, and he was being given only seconds. I rolled my eyes. I didn't see why Dumbledore couldn't do this – it would probably go far better. Then again, Dumbledore would probably coddle him into uselessness.

"You're not doing it, Potter... you will need more discipline than this... focus, now... Let's go again . . . on the count of three... one - two - three - Legilimens!"

"NOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed after only a few seconds, dropping to his knees with his face in his hands. I sat up. I could think of only one memory that could evoke that kind of reaction. He'd seen Cedric die once more.

"Get up!" said Snape sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort. You are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!"

Harry stood up again. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.

"I - am - making - an - effort," he said through clenched teeth.

"I told you to empty yourself of emotion!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment," Harry snarled.

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" said Snape savagely. "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"

"I am not weak," said Harry in a low voice,

"Then prove it! Master yourself!" spat Snape. "Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! _Legilimens!"_

Harry went pale and shook and collapsed just like very other time. But this time he yelled, "I know! I know!" triumphantly as he hit the ground.

"What happened then, Potter?" Snape asked, eyeing Harry intently.

"I saw - I remembered," Harry panted. "I've just realized…"

"Realized what?"asked Snape sharply.

Harry did not answer at once, just rubbed his forehead for a moment. Then he looked up and asked confidently, "What's in the Department of Mysteries?"

"What did you say?"Snape asked quietly. I saw that Snape was unnerved.

"I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?" repeated Harry smugly.

"And why," said Snape slowly, "would you ask such a thing?"

"Because," said Harry, watching Snape's face closely, "that corridor I've just seen - I've been dreaming about it for months - I've just recognized it - it leads to the Department of Mysteries... and I think Voldemort wants something from-"

"I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!"

They glared at each other. Snape looked agitated, but when he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.

"There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes," Harry said, still rubbing his scar.

"I want you back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then."

"Fine," said Harry.

"You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep; empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?"

"Yes," said Harry absently.

"And be warned, Potter... I shall know if you have not practiced..."

"Right," Harry mumbled. He picked up his schoolbag, swung it over his shoulder and hurried towards the office door. As he opened it, he glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harry and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Harry left without another word, closing the door carefully behind him.

"That went about how I expected," I admitted, lounging back in my chair. "Harry doesn't understand why he needs to learn this, so he doesn't think it's important, and therefore will expend no effort on it. Because god forbid someone knows better than him."

"Your brother is indeed quite lazy when it comes to things that don't have his full interest," Snape agreed. "Then again, the same could be said for you."

"Yes, but my laziness tends to be considerably less life-threatening," I deadpanned. Snape snorted.

"True. Still, you were by no means that helpless in your first class."

I shrugged. "Harry isn't subtle, you said it. This is a subtle form of magic. Everything he's managed on his own he's done by luck or brute force. Asking my brother to be subtle is like asking Hagrid to take up less space – it's not going to happen."


	63. Backup

The next day, bad news ran rampant.

 _Antonin Dolohov_ , read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at me, _convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett._

 _Algernon Rookwood_ , said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, _convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named._

My eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment I had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though I had seen it sleek, thick and shining. She glared up at me through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but Azkaban had taken most of her beauty.

 _Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

 _MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN: MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_

 _The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban._

 _Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals._

" _We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."_

This was far from the only bad news to be found in the paper that morning. When I turned the page, I found yet another tragedy. And just in case I didn't think it a tragedy, the headline was nice enough to inform me that it was.

 _TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER_

 _St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death._

 _Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bodes ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement:_

" _St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident._

" _We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly._

" _St. Mungo's is as vet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."_

A picture of a sallow-faced man accompanied this. It looked very much like a file picture – most likely the identifying picture that had been taken of him when he joined the Ministry. The man looked a few years younger than his actual age and in very good health, wearing robes that were a few years out of fashion.

With a jolt I recognized him. He was the man who'd been in the lift with us on the way down to the courtrooms. He hadn't been in the courtroom and the only thing down there aside from judicial proceedings was the Department of Mysteries. That would make Bode an Unspeakable, and an Unspeakable being killed was far from being an accident.

No one mistakenly picked up Devil's Snare as a get well gift. And considering his occupation and the mystery that surrounded it, it was far more likely that Bode had been a targeted hit. The Department of Mysteries was what Harry had been dreaming of, what Mr. Weasley had been guarding. That placed the blame for this attack most likely on Voldemort and his plans. I had no idea what went on in the Department of Mysteries – no one but the Unspeakables did, hence the name – but anything in there would likely be dangerous in Voldemort's hands.

And as if that wasn't enough, it became common knowledge in the next few days that Hagrid was on probation. Grubbly-Plank was teaching his classes, which seemed like a great thing to a lot of people. While I'd grant that sometimes Hagrid's chosen topics were less than safe, he never endangered up. Being who and what he was, Hagrid was far more equipped to deal with some of the more dangerous creatures brought into class than most other potential teachers would be. And I'd much rather know how to handle and behave around a creature that could potentially kill me than one who was more likely to bore me than cause physical harm.

An additional cause for annoyance was the appearance of yet another Educational Decree on the house notice boards the day after that issue of the Prophet ran.

 _BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

 _Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information_

 _that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach._

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree_

 _Number Twenty-six._

 _Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

It was without a doubt one of the more overt interferences of the Ministry since the instatement of Umbridge as High Inquisitor, and I marked it as the beginning of the end. I had no doubt that soon Hogwarts would be firmly in the grip of Umbridge if the Ministry had anything to say about it. And, unfortunately, they did these days. I considered launching my prank – everything was ready, I was just waiting for the perfect time. Something told me to hold off, however, that a better time was coming.

Lee Jordan had attempted to turn this around on Umbridge and pointed out that Exploding Snap had nothing to do with Defense when she told off Fred and George for having a game in the back of class. I gave him credit for trying, but I wasn't surprised to see his hand bleeding red and raw when next I passed him in the hallway. I scowled and brewed up another batch of murtlap essence that night. Next time I passed him in the hallway, I was gratified to see that his hand appeared to be healing.

Despite Harry's request to come back to the DA, I knew better than to rejoin. I was not welcome anymore by the students and despite the fact that Harry and I had mended our bridges, I wasn't dumb enough to think that the rest of the people involved would be as forgiving, especially since most of them hadn't wanted me there in the first place. Besides which, I didn't have the time. Prefect duties, brewing, Quidditch, and Animagus and Occlumency lessons took up every one of my evenings now.

Snape had warned me of the dangers of overexerting myself but I had wrangled it so that I only had one thing going on every day. I was staying up later to work on my homework and my brewing but it wasn't wearing as much as I had expected. It was resulting in less sleep which, of course, someone noticed.

"You look exhausted," Draco observed as we lounged in an abandoned classroom. The door was warded and we were the only ones patrolling the upper floors that night, so our privacy was assured. I'd turned a dust cover from one of the desks piled in the corner into a thick blanket and we were sitting under the window, illuminated by moonlight. We leaned against the wall, Draco's arm wrapped around my shoulder.

"I am," I replied simply.

"Daphne mentioned you've been staying up late to do homework," Draco continued to press. "I've never known you to struggle with your homework."

"I'm not!" I said defensively. I didn't like the idea of anyone thinking I wasn't doing well with my homework, especially since that wasn't the case.

"Okay, okay," Draco said soothingly, rubbing my shoulder firmly. "Then what's keeping you from it?"

I sighed, drawing my knees to my chest. The weather was warming up but it still wasn't what you could call comfortable. I rubbed my hands up and down my shins. "A lot," I admitted quietly.

Draco sighed and asked hesitantly, "Anything you can talk about?"

I winced. "I don't…" I hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. Draco's arm went slack.

"You don't trust me," he said coolly, pulling his arm away. I turned quickly, resting on the side of my hip and imploring him to understand.

"It's not that, I just don't know-"

"If you can trust me," he finished swiftly, shifting as well. He scooted an inch or two away from me and it felt like he'd just hit me.

"I don't know who I can trust," I tried to make him understand, I had to make him understand. "We're on opposite sides in this and I-"

"And you don't have the confidence in me that I won't run off to tell _him_ what you're up to," Draco snarled. "Merlin, Lorena, and I thought you knew me better than that, at least!"

"I do!" I beseeched. "But I don't… I don't know who to trust anymore," I admitted quietly, hugging my knees to my chest once more. "I don't trust the headmaster, I don't trust most of the teachers because they're loyal to him. I don't entirely trust most of the Order because they make sure to keep us away from any meetings, so I don't know them well enough to trust them. I don't even…" I paused, eyes going wide.

"What?" Draco asked, and I was pleased to see that he seemed to have softened slightly.

It felt terrible to say, but it was the truth. "I don't even entirely trust Harry," I whispered. "I know… I know he _thinks_ he's doing the right thing but I don't trust that he'll _actually_ do the right thing. There's so much about me and who I am that he disagrees with and I have been at odds with you for so long I just… I don't know _how_ to…"

I felt pathetic for admitting it, and the only reason I did was because Draco had been so understanding about so many things since we started this whatever we had. In all honesty he was just about the only person I genuinely talked to anymore aside from Snape. We discussed the reality of the world a little during my Occlumency lesson but during classes and with my housemates it was just an exchange of pleasantries that was honestly starting to grate.

"You've been going through so much these past few years," Draco said softly, reaching out and brushing my hair out of my face. He paused, his fingers lingering on my left cheek. I froze as his nails gently caught the edge of the patch over my second scar. "Lorena," he said slowly. "What's this?"

My breath caught but the decision was already made in my head the moment I realized what he'd felt. "Pull it off," I instructed. I was holding my breath as the patch peeled away. Draco stared at it in disgust. I didn't blame him, it looked like a bit of flesh. He looked up at me.

"What-?" His eyes widened in horror. "Oh Merlin," he breathed, going pale. I was surprised.

"You… didn't know," I said slowly.

"Know?" He sounded agonized. "Lorena, of course I didn't know! What happened? When did this happen? You haven't always had-"

"It was the graveyard last year," I said quickly. "I assumed… I mean, I figured the Death Eaters would have talked about it."

Draco shook his head, still staring at me wordlessly with pain in his eyes. His fingers lingered on my cheekbone, just over the scar.

"He didn't say anything," he murmured. "I had no idea… Merlin, Lorena, what happened?"

"He wanted an answer. I answered him," I explained simply. "He did this anyway."

Draco scoffed, but there was no real mirth in the sound. "No wonder you've got trust issues. Lorena, I… I'm so sorry. I didn't even consider what… what you've been through." He shifted uncomfortably. He was referring to my childhood, that was easy to tell. "Trust… doesn't come easily to you."

"I have no idea who Dumbledore has told about this, who Harry has told," I said softly. "But I'm showing you this because I do trust you. Or at least," I corrected, "because I want to."

"And if some Slytherin starts bugging you about it, you'll known whose arse to kick," he said knowingly.

"That too," I chuckled.

Draco was visibly hesitant. His fingers hovered over my cheekbone, not quite touching. "I know you don't like it," he murmured. "But do you… mind if I touch it?"

No one but Harry had touched any of my scars and that was how I liked it. I balked at the idea but at the same time, was I really displaying trust in him if I trusted him to see but not to touch? I hadn't been to any museums but I was familiar with the concept of velvet ropes and I knew that the moment I encountered one I'd be tempted to stroll up and hop over it.

"Why do you want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Because it's part of you," he shrugged.

I didn't even know what the right answer was until he said it, but that was most assuredly the right answer. The honesty and sincerity of it left me in little doubt that yes, he meant every word he was saying. So I nodded and braced myself.

Looking at once both very eager and incredibly hesitant, Draco reached out the rest of the way and let his fingers rest on the top curve of the S on my left cheek. I shivered at the feeling. Immediately, he whipped his hand back.

"Did that hurt?" he asked worriedly.

I shook my head. "No, it's not painful. The nerves there are gone. It's like… a pressure, but there's no feeling of actual contact, if that makes any sense," I tried to explain.

"Do you not like the feeling?" he continued.

I shook my head. "It's not so much that, I'm just not used to it. I… try to ignore them as much as possible." I stared at my lap, toying with my fingers and knotting them around the pleats in my skirt. Draco's hands framed my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

"You are beautiful," he said firmly. "Your scars are not ugly." I snorted. "They make you look fierce," he insisted. His fingers stroked along the bottom halves of the scar.

"Fierce," I repeated, blushing softly. "I suppose I can live with that."

Draco surprised me by leaning forward and quickly but firmly pressing a kiss to my lips. He pulled back and leaned to the right. My breath caught as I realized what he was going to do, but I didn't stop him as he kissed the scar. The touch was feather light and soft as a butterfly. It felt very strange but at the same time there was something erotic about it. I shivered at the feeling. He pulled back and moved to the left, kissing there as well.

I smiled and hummed happily, pressing closer to him. "You really are fabulous for my self esteem to have around," I mused, reaching up to fiddle with the end of his silver and green tie. I trailed my fingers across the fabric. "Even if I can't figure out why you are around."

Draco tensed under me. He looked down and I looked up. His eyes were wide with surprise and uncertainty, and just a little bit of pity.

"You… really can't, can you?" he asked, seeming mildly stunned by the fact.

"I'm not a loveable person, Draco," I said drily. "I'm well aware of the fact, you know. Forget it, it doesn't matter."

"No, it does," Draco insisted, shifting me away from him and turning so that he was sitting cross-legged facing me. I tucked my legs under me and settled on my knees, looking at him expectantly. He reached out and took one of my hands, absently toying with my fingers as he began to talk.

"When I was little, my father taught me to play chess. It was really the only paternal thing he ever did with me. And he didn't just teach me chess, he used the game to teach me how to act like a Slytherin, like a pureblood, like a Malfoy. 'Be aggressive in your subtlety,' he told me. 'That way by the time your enemy realizes the danger they're in, it's too late. Let no movement pass without being used to its fullest. Think everything through until you are so far ahead your opponent can no longer see you, but don't be afraid to seize an opportunity presented in the moment.'

"Those were the lessons I was taught as a child. There were other things, like 'Let no slight go unpunished. Let no piece go free.' Those lessons, as I got older, I saw the bitterness in. He's a bitter man, my dad, but I think he cares about me and mum as well as he can, and he did teach me some valuable lessons that I still live by today.

"Then I started to see some of that in you. I saw the way you make every moment in school count – you're never not learning. You don't let anything pass you by without taking full advantage of it and the way you think… Merlin Lorena, the way you think sometimes I wonder if you're a Seer. You're brilliant, people don't tell you that enough.

"Once I started seeing those things it was like they were all I could see. You were all of those good things I was supposed to be and do with none of the bad. Well, maybe a little of the bad."

I smacked him. He laughed, but it was weak and forced.

"And even though I kept spitting out insults because that's what I was supposed to do, I started to admire those things about you, although I admit it was grudging. Once I stopped actively trying to hate you and started to admire you… Well." He smirked. "It was all over then. I wanted nothing more than to have the person I admired admire me back, and everything sort of snowballed from there."

I was shaking, I could feel my hands trembling and I knew Draco could feel the one he held wobbling with emotion as I looked up at him. He didn't make me sound horrible, he didn't make me sound like I was a bad person or petty or jealous. He made it sound like I was wonderful, impressive, amazing, the things I had always wanted to be. And, by some twist of fate, the person to see me the way I wanted to be seen by others was the boy who I was supposed to hate for so many reasons it boggled the mind to try and count them all.

I licked my lips and whispered, "But even then… you insulted me. You were cruel to me."

Draco shrugged and winced, looking sheepish, but there was also a deep pain in his eyes. "I know. It was like… I knew I shouldn't be saying those things, not if I ever wanted you to see me as anything but the bastard I'd always been, but I couldn't stop myself. Those words came out so easily because they were things I'd been saying for years, things I'd been raised to say. It was like I couldn't stop myself, even though so many times I regretted what I said the moment I said it. Do you know what that's like?"

He looked at me, desperate for me to understand, to forgive all the worst barbs he'd ever spit at me. I could, easily, because yes I understood. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Once you wore a mask for so long it clung like a second skin and was nigh impossible to take off. My mask was that of a Slytherin snake, Draco's was that of a pureblooded bigot. Those were the roles we'd been forced to play and we'd played them well. So well, in fact, that when the curtain fell and time came to break the act, we very nearly couldn't.

I understood then, why Draco always seemed to know what to say to me. Because he and I were far more similar than I'd ever realized before this moment.

"You know I do," I murmured, and pulled my hand back from him. Whenever we curled up together he always held me. He was so much bigger than me, taller, broader, stronger. Being held by him made me feel smaller than I ever had, but I couldn't get enough of the security of feeling another person's arms around me.

Right now it wasn't about me, though. It was about Draco. I reached up and shifted so that I was sitting on the side of my hip. I cupped Draco's cheeks in my palms and leaned forwards, kissing his forehead gently. Then, with a soft coo, I pulled him to me, settling his head against my chest over my heart. Draco heaved a sigh, his warm breath blowing across and rustling the hair draped over my shoulder. He reached up to play with a loose lock of it, eyes gently fluttering closed as I brought my hands to his hair as well, carding my fingers through the platinum locks softly.

"You really do treat me far better than I deserve," I whispered. Draco shook his head and pressed closer to me, tugging lightly on the hair twined around his fingers in a soft rebuke.

"Not in my eyes," he countered. I let out a faint 'ha' at that and continued to stroke his hair and hold him until patrol ended.

* * *

Most of February passed without incident, barring Gryffindor's nail-biting defeat by Hufflepuff. Never a power player on the Quidditch pitch, even the least proficient could have figured out that the Gryffindor team hadn't a prayer. They had been forced to bring on three new players, Ginny being the only one who came even close to being as good as who they replaced. The only thing surprising about the match was that Gryffindor lost by a margin of only ten points, 240 to 230.

But then came the 23rd, and with it, the March edition of the Quibbler. There were only a few handfuls of people who were subscribed to it, but it didn't matter. Within the space of breakfast, word was passed around that Harry had given an interview to the Quibbler. Moreover, that he'd given an interview to Rita Skeeter.

That wasn't enough time for me to get the details, unfortunately, and classes kept me from snagging a copy of the article until mid-morning. By then, Education Decree number 27 had cropped up banning the article, which was just about the worst thing Unbridge could have done. Almost instantly, those who had Quibbler subscriptions became mild celebrities as people flooded them to buy magically-made copies of the issue.

I was less subtle. I flashed my Prefect badge at a shaking Hufflepuff second year and confiscated hers. She was either too young or not bright enough to have put any kind of spell on it to keep it from appearing as what it was. Most of the other students had shielded their illicit magazine so quickly it was actually a little frightening how duplicitous they could all be.

Harry's face stared back at me from the cover, looking mildly uncomfortable. Underneath, the title of the article that had caused so much stir was emblazoned.

 _HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN_

"Son of a banshee," I swore as I read.

It was all there, every bit of it. Cedric's death, the ritual –sans the gory details, of course – and parts of Voldemort's speech, word for word from Harry's memory. The only thing I could give Harry was that he had refrained from mentioning my new scar. If he had, I would have done what Voldemort had failed to do for years and murdered him.

As it was I still might. Rage pounded through me as I read the list of names near the end of the article, names of those who Harry had called out as being Death Eaters who were there in the graveyard that night. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle of course. Rosier and Macnair, who I couldn't care less about. Nott and Greengrass, which was patently a lie because I knew her parents and I hadn't heard her father's voice anywhere in the graveyard.

Where did he get the right?

I crumpled the article in my hands furiously. I didn't have many doubts that Crabbe and Goyle would join up when they left school. They were the sort of thuggish louts Voldemort attracted. But Nott, Greengrass, Malfoy, Zabini? The only reason any of them would join would be to save their own skin. In their world, it was either join or die and that's what Harry's groupies didn't realize. They may not value their skins but we did and we'd do what we could to save ourselves, and that wasn't a bad thing.

And what had the article accomplished? It ran in the Quibbler, and despite the buzz it generated there would still be skepticism about the contents because of what the Quibbler printed. Granted, the outlandish reputation of the magazine wouldn't keep people from believing it, but it would definitely put some people off.

What had happened at Hogwarts would most likely happen other places. The sheer surprise of an article about that appearing in this magazine would be enough to convince people to drop a few extra knuts to read it and while it would convince many people, those people would likely be useless to the cause at large. They'd be more prepared, perhaps, but in the meantime they'd be pointlessly panicking when nothing could be done until Voldemort tipped his hand or made a mistake.

And then there was the matter of the people Harry had named as Death Eaters. I could care less about Crabbe and Goyle Sr. The only reason I could be arsed to care about Lucius Malfoy was because whatever else he was, he was also Draco's father and I knew that even though they didn't have the most stellar of relationships it would still hurt him. The things that had been said about Astoria's parents were untrue, and while again I didn't give a whit what happened to her, I knew it would hurt Daphne. And Nott… bless him, he would prefer to just sit this whole thing out and read but no, Harry had taken that away from all of them.

He'd tossed them to the sharks. Because people would either support Harry and Dumbledore for real or because it was the socially acceptable thing to do. That would mean that overnight the innocent children of Death Eaters would become pariahs for something they couldn't help and didn't support. And why was that? Because Harry couldn't handle a bit of bad press.

I stood in that niche and stewed for quite some time – all the way through Divination, in fact. Who cared about that? Umbridge was monitoring it and Trelawney was staggering her way through doomsday predictions with even more ridiculousness than normal. I stood and thought and glared at that picture until I couldn't take it anymore. My anger exploded out of my hands in the form of magic. The Quibbler caught fire and dissolved into ash between my fingers as class let out and the sound of footsteps began to rumble past.

Fire was in my eyes as I stalked through the hallways, robes whirling and snapping around me in a remarkable impression of my Head of House. People stepped out of my way as I passed and I didn't blame them. I looked murderous because I was.

I wasn't even conscious of saying the password to the wall, but between one blink and the next I was standing in the Common Room, staring around at everyone. Unsurprisingly, instead of going to lunch, the children of the named Death Eaters had taken shelter in the Common Room, huddled on the couches and chairs by the fireplace. Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott. They were all there, Zabini and a few others sitting with them for support.

All eyes turned to me as I cleared my throat.

"All of you," I said, making contact with each and every one of them in turn, even Parkinson. She was the only one of them I would wish this on. "Follow me, please." It was said politely but firmly. I turned on my heels and walked out. I wasn't surprised to hear feet following me, but there were most definitely more than expected. When I looked over my shoulder subtly while rounding a corner, I saw that nearly half of the occupants of the Common Room were following me, and more Slytherins were falling into the mass as we marched past, curious.

I caught sight of two Ravenclaw girls pressed together in a corner, their heads bowed over individual copies of the Quibblers. As I stormed past I seized a copy from the hands of one and turned the second to ash with a shot from my wand. They shrieked in surprise and rounded on me but drew back in fear when they saw the mass of green robes on my heels.

I made a guess and I was correct. I'd assumed Harry would be hiding out from the attention he claimed to hate even though his actions said otherwise. He wouldn't have gone to the Great Hall for lunch. He, Ron, and Hermione were huddled under a tree in the courtyard, the same one Malfoy had taunted Harry from last year before the ferret incident.

Harry's back was to me, but Ron and Hermione's weren't. They saw me coming and more importantly, they saw the small emerald army following me.

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly, but it was too late. I'd already fired off a mild Stinging Jinx. Harry yelled as it connected with his back and whipped around, drawing his wand.

" _Stupefy!"_ he shouted instinctively, his eyes widening when he realized who he'd just fired the spell at. "Rena?"

The spell bounded off my shield harmlessly as I stared Harry down furiously. His eyes darted from me to the mass of Slytherins behind me. I raised the Quibbler high.

"Why did you do it?" I demanded, hurling the words across the courtyard. " _Why,_ Harry?"

"People needed to know!" Harry shot back. "People needed to know that he's back and I could tell them exactly how it happened!"

"And you did, of course!" I snarled. "You told them every damn detail!"

"Not everything," Harry said, eyes lingering pointedly on my left cheek. Wrong move. My eyes blazed brighter and my fury rose. He thought he could manipulate me? He thought _he_ could manipulate _me?_

"And you _lied!"_ I accused. Harry's eyes narrowed in anger.

"No I didn't! How did I lie?"

"Greengrass!" I bit out. I heard Daphne gasp behind me but I didn't look back. "Her father _wasn't there_ Harry! But what does that matter? So long as you take down as many Slytherins as you can, what does it matter if you fudge the facts a little? It's all for the greater good, right?

"And that's what you've done, even though you're too thick to notice it! If every damn one of the Slytherins rolled up their sleeves right now, you wouldn't find a Dark Mark in the bunch despite what you and your lot seem to think! We're not all murderers, we're not all monsters, and we don't all serve Voldemort!"

"My lot?" Harry demanded angrily. " _My_ lot?"

Hermione tugged on his arm, her eyes pleading, but he jerked away from her. Ron stepped forwards, his eyes narrowed angrily and his ears roughly the color of his hair, a sure sign that he was angry.

"You're out of order!" he accused me. "Just because you didn't have the guts to do it-"

"To do what, Wealsey?" I sneered. "To mouth off and malign innocent people? Because that's what you've done Harry, and you were too stupid to realize it. What about the families of Death Eaters? What about their children? Theodore Nott! He's not a Death Eater! Hell, he'd rather read adventure novels than learn about Dark magic! Daphne collects exotic stones, did you know that? No, of course not. Malfoy plays chess, his father taught him. Or at least, that's what he says, but I'm sure it's all a lie because no way Lucius Malfoy took a break from plotting evil in a corner somewhere to actually have a life and a family, right?

"You have all these preconceived notions about us, but do you ever stop to think just how ignorant and stereotypical you all are? No, because of course those lion badges on your robes make you the heroes just like the snakes on our make us the villains!"

"Well you're certainly acting like it right bloody now!" Ron snarled at me.

That was it. Nearly a year of Ron Weasley pissing me off exploded out of the end of my wand in the form of ropes and I attacked. Ropes shot from the tip of my wand, catching him and tying him to the tree behind him. He was gagged, and the only mercy he had was that the ropes weren't tight enough to cut off circulation, just to hold him in place.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded, rushing forwards to free Ron. I flicked my wrist and she shrieked and leaped back as the dirt in front of her feet exploded.

"None of that yet please, I'm sick of listening to him lower everyone's IQ," I warned.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry demanded, and I could see the fury and the pain on his face. He didn't want to believe that I was the one saying these things and yet somehow he wasn't surprised. As much as it hurt me to see those feelings on his face I honestly couldn't blame him. We were well and truly on the outs now and I was the one to blame. Or maybe he was because of what he'd done. In reality it didn't matter who had thrown the final stone because there was no way of telling who'd thrown the first either.

"Shutting him up," I replied shortly. "Someone should."

"What is wrong with you?" Harry asked desperately. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Why? _Why?"_ I shrieked in disbelief. "Because you are so _damn stupid!_ Because you swallow everything Dumbledore pours down your throat. Because you walk around with scarlet glasses on and the _worst_ part is that you don't even see it! You don't see how many people you hurt! Do you know what that little stunt of yours has done? No one will speak to them!" I pointed behind me furiously. "They hate them! You turned them into pariahs and even worse, you endangered them! Those who lost family members in the last war, how do you think they'll react when they find out there's the kid of a Death Eater in arm's reach? Do you think they'll forgive and forget?"

"Oi, what's going on?"

Fred, George, Ginny, and Lee Jordan all burst out of a walk and into the courtyard, staring between us. Ginny moved to help the thrashing Ron, still pinned helplessly to a tree. Again, I blew up the dirt in front of her feet to warn her back. She looked at me incredulously.

"Hey, what the hell?" George demanded.

"Rena, did you do this?" Fred asked in disbelief. "What's going on?"

"Your brother's an idiot, I thought you knew," I said bluntly. "I'm merely taking preventative measures while my brother and I duke it out."

"I-If you want to hurt Harry…" Hermione's voice was shaking, but her wand was raised high as she stepped in front of my brother. "You'll have to go through me!" Ginny squared her jaw and did the same. Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the show of support.

People were gathering around the perimeter of the courtyard, watching in rapt fascination. I could see people from all houses. Members of the DA. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Slytherins all standing together and watching in almost total silence.

"Hurt my brother?"I stared at Hermione in disbelief. "What sort of question is that? Do I want to hurt my brother? Of course not. But I'm beginning to think someone's going to have to before he figures out that his actions have consequences, because god knows the rest of you put him on too much of a pedestal for him to realize."

"You think it's easy?" Harry demanded. "Do you know how many times I've had to face him? Of course you do, but you were always gone before he showed up, weren't you? First year you didn't follow us past Fluffy! Second year you didn't face the basilisk! And last year, you were unconscious half the time while I dueled with him! Just like a snake, slithering back into her hole!"

My anger was my weakness, just like my brother, unfortunately. I was more furious with him than I could ever remember being. I screamed in rage and lashed out with my wand. Hermione and Ginny raised shields to block the spell and tensed up, firing back. I was shielded as well. Draco stepped forwards, and to my surprise, so did Daphne. After a moment's hesitation, Nott joined her, his wand raised.

"Stay back, all of you," I murmured. "The moment you attack, they'll take it as confirmation of everything bad they've ever thought about you."

"I'm not going to let you fight my battles for me," Daphne sniffed. "I can do that myself!"

"It's not your battle," I replied. "It's mine. My brother's at fault here."

"I'm not the one who walked up and hexed you in the back!" Harry shot across the gap. "I'm not the one who started screaming at you! I'm not the one who can't have this conversation without an army backing me up!"

I raised my head. "I never said I needed them," I said simply, and I stepped forwards and launched an attack. Nonverbally, I erected a shield behind me. It wasn't your standard Protego. It was a rather nifty little protective spell that essentially conjured a wall between the caster and whatever they wanted. In my case, I cast it between myself and the other Slytherins, effectively cutting them off from Harry's group as well. The only reason it wasn't usually used in a fight was because magic couldn't get through it either, so it was pretty useless in a duel. For my purposes though, it was perfect to catch stray spells.

I saw members of the DA pour forward as I attacked their beloved teacher. The Slytherins shouted in protest and warning, some of them even hammering on the barrier with their fists as I faced down a crowd of perhaps twenty, including a newly-freed and incredibly steamed Ron.

"Back down!" Harry ordered. " _Now,_ Lorena!"

"No!" I snarled back. "You think I'm a coward? Well then come on and try me!"

Stebbins, may he rot in hell, had never liked me and he was the one who sent the opening spell my way. I blocked it and shot a Stunner at him. He was skilled enough to block it thanks to Harry's teaching but he didn't block the second one. He collapsed in a heap. Or he would have, if Lee hadn't caught him before he hit the ground. They all stared at me in disbelief.

"I," I said slowly, "am not a coward. Think what you want of me, I truly don't care. But I will defend my housemates and I will make you regret what you've done, Harry."

That was the last straw. A volley of spells was fired. Ron, a Gryffindor, and an angry Hufflepuff fired spells at me. I spun out of the way, not bothering with a shield, and fired back, sniping at those who looked the least prepared.

This was without a doubt the most pitched fight I'd ever been in and yet, surprisingly, I loved it. I loved the pounding of my heart in my ears and I loved the feeling of adrenaline flooding my veins. I loved the way my feet pushed off the ground, alternately solidifying my stance with a step or thrusting me out of the way of a spell. I loved the way my hair dragged behind me when I moved. I loved the way the wind ripped past me. I loved the flashing lights and the bangs of spells.

I understood then, why power corrupted. At that moment, holding my own against twenty opponents and doing a damn good job I felt powerful and it felt amazing. This was what I'd pushed myself towards for so long. After being told nearly from birth that I was worthless by the Dursleys, after being tossed aside by Dumbledore and others and now, finally, after being abandoned by Harry, I was proving to every miserable one of them that no matter what they thought of me I was still powerful, I was still strong. I was more than they'd ever expected me to be.

A Gryffindor went down, then another. A Hufflepuff. A Ravenclaw. Another Hufflepuff and three more Gryffindors. Ginny, Hermione, Fred, George, Harry: I never attacked any of them and watching their faces, I think most of them noticed. Harry was too lost in his own anger and Ginny was too lost in protective love to notice. One by one, Harry's tiny army fell until they were all that remained on their side. The spells slowed and stopped.

A figure in spangled robes stepped out of the crowd. Dumbledore was there, looking more furious than I had ever seen him before. He stared at me with more dislike than I'd ever seen him direct at anyone else and I couldn't help but feel pride. I was standing there. My right knee was backwards and I'd caught a couple of Stinging Jinxes in the ribs. The ends of my hair were smoking slightly from a fireball I'd just managed to avoid, but I had come out indisputably on top.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore said coldly as Madam Pomfrey rushed forwards with Sprout, Sinistra, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape to attend to the downed students. "I cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe what you have done here today. You attacked students unprovoked. You have stunned or incapacitated nearly fifteen students. Tell me why, give me one good reason… or I will expel you right here and now."

"The hell you will."

I whipped around. So did most people. In my distraction, the spell guarding the Slytherins had dissipated. Once more, Daphne Greengrass had stepped to my side, and with her came Theodore Nott. Like a wave, more and more Slytherins came forward until I was surrounded on three sides by them. They formed a protective ring, leaving me open to only Dumbledore.

"You and the other teachers, the other students, all of you have a grudge against us," Daphne said firmly. Her face was red from all the attention but she held her head high and spoke eloquently. "You call Professor Snape cruel, but he's only giving as good as we get. You expect nothing but the worst from all of us, so why should we bother being nice to any of you? You wouldn't believe us if we were because you're too blinded by box you've put us in."

"What are the qualities of Slytherin house?" Nott spoke up. Daphne looked to him thankfully. "Is 'evil' mentioned anywhere in the Sorting Hat's song? Are we called 'particularly bastardous?' No. We are the house of ambition, the house of cunning. We are the house of the resourceful. Are any of those qualities things to be looked down upon?"

A seventh year that I'd never spoken two words to stepped up. "I've kept track over the years," he said shortly. "In every class but Professor Snape's, we received proportionately fewer points than any other house, even though in many cases we answer a higher percentage of questions than most other houses." He nodded to Professor Flitwick in recognition of the Ravenclaws. "Of course every Head of House has their own bias, but even amongst teachers who don't lead a house, they tend to favor other houses over us."

A girl with black hair in pigtails stepped forward. She was waifish and small, probably just a first year. She looked terrified to have all those eyes on her, but she gulped and spoke anyway, showing more courage than most Gryffindors.

"You all act like we hide under the lake and torture kittens and learn Dark magic," she said, her voice straining in an effort to be heard. "You all act like we come into the school with Dark magic already in our heads. But I don't know a single Dark spell."

Another little first year stepped up next to her, with blonde hair in a high ponytail and a genuinely impressive scowl on her face. "Do you know why we learn Dark magic?" she demanded angrily. "Do you? It's because you don't see Seventh year Ravenclaws picking on a first year Hufflepuff or fourth year Gryffindors picking on a second-year Ravenclaw. They wouldn't even consider it unless the younger one, I dunno, killed their owl or something. But you get people fourth year and higher picking on third years and lower Slytherins. We learn Dark magic to protect ourselves, because it scares you enough to leave us alone! We learn for our own survival!"

Draco, Merlin bless him, stepped forward then, glaring at Dumbledore. "What you just saw was centuries of inequality pouring out of one woman. But not a single thing she did was unjustified. You may hate us for it, but the fact is that a lot of us have very powerful families. The Ministry is already involved here at Hogwarts. And unless you want nearly seventy officials from all departments descending on this place to grind you into dust at their children's request, you won't touch Lorena Potter. You won't expel her. You won't take her prefect badge. You won't give her detention. You won't put a note on her record. You won't so much as dock a single point."

The courtyard was silent and I could see a few people standing around who looked genuinely thoughtful. A few even looked guilty. Some were angry, of course, some were afraid, but a few people were actually considering what had been said here today and I wondered if I'd just inadvertently triggered a greater step for house equality than Hogwarts had seen in a century.

Dumbledore was obviously still furious but he saw the support I had at my back and he knew that his position at Hogwarts remained tenuous. He needed to be there from his plans to work, for him to make his little Harry puppet dance. And much as he may hate it, Malfoy wasn't wrong. Our ambition gave us the desire for a high position and our cunning and resourcefulness were the tools we used to get what we wanted. Slytherins could be found leading nearly every department in the Ministry and, if roused by their children and with a Minister who hated him at their head, could form a force that even the great Albus Dumbledore could not withstand.

The teachers were staring. The students were staring. Dumbledore was staring. But Slytherin house was, for once, united and, dizzyingly, they were united behind _me._ Against a small group of students, perhaps they could stand, but not against an entire house, and particularly not against the house of snakes. They feared us, but only because we'd become the boogey men they made us out to be.

Dumbledore was beaten and he knew it but his pride would not let him admit it. So he turned in a flow of robes and marched back into the castle. For a moment, no one moved. Then the teachers snapped into their duties, gathering up the downed students and hauling them towards the Hospital Wing.

I looked at Harry across the gap and Harry looked at me. He didn't seem angry, he just seemed disappointed and sad, and that was perhaps even worse. I wasn't altogether surprised though. I didn't have even the beginning of an idea of how to fix this one though, and that left me with a pit in my stomach.

The students slowly began to disperse. Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron and ushered them away before we could start in again and Fred, George, and Ginny followed after them. When they left, those who had been lingering on the hope for more action began to disperse as well. Finally, only me and my band of Slytherins remained in the middle of the courtyard.

"We've given you a hard time, haven't we?"

I looked around. It was the seventh year who had spoken up. He was looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a humorless quirk to his lips.

"I've had worse," I said tensely. "I can take it."

His eyes lingered on my wand, which was still out and held loosely in my fingers. "So I can see. And yet, you still defend us. Even against your own brother."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, he's wrong. Some of us are bastards, it's true, but you were right." I nodded to the pair of first year girls, both of whom jumped and flushed at being acknowledged. "We are what they made us, and it's not just us. This all started ages before we got here."

"In our first year." I turned around and looked at Daphne. She took a deep breath. "In our first year, you humiliated a pair of older Gryffindors who attacked me and Tracey and Lily for no reason. You weren't there, you didn't have to do anything, but you did it anyway. And I've spent years treating you like a second class citizen. I never even said thank you."

I flushed. "I mean… You don't need to, it was ages ago…"

Daphne shook her head. "No, I do. Thank you, Lorena. And… I'm sorry." She stepped forwards, offering me a hand. I hesitated only a second before taking it. I grinned and shook, before that grin turned into a smirk and I pulled her in for a hug. I heard her laugh softly and she squeezed me back just as tightly.

I didn't know what all of this meant. Dumbledore was pissed beyond belief, the teachers were probably less than thrilled that I'd downed their students, and the DA would be after my head. But weirdly enough, I wasn't alone now. I was pretty sure I had at least a couple supporters in Slytherin house. Not just fair weather friends like Lily and Tracey, but people who really actually believed in me.

I mourned the loss of Harry, but my heart soared at this.


	64. Hallway Attack

**As many people as are pleased with this story there seem to be just as many people saying that I've taken it a step too far last time and this time. That Lorena has become too OP. And that's true, to an extent. I've seen several people saying I've strayed too far into Mary Sue territory and I want to make it clear: I know. Right now Lorena is on top of the world. She's doing whatever she wants, her studies are going well, and she is effectively snowing Umbridge.**

 **But before people start leaving I want to be clear: Lorena's about to get a hit. A serious hit. She is incredibly arrogant and the events of the Ministry will shove in her face that she is not invincible and she's not the be-all-end-all. She's going to go toe-to-toe with Voldemort, which she hadn't done before, and I think we all know that she's not going to do well there.**

 **I plan for her and Draco to feed off of each other in sixth year, becoming better people and more devoted to the cause and pulling away from bad influences. You also need to remember that we're seeing this from Lorena's point of view. In no way is how she sees the world always correct and just like Harry would always see the best in Gryffindors, Lorena will hands down always side with the Slytherins.**

 **Anyway, I just want everyone to know that this is as far as it's going to go. This is going to be an extreme high of Lorena's arrogance that we probably won't ever see again. I just don't want to lose readers who leave this story after this chapter when this is a one-time thing.**

* * *

The day after the duels, Umbridge called me to her office. I wasn't surprised. She'd have questions, after all, and if anything was going to convince her that I was on her side it would be me publicly smashing my brother's little club.

I sat in the chair across from her desk that I usually occupied when I came to see her, a cup of tea in front of me. I was drinking it with abandon, and going by the wide smile that fact brought to Umbridge's face, she had dosed it with Veritaserum. I hid my smile behind my cup as I took another sip – I'd downed a shot of antidote before coming in.

"Well," Umbridge simpered, lacing her stubby fingers together in front of her. "That was quite the scene yesterday, Miss Potter."

I set down my cup and frowned at my lap, looking a cross between bitter and contrite. "I'm sorry, professor," I said softly. "I know I made a scene but I just… I hate him, sometimes," I bit out. And it was the truth, sadly enough, and I imagined it was true for him as well these days. Harry hadn't spoken to me, hadn't even looked at me, since the minor battle in the courtyard broke up.

"It must be very hard to have a brother like yours," Umbridge said with faux sweet sympathy. It made me shudder. "I am curious, though… what were you saying at the beginning?"

I wasn't stupid, even when I was lost to my anger. That was the difference between Harry and I. Even when I was angry I kept my head. When I'd spoken of the graveyard it hadn't been in English. I'd hissed those words to Harry in Parseltongue. He understood, but to everyone else I was spitting and hissing like a madwoman.

I shook my head. "Honestly professor it wasn't anything important, not really. Just more of what I was saying. I dunno, it just… seemed appropriate to say some of it in Parseltongue, considering what house I was fighting for."

Umbridge gave a humorless smile. "Yes, I can see why that might be. You've certainly proven yourself, Miss Potter. I can see now that it was foolish of me to think that you might side with Dumbledore for your brother's sake."

"I'm not on Dumbledore's side," I said, and it was honest. I was on _my_ side. I was on Harry's side. I was on Slytherin's side. I was against Voldemort. Dumbledore didn't come into the equation at all for me.

Umbridge beamed. "I know that now." She leaned back in her desk. "Miss Potter, I plan very soon to have Dumbledore removed from this school. In his day he was an… acceptable headmaster I'm sure." She wrinkled her nose. "But he's had his time. Once the headmaster is gone, I will need loyal students that I can count on to help keep the transition of power running smoothly. Can I count on you?" she asked firmly.

I tilted my head. Could she count on me? No, she couldn't, not in the slightest.

I smiled and leaned forward eagerly. "Of course, professor! I'd be happy to help."

"Good," Umbridge tittered. "Perhaps, with the headmaster's influence removed, your brother will come to his senses." She reached out and patted my hand. I had to resist the urge to yank my hand back and Stun her. This was her play – she thought she was manipulating a poor girl desperate for her brother's approval. But I'd given up on Harry whole-heartedly approving of me a long time ago.

"I hope so," I whispered in reply, before tugging my hand back under the guise of taking another sip of my tea.

* * *

Umbridge wasn't the only one who wanted to speak to me, and I hadn't expected she would be. McGonagall had also called me to her office. In the past, her office had been a trip I didn't mind making, because it meant an hour of Animagus practice, standing in the middle of the room and trying to transform myself. Now, though, I sat in front of her desk and twirled my signet ring around my finger while I waited for McGonagall to speak.

"I cannot teach you anymore," McGonagall said slowly. I nodded. I'd expected this from the moment she called me to her office and beckoned me to sit in front of her desk.

"Understand, please, Miss Potter, that this is not because I don't wish for you to learn," McGonagall continued insistently. "But your actions in the courtyard the other day… They are concerning, to say the least."

"And you are worried that if you teach me something as valuable as how to become an Animagus, I will once day use it for less-than-noble purposes," I finished for her. I stopped twirling and laced my fingers in my lap, staring at her. "Is that it?"

"In a nutshell," McGonagall said bluntly. "You attacked your own brother…"

"Ah, no, I attacked my brother's backup," I corrected with a faint smile. "You'll notice Harry was still standing when all was said and done. If I had wanted to, I could have taken him down as well."

"You still attacked nearly fifteen other students-"

I pouted. "Oh, but they attacked me first as I recall."

"Miss Potter!" McGonagall said sharply, fisting her hands in front of her on the desk. "This is not a joke! This is not a game! Your actions are serious and they… they bring many things into question."

"My actions were, in some ways, necessary," I disagreed. "In others, they were perhaps a touch melodramatic, I admit." I inclined my head in acknowledgement. "But you're wrong about one thing – this _is_ a bit of a joke."

McGonagall leaned back, eyes narrowing. "How so?"

"For one, I'm far enough along in my studies that I don't strictly speaking _need_ you anymore," I replied shortly, putting an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning my cheek in it. I smiled sweetly at McGonagall. "I'm afraid you're not really of any use to me anymore, seeing as I have Sirius waiting in the wings."

McGonagall scowled. "That's hardly-"

"No, no, wait, I'm not even to the punch line yet," I cut her off coldly. "What's fascinating is how you and Dumbledore are slowly growing to fear me. Why? Because you think I'll become like Tom Riddle? Strangely enough, none of you have yet realized that it was the mistrust that you heaped on him that caused him to be what he was, at least in part. And yet somehow, you seem to think that doing the same to me will solve all of your problems when the reality is that it just pushes me farther and farther towards what you fear."

McGonagall's face was white and I could see the trace of fear lingering in her eyes. "Do you understand what you're saying?"

"Do I?" I asked incredulously. "Of course I do, I'm the one saying it. I can tell by the look on your face, however, that you don't. What I'm saying is that if you are so afraid of me becoming what Tom Riddle became… then perhaps you should stop treating me like I already have."

McGonagall looked at me calculatingly. "You keep saying Tom Riddle. Never V-Voldemort."

I rolled my eyes at the stutter. "Because I see what none of you ever have – the dividing line. Lord Voldemort is an embodiment of hatred and disdain directed towards destruction and death, consumed by a desire for power. Tom Riddle? Why, he could be anyone, anyone who's been stepped on and put down until they realized that the only person they can rely on in this world is themselves and the only power they have is their own… So why shouldn't he seek more of it?"

I smirked at McGonagall's horrified expression.

"You people keep looking at me like that as if the fact that I understand him somehow makes me the same as him – and I will admit there are similarities. Amusingly enough, most of them were caused by your dear headmaster. But no, the fact that I understand him only means that I can empathize with him… and here I thought you people loved empathy. But no, perhaps not. Perhaps empathy is only for the good guys. The bad guys are killing and cursing because they are bad and that's all there is to it. There is no motivation, is that what you think?"

Once again I rolled my eyes. "And they say you people are intelligent. I sometimes think that is the greatest weakness of Gryffindors – they get so caught up in their own self-righteousness that they never take a real look at who they're fighting. The headmaster is a victim of that, so it my brother, and unfortunately so, I think, are you, professor."

I stood up from my chair and inclined my head to her. "So sorry you ended our lessons, professor. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Lorena."

I paused and turned around only because McGonagall had called me by my first name. She'd never used it before.

"Yes, professor?" I asked, hand lingering on the door knob.

"When all is said and done… will you be on your brother's side?"

I smiled faintly. "That's not even a question – of course I will. The question that really needs answering is will he be on mine?"

* * *

I was a target. This wasn't particularly a new thing – I had a habit of pissing people off. However, this was without a doubt the biggest, most outrageous thing I'd done to date. I'd defied years of tradition, I'd dueled members of other houses openly, and I'd spoken out against Dumbledore. Some, particularly in the forgiving Hufflepuff or reasonable Ravenclaw, I could tell had at least considered my words. But others hadn't looked past the fact that I attacked my brother and their housemates.

The surprising thing was that this time I wasn't fighting alone. I had a tiny force of Slytherins who had come together for my protection and it was without a doubt one of the strangest things that had ever happened to me. I couldn't have predicted it if I tried.

Lily and Tracey, seeing that the tide of the school had shifted against me more drastically than it ever had, began to pull away. I didn't blame them. They were slightly more accepted than the other Slytherins in our years because they were halfbloods, so they had a chance with the other houses. But it seemed that somehow a guard schedule had been worked out because suddenly I was never without either Draco, Blaise, or, surprisingly, Daphne at my side. Even those two little first years who'd spoken up were following me around sometimes, watching me in awe. I was torn between being flattered and annoyed.

I kept a Shield erected around myself at all times and it had foiled more than one surprise attack before lunch. However, some hadn't been so lucky. Coming out of the bathroom, Daphne had gotten hit with a curse that turned her knees backwards. She'd been forced to limp-hop her way to the Hospital Wing to get them put back to normal. When she arrived late to Transfiguration, McGonagall had taken points for tardiness.

Daphne's eyes were watering slightly as she sat down next to me, her head lowered in shame. I reached over and patted her leg comfortingly. She looked up at me, surprise lingering in her eyes. I think it still startled her that we had suddenly become friends, if it could be called that. At the very least, we were allies.

"One day they'll know better," I whispered to her, and patted her leg one last time before pulling my wand out of my bag. Subtly, I made a copy of my notes and slid it towards her. Daphne gratefully took the parchment and started scribbling as McGonagall lectured.

I felt something brush the back of my neck. Surprised, I reached back and my hand encountered paper. I grabbed the note under the guise of scratching the back of my neck and then brought it to my lap. I smiled faintly – it was folded into an origami snake. I worked the folds and creases out of the paper with the nails of one hand while I continued to take notes with the other. Once the note was unfolded, I glanced down.

 _She's not the first and she won't be the last. I support you, Potter, but you've made things dangerous for us right now. I hope you're ready, because this will get worse before it gets better._

I recognized the sharp, spiky handwriting. It was from Nott, and he was right. As many people as might take my words to heart, three times as many would use my actions as an excuse to settle old scores with Slytherin house. We hadn't done much to endear ourselves to our fellow students and there was definitely cause for some of them to come after us.

On the other hand, there were so many spells being fired subtly in the corridors that it did present possibilities… My mind began to work as I considered my options. Those two muscle-bound idiots Parkinson had gotten involved in my attack. Nothing had happened to them, but they'd figured out enough from Pansy's poisoning that they avoided me like the plague these days. I smiled faintly. I'd have to find a good curse but I could definitely use the cover in the halls these days to get a little payback on them as well.

I tugged a small bit of parchment from my bag and scribbled on it.

 _I understand. I know I didn't exactly plan what happened as well as I usually do but I don't regret it. It needed to be said, and something needed to happen to make them listen. We've been fighting the rest of them off for years – we'll come through. We're survivors_.

I tapped the parchment with my wand and it folded itself up into a little bird before taking off, soaring off my desk and between my legs to where Nott sat in the seat behind me. I heard the faint crinkling of paper as he unfolded the note and smiled to myself. Surprisingly enough, I was actually feeling optimistic. I truly believed we'd come through it.

* * *

Draco and I were patrolling. Actually patrolling, that night, instead of holing up in an empty classroom or a broom cupboard for a conversation and a snog. We strolled down the hallways leisurely. I itched to wrap my fingers around his hand, but there was the risk of a patrolling teacher catching us, one of the ghosts, or, worst of all, a student out of bed.

I groaned and grabbed his wrist anyway, dragging him behind the nearest tapestry and into a niche. I pressed myself up against his chest, nuzzling my face into his neck and inhaling deeply the petrichor scent of his cologne. It was becoming comforting to me in a way I'd never expected a man's cologne to be.

"Not that I'm complaining, but you usually don't drag me behind tapestries unless you have something serious to say," Draco observed, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. One hand began to stroke up and down my back. I pressed closer.

"Did I do the right thing?" I breathed. "I put people at risk just to make a stand for our house… our house, which has never been overly fond of me."

"You defended what you cared about, even if it didn't care back," Draco murmured. "That's the kind of person you are, Lorena. You care."

I smiled faintly at that. Snape had warned me that when I stopped caring, then he would worry about me. I still cared and, even better, apparently it was still obvious. I was glad that was the case. I wondered sometimes, in my darker moments, my thoughts wandering back to the Mirror of Erised, just what I'd become, what this world had made me.

"Personally, I think what you said was a long time coming," Draco admitted. I looked up at him in surprise.

"Really?" I asked. "I thought you were fine with the badass reputation our house had?"

"Don't get me wrong, I am," Draco said with a faint smirk. "But that's partially because…" He shrugged. "I dunno, I never considered that it could be anything different. But you did." His hands came up to cup my chin, fingers framing my face. His eyes were warm as he looked down at me. I liked it. "You saw the problem and, like always, you started thinking of how to correct it. Maybe this plan wasn't your best," he admitted wryly.

I snorted. "Understatement."

"But it did start something," he assured me. "Do I think you'll completely change inter-house dynamics single-handedly? No," he admitted. "But I think you'll take a bigger step than anyone else has in a while."

I let my jaw drop open, feigning offense. "You think I can't rewrite centuries of inter-house rivalry in a semester?"

Draco scoffed. "Honestly, no, but I've learned not to underestimate you. You've done a lot I never thought you would." His face fell slightly.

"You're thinking of Parkinson," I guessed. Draco shrugged and his hands lowered. I winced.

"I'm not saying she didn't deserve it," Draco promised me. "But I can't say that I liked seeing you hurt someone either."

I sucked in my bottom lip, biting it hard until I was in danger of breaking skin. "I don't… I can't say that I didn't enjoy it, because part of me did," I said softly. I was ashamed of it, that part of me had thrilled at the power I had wielded over Parkinson in the moment when she had realized who had hurt her, in my triumph over someone who had hurt me. The scariest part was that I recognized that thrill. It was the same kind Tom Riddle had felt when he first did magic and realized he had power that made him untouchable to Muggles.

"After so long being stepped on and beaten down, it's nice to be on top for once," I admitted, and my fists clenched. "And I know there are other ways to do it. My grades, on the Quidditch pitch… but there was something about hurting her that made me happy because it meant that I could do it too, that I didn't have to always be a victim." One hand came up without thought to touch the scar on my cheek.

"The day Lorena Potter is a victim," Draco said, reaching out and taking my hand from my cheek. He kissed the back of it. "Is the day England falls." He kissed my palm, and then he leaned forwards and kissed my scar. Instantly my knees went a little weak and my hands came up to rest on his sides as I closed my eyes and hummed happily.

"Not fair," I moaned as he worked his way from my cheek to my jaw and began kissing along it towards my mouth. "I'm trying to angst here."

"I know," Draco said, and I could feel him smiling against my lips as he kissed me. "I'm not helping, am I?"

"Not at all," I said with a smirk before gripping him tighter and pressing closer.

We were just getting into what promised to be a very good patrol when I heard it – running footsteps. I pulled back and Draco looked towards the tapestry. He'd heard it too. Cautiously, I pulled back the tapestry just enough to see out. Draco pressed against my back, peeking out as well. We were just in time to see a pretty fifth-year Ravenclaw hit the ground hard as a result of a trip jinx. She yelped as she went down and I winced in sympathy as her palms skidded against the stone, her face smacking into the floor. She moaned.

Two Slytherins came around the corner after her. Against my will, my stomach dropped – it was the two Parkinson had recruited. One of them was cursing a blue streak and clutching his nose, which looked broken. The Ravenclaw had apparently gotten in a hit, and I was proud of her.

"Bitch," he cursed, kicking the Ravenclaw in the side viciously. She yelped and whined and I heard a crack as a rib gave a little. She sobbed into the stone, the sounds becoming louder as the other one grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her over. Her face was a bloody mess, blood leaking from her nose and mouth. She raised her skinned palms, pleading.

"No, no please…"

"You think you're too good for a snake, that it?" scowled the one with the bloody nose. "Fuckin' eagle…"

"Where's all your books now?" taunted the other one as he crouched down next to her, his wand pointed at her face.

"Lorena…" Draco breathed in my ear. "What do we do?" I looked down at the ring on my finger. My father and mother, Sirius and Remus, I knew what they would all have done. Hell, they probably would have done it before now.

"I'll show you," said the one with the bloody nose and, to my horror, he reached for the Ravenclaw's shirt with one hand and held his wand with the other. She shrieked and thrashed and the other moved to hold her down, grinning savagely.

" _Impe-"_

I stepped out from behind the tapestry with my wand raised. " _Incarcerus!"_ The one holding the Ravenclaw down was wrenched up and away as the ropes caught him around the throat and chest, the force of his spell knocking him back against the wall. It wasn't the best move, but I needed to get that Ravenclaw away from the other one, so I Summoned her. With a yell she came skidding across the floor. She looked up at me in horror as she saw my badge.

"More of you…" she moaned. My face softened. She thought I would support my housemates, even in this? I was fighting for house unity, for house equality, but not in this. I shook my head and reached down, grabbing her under the arms and hauling her upright.

"Draco, hold her," I murmured, passing the poor girl over to him. He nodded and took her. She sagged weakly in his arms, sobbing her eyes out.

"Potter," scowled the would-be attacker. "You back for more?" He raised his wand and grinned widely, like he expected me to shrink at the sight of it. All it did was make anger flood me, cold and powerful.

"Last time you found me, I was in a body-bind," I reminded him. "I'm not now."

"So? _Cru-"_

 _"Stupefy!"_ I shot the spell with all of my fury behind it. It hit him square in the chest and blasted him back against the wall. He slid down, unconscious, to rest next to his dazed friend. I walked over to them and waved my wand, binding him as well. No way in hell was I letting this stand. Harry could call my revenge petty all he wanted but this was serious, and this warranted a serious punishment. Was it my job to dole out? Probably not by any normal reckoning, but then, I had my own revenge to fall back on.

I smiled faintly. "It's such a shame no one ever bothers to read up on older curses. They're more complicated, but they are so much more thematically appropriate." I crouched down next to them and raised my wand. It took a second to remember the spell, as I'd read about it way back in third year as part of a History of Magic assignment and become curious enough to do a little additional reading.

After a solid minute of waving my wand and muttering I sat back and nodded in contentment, feeling drained but pleased with my work. That would show them, both of them, and I half-wished I could be there when they realized.

"Wh-What did you… do to them?"

I stood up and turned around. The Ravenclaw had peeled herself out of Draco's arms. She was shaky but upright as she stood there, looking at me with distrust but curiosity in her eyes.

"It's called the Curse of No-Heirs," I explained. It traced back to a time when having someone to carry on the family name was of paramount importance to those with titles. One of the worst things you could do to an enemy was prevent him from having a son to carry on his name. This curse prevented a man from having children, and in a particularly cruel way – it was about the nastiest case of erectile dysfunction someone could have.

"They won't be giving any girl a hard time again," I said, smirking faintly. The Ravenclaw's mouth dropped open as she understood and I saw Draco wince in male sympathy behind her.

"Come here," I said, starting towards her. I caught her by the hand and guided her towards a bench set into a recess in the wall. "Lie down," I urged her, and she did so. Now the distrust in her eyes was gone, she only looked at me like one would look at a savior, like people had looked at Harry time and time again. On one hand I was proud that look had finally fallen on me. But on another, I was sad that it had to happen in this way.

" _Episkey,"_ I said, waving my wand, and her nose snapped back into place. _"Scourgify."_ I trailed my wand over her wounds, cleaning away the blood from her face and any grit from the floor that might have gotten into her scraped palms and knees.

Running footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. I stood up and shifted so that I was planted firmly in front of the Ravenclaw, my wand raised and ready to defend her against whatever else came flying around that corner. And by the sound of it, there were a lot of them. I steadied my stance and gripped my wand tighter.

I nearly sagged in relief when around the corner came Dumbledore, McGonagall, Umbridge, Snape, Pomfrey, and a Ravenclaw prefect with glasses.

"Once more I find you standing over three students who have been attacked, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said, staring at me coldly.

"Oh stow it," I snarled at him, turning away and pointing my wand back at the Ravenclaw. My wand was wrenched from my hand and I turned around to stare in shock at Dumbledore, who reached up and deftly caught my wand.

"Not until we hear an explanation," he said coldly.

"Ella…" The Ravenclaw prefect rushed forwards towards his housemate lying on the bench. I stepped aside so that he could get to her. I could see the concern in his eyes behind the glasses and realized – this was Ella's boyfriend, unless I misread that look.

"Miles, I'm fine," Ella assured him.

"You're missing a tooth," he disagreed. "And you've got bruises!"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet," I muttered, moving even further away as Madam Pomfrey rushed forward to look Ella over, her wand raised.

"What happened to Wilkes and Lancaster?" Snape asked, staring down at his unconscious students.

"Well, Miss Potter?" Dumbledore demanded. "Let's hear your story."

"Malfoy and I were on patrol. We heard running footsteps, so we hid behind the tapestry, thought we could catch some student rushing back to their Common Room after hours," I lied flawlessly. "We look out just in time to see Ella go down to a Trip Jinx. Then those two little bits of scum came flying around the corner after her. She'd already broken that one's nose," I added proudly, pointing to Lancaster. Ella flushed slightly.

"And what happened then?" Snape asked, crouching down beside the boys and waving his wand to wake them.

"That one kicked her in the rib and at least cracked it. They flipped her over. The other one held her down while he drew his want and started to cast an Imperius," I ground out. "We realized where this was going. I hit that one with an _Incarcerus_ and Summoned Ella away from the other one. He got up, tried to hit me with a Cruciatus…" Dumbledore's eyes flashed as he realized what these boys were involved in. I stared back at him, daring him to say anything.

"Potter hit him with a Stupefy and then got to work doctoring Ella. That's when you all showed up," Draco finished.

Miles grabbed Ella's hand and looked at her in concern as Madam Pomfrey got down to work re-growing her tooth. "Is that true, Ella?" she nodded in response.

"Hold still," Madam Pomfrey chided gently. She looked at me proudly over her shoulder. "I can tell what Potter did. She's a promising Healer."

"Hem, hem…"

All eyes turned to Umbridge and I had to resist the urge to just Stun her and head to bed. I was tired and dealing with Dumbledore was bad enough.

"In light of what had happened, I believe that Miss Potter should be awarded for saving poor Ella," Umbridge simpered.

"I think there is more to be learned here…" Dumbledore disagreed.

"No you don't!"

We all looked in surprise at the portrait hanging on the wall opposite us, of a grumpy-looking teacher with a beard even longer than Dumbledore's and a large amount of white hair flying wildly around his head.

"You just hope there's something you can punish this poor Slytherin girl for!" the portrait continued.

I looked into the background of the man's portrait and saw a Slytherin banner half-hidden behind the shadow of a bookcase and grinned faintly. Fabulous, an ex-Slytherin portrait there to back me up.

"It happened exactly like she said," the portrait insisted, winking at me. "Wonderful display of bravery. I'd say it was nearly _Gryffindor_ of her," he added, looking at McGonagall and crossing his arms smugly. The Deputy Headmistress huffed, looking like she was torn between amusement and annoyance.

"I shall alert the Ministry, then," Dumbledore said. "These boys have gone far beyond what I have the power to punish."

Umbridge coughed. "If it's the Ministry, I'll be doing the contacting, Headmaster. I am a member of the Minister's personal staff, you recall."

Dumbledore's genial smile and tip of his head was about an insincere of a gesture as I'd ever seen. "Of course, Delores. Until then, I believe we'll let Professor Snape keep watch over these boys until they can be taken for sentencing."

"Malfoy, help me get these two excuses for humanity to my office," Snape said, gesturing to Draco imperiously. He glanced at me for a moment before moving to help our head of house, raising his wand and levitating the one who'd tried to Cruciate me. Draco levitated his head right up into the bottom of a wrought-iron sconce.

"Oops," he said insincerely. Snape narrowed his eyes but no one was going to complain after everything they had done. Snape and Draco guided the two floating students down the hall and every now and then we heard a small thud followed by another apathetic, "oops," from Draco. I fought to hide my smile.

"You've done wonderfully here tonight, Miss Potter," Umbridge said, rushing forward and clasping my hands between hers. "I'll be sure to mention your heroics to the Minister when I inform him of what's happened here tonight, shall I?" She winked in the manner of someone promising a huge favor. I didn't give a fig what Cornelius Fudge thought of me, but I smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Professor," I said with feigned gratefulness.

"You're doing very well for yourself lately. It's been noticed," she said, grinning at me slyly before taking off down the hallway, probably to call the Minister and tell him all about what horrible almost happened here tonight so that it could be used against Dumbledore.

I turned away from Ella and stretched out my hand towards Dumbledore. "My wand. Now."

"Mind your attitude, Miss Potter," Dumbledore warned. I saw McGonagall looking between us, surprise and calculation on her face. Clearly she hadn't realized just how bad things had gotten between the Headmaster and myself. I could see her trying to work out just which one of us she should be supporting. I remembered how at Grimmauld Place she'd been one of the ones who instantly believed me when I explained how Dumbledore had handled the situation. She knew what Dumbledore was capable of, and she knew what I was capable of. She wasn't wearing rose-colored glasses with either of us.

"Albus," McGonagall said quietly. "Give Miss Potter back her wand."

Dumbledore looked faintly surprised, but he couldn't reasonably take my wand from me and he probably didn't want to. I wondered just how much he knew about my wand – if he knew he was holding a wand made from the same tree as Voldemort's.

I snatched the offered wand back and shoved it in my pocket before turning my back on the headmaster and kneeling down next to the bench where Ella was resting against Miles.

"You okay?" I asked her kindly. She nodded weakly and managed a faint smile.

"Thanks to you." She shuddered. "It could have been… so much worse… I owe you everything, Potter."

"As do I," Miles added. "Thank you." He clutched Ella tightly and quickly apologized when she winced.

"She needs some Skele-Gro to handle her rib," Madam Pomfrey said. She looked at Ella fondly. "But with a night in the Hospital Wing and some time to process, she'll be fine."

"Good," I said, and patted her newly-healed knee. "You know, you did a number on that one guy's face. His nose'll never heal right," I told her proudly. "You've got a good hit."

Ella smiled again, and this time it was a little stronger. "I've got brothers."

I grinned. "I hear you. Anyway, I'm just glad you're okay," I said, and stood up, planning to head back to my dorm and pass out for a week, maybe longer.

"Lorena? Ah, Potter?"

I turned around and looked at Ella in surprise. "Lorena's… fine," I told her, a little surprised that she'd want to be that familiar with me. I was persona non grata at the moment.

Ella seemed pleased by that. "I'm sorry," she said. "That I thought you were going to help them when you… when you showed up. I was just so scared and all I saw was your badge, not the person behind it."

I grinned faintly. "Not a problem."

"No, it is!" Ella insisted with a little bite in her voice and a flare in her eyes. "It's what you were yelling about in the courtyard. I saw your badge and I assumed the worst and that's… that's not right. That's not fair. I hadn't realized how bad it was until you brought it to my attention so… so thanks for that too. And for…" She gestured vaguely, insinuating the curse I'd placed on her attackers.

I grinned. "Well hey, any time."

* * *

 _TRAGIC ATTACK AT HOGWARTS: FALLEN DISCIPLINARY STANDARDS BLAMED_

 _Last night, tragedy struck at the famed school when one Ella Mayfair was attacked in the hallways by two Slytherin boys whose names have been withheld for their own safety. Miss Mayfair managed to briefly escape her captors by punching one squarely in the face – readers may now take a moment to quietly cheer the girl on – before being taken down by a Trip Jinx. She was pinned to the ground and sources say the boy's actions indicated that they intended to cast the illegal Imperius curse the poor girl._

 _Then, who should appear? Not a teacher or a prefect, not even the headmaster, but Lorena Potter. Yes, the orphan of James and Lily Potter and twin sister of the less-than-stable Harry Potter. It was Miss Potter, a prefect in her fifth years at Hogwarts, who apprehended the boys with a Stunner and a binding spell and immediately began to doctor Miss Mayfair. Yes, apparently she's a decent Mediwitch on top of all we've seen from her, particularly in last year's Triwizard Tournament, where she was victorious._

 _While this story has a happy ending, one must consider that the terrible beginning even occurred. An attempted Unforgiveable in the halls of the school where most of us spent the happiest times of our childhood? And perpetrated not by an outsider, but by a student? One wonders what that says about the school's leadership. Surely there must have been signs of the horrors these boys proved themselves capable of?_

 _And yet, Miss Mayfair was still attacked. Parents must wonder how safe their children all in the halls of Hogwarts if boys like these aren't being dealt with. One scoffs at the idea that this was a first-time offence for those boys, and if so, why were they not appropriately disciplined? Is it possible that Albus Dumbledore is letting future criminals roam the halls of Hogwarts unchallenged?_

" _Miss Potters actions were nothing short of heroic," said Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge in an exclusive interview. "But they shouldn't have been necessary. The situation should have been handled by the proper authorities, but it was a student who ended up taking care of business. In fact, the headmaster wasn't even on the scene until several minutes after everything had been wrapped up!"_

 _The Minister went on to say that he was glad that there were students such as Miss Potter at Hogwarts, who were able to take such quick and decisive actions under fire. "But that doesn't change the fact that she's a student. Hogwarts' students should be worried about classes and grades, not being assaulted in the hallways."_

 _At the behest of Professor Delores Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, Miss Lorena Potter is being given an award for Special Services to the School in response to her actions. The trial for the two boys is being held this Saturday, and one can only hope justice will be done. Miss Mayfair herself is expected to make a full recovery within the week, for which we're all grateful._

I tossed the newspaper aside in disgust. Sure enough, the Ministry had wasted no time in turning this around and making it seem like it was somehow Dumbledore's fault. I hated the man but I knew he'd personally drop-kick a student to the Great Squid before he let them use an Unforgiveable on another student. He hadn't been seen yet this morning, his seat at the Head Table conspicuously empty.

The students were up in arms. They were absolutely furious about what had happened to Ella and their parents were probably the reason Dumbledore was missing breakfast – he was being barraged by furious owls from angry and scared parents. Students seemed divided on where to stand with me. Some thought that maybe I wasn't so bad, some though I was a hero, and some thought I was just using the event as an excuse to get some good press and settle and old score… which honestly wasn't entirely wrong.

As per usual, there were the more ridiculous theories. That I'd used my Parselmouth skills to set loose a herd of poisonous snakes on the two attackers. That Ella had broken down and sobbed and clutched my leg in thanks. Perhaps the most ridiculous – that Ella was secretly my girlfriend and I'd nearly killed her attackers in some kind of lover's revenge. That one had made me laugh my ass of when I heard it and promptly inform the young Hufflepuff spreading that rumor that I wasn't into girls.

"You're a hero, congratulations," Nott said drily, glancing at the article.

"Yeah, I got Voldemort two more enforcers," I muttered darkly. Only Nott was close enough to hear that comment. He glanced sideways at me in surprise but didn't deny it. Voldemort had promised to break open Azkaban and I had no doubt that when he did Lancaster and Wilkes would be at the front of the line to join him now.

"Realistically, they were headed that way anyway."

I jerked around to see Daphne smirking on my other side as she cut into her breakfast. "What?" she asked innocently as she took a bite of sausage. "Are you the only ones allowed to have secret conversations in the middle of the Great Hall?"

I winced at that. "Ah… yeah."

"Nicely done," Daphne said, nodding to the paper in front of me. "You legitimized yourself in one fell swoop and struck a blow against Dumbledore."

"I'm not trying to take down the headmaster."

"Oh, of course." Daphne winked. "Not him."

I stared. Daphne simply smiled sweetly in reply and kept eating her sausage. I leaned over and nudged Nott in the side, nodding to Daphne. "She's kind of scarily perceptive, you know?"

"Yes, I'm aware," Nott said, faintly amused as he glanced in Daphne's direction.

* * *

"Things are happening fast," I mused as I leaned against Draco. Once more we were holed up together, this time out on the grounds, shielded by one of the willows by the lake. A few quick spells had silenced the area and made anyone that came close suddenly remember they had other places to be. Draco leaned against the trunk and I lay on my side, cuddled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around me.

"Umbridge will make a play for power soon, trying to oust Dumbledore," Draco agreed.

"The attack gave her the perfect opportunity," I agreed. "But aside from that, there's one more problem she has."

"Which is?" Draco asked in confusion.

"My brother's defense group," I said after only a moment of hesitation. "He's been running a secret club, teaching people to defend themselves. Umbridge needs to find them, catch them in the act. And then she'll be without opponent. Well, without one that she knows about."

Draco whistled. "While I hate complimenting your brother…" I smacked him lightly in the arm. "Oi! I have to admit that it's not a bad idea. People need to know how to fight in times like this and your brother's gotten out of scrapes before."

"That he has," I agreed quietly, trying not to remember that he'd accused me of dodging those same scrapes only a week before.

The aftermath of that fight hadn't yet died down. Slytherins were still going out in pairs or more and there had been several attacks against Slytherin, both in the wake of my little speech and the paper revealing that Ella was attacked by two Slytherins. Some people seemed to think I'd set it up to make myself look good, which was honestly a little flattering that they thought I'd come up with something that deviously brilliant. I was the most common target, as usual, but my Shields kept attacks at bay. Nott and Daphne, for daring to be seen with me, had also become popular targets, as had anyone who had openly supported me at the speech along with the children of named Death Eaters in that article.

Harry hadn't spoken to me at all since that day. It was his defense group I was on the receiving end of most often. They felt like I'd betrayed them, both by supporting my house and by dueling and defeating their members.

"You'd think I'd have heard something of that," Draco mused. "I hear most things that happen in our house."

I snorted. "You think Slytherins are involved? You're adorable."

"He won't teach our house?" Draco demanded, genuinely offended. His grip on me tightened as his anger rose. I pushed off his chest, rising up to look him in the eye.

"Are you honestly surprised?" I challenged. He slumped back against the trunk.

"No, I suppose not," he admitted, still scowling, eyes flashing like lightning. "But you'd think he'd realize – his aren't the only ones that might need to fight in whatever's coming."

"The concern is that we'd fight against his," I said with a shrug. "They think most of the Slytherins would side with their parents, even the ones who don't openly support Voldemort. Honestly, they way they're being treated lately, it wouldn't surprise me. We've become pariahs and it's partly my fault."

"The issue is complicated," Draco said, trying to soothe me. He grabbed a strand of my hair and began to twirl it around his fingers. I watched the red strands moved and catch the light as he fiddled. "There are people who are more open to Slytherin. Some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws came around after your speech. They're divided now because you saved Mayfair, but our house was also the ones who attacked her. People don't know what to do, so they're just following the lead of whoever they see. Unfortunately, the ones who can be seen are the ones who are hexing us in the hallways."

"It's a mess," I concluded.

"Colossal one," he agreed with a faint smile. "But there is a plus side."

I frowned in confusion. "What's that? I mean, Mayfair came out alright, I suppose that's good…"

Draco shook his head and leaned up, kissing me sweetly on the lips to silence me. "I was thinking the fact that we can do this is a good thing," he said, hugging me back to his chest. I smiled and happily went, absently trailing my fingers around the crest on his robes.

"If someone had told me last year – no, even just a few months ago – that we'd be like this, I would have hexed them into St. Mungo's."

"I would have requested some of whatever potion they'd taken," Draco agreed. "But it's happening. And I, for one, am happy. You?" he asked, and I surprised by the amount of uncertainty in the question. I leaned up once more, frowning slightly, eyebrows drawn together.

"Do you… doubt me?" I asked slowly. That hurt, and more than I thought it would. He thought I was snowing him or something?

"No, no!" he hastily insisted. "I don't think you're tricking me… I just sometimes wonder what you're doing," he admitted a bit sheepishly. "I mean, you've said it yourself. I'm a coward, and my father is who he is. You're Lorena Potter, you're on the good side in all of this. You're risking a lot."

I tilted my head. "I'm doing that for you," I said slowly. "Do you not want me to or something?"

"No, I'm just honestly surprised you are," he huffed, lacing his fingers through mine and examining our linked hands. I glared at him.

"I'm doing that," I said shortly, "because of how you make me feel."

I saw the hesitance in Draco's eyes. He wasn't above a conversation about feelings – he'd proven that before – but he wasn't fond of them either, just like most guys. His hand broke from mine to stroke down my side and hitch itself around my waist. He smirked seductively. "And how do I make you feel?" he purred in my ear.

I shook my head, peeling back from him. He pouted, but I just shook my head harder.

"Uh uh, you need to know this. I spent most of my life believing I didn't deserve to have someone care about me, that I wasn't good enough. But then you came along and cared anyway. And if you can do that, then maybe I'm not that bad, and maybe there's hope for me yet. It's cliché as all hell, but you make me want to be a better person, Draco Malfoy."

He stared at me incredulously. Then he moved, cupping my jaw and kissing me in a way he hadn't before. It was fierce but still tender and it was saying all the things that neither of us could say to each other or even begin to consider telling someone else. Draco pulled back just a little, his forehead resting on mine. My eyes were closed, our noses brushing.

"I-" he breathed against my mouth, and his heart thudded. He was going to say it and I couldn't say it back yet, and I couldn't make him deal with that, not after he'd waited so long for me to give even this much.

I pressed a finger to his mouth. I pulled it away to kiss him swiftly. "I know," I assured him, opening my eyes. "I know."

He looked at me and smiled. It always surprised me, how his smile changed his face. It lightened it in a way I'd never imagined could happen and the fact that it was directed at me made my stomach churn happily. His hand was warm on my cheek. How had I ever thought he would be cold? I wondered that every time he smiled.

"I love your smile," I murmured, unable to help myself. "I wish you did it more."

"Got a reputation to maintain," Draco said, a bit of a smirk leaking into the smile. "So do you."

"Unapologetic assholes, the pair of us," I sniggered. He snorted.

"Me maybe, but not you. You're positively _Hufflepuff_ sometimes."

I rolled my eyes. "Like I said. Ass."


	65. Chamber Repurposed

Nott and I were walking back from the Library. We'd both stayed late to do essays and we left together.

"You really did something," Nott said quietly as we walked. I looked up at him in surprise.

Nott and I had never been close but I had never considered him an enemy or against me in any way. He was simply a classmate. I was definitely fonder of him than I was of some boys in our year, owing mostly to the fact that he kept to himself and stayed out of drama. He never started anything, he wasn't obnoxious, and he was content to sit in the Library with me and work on essays in silence. Meaningful conversations between us in the past were nonexistent, but I recognized that tone.

"I started something I hope will end well," I said with a shrug. "But really it's beyond me now. It's all of us."

"When it was just the Quibbler, it was only the children of Death Eaters being targeted, people like me and Draco and Crabbe and Goyle," Nott mused. "You brought the fight to all of Slytherin house."

I winced. I knew that. I wasn't so concerned about the older students – they'd proved time and time again that they were capable of defending themselves when Gryffindor v Slytherin matches came closer and the rivalry reached spell-throwing levels in the hallways between classes. It was the younger years that needed to be looked after. They didn't know as many defensive and offensive spells as the older years did. They were easy pickings for anyone who wanted to go after a snake.

"I shouldn't have," I cursed, fisting my hands.

"You should have," Nott disagreed. "And you solidified your position by getting rid of Lancaster and Wilkes. Everyone knew they were twisted and you proved that you stand for the good in Slytherin, not the bad."

"Yeah, I just wish it hadn't been that way," I muttered, dragging a hand over my eyes. "Poor Ella."

"Would have been worse for her if you hadn't shown up," Nott pointed out. I huffed a humorless bark of laughter at that.

"Merlin, it's been a ridiculous couple of days," I grunted, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes, not caring that I was probably doing terrible things to my makeup. I was headed to the dorms anyway.

We rounded a corner and Nott and I both froze. "It just got crazy again," Nott murmured.

"Hey, you assholes!" I roared, clearly startling the hell out of the two seventh year Gryffindors who were levitating the two young Slytherin girls who'd supported me upside down in the air as they clutched onto each other and whimpered in terror. They started to fall and they both shrieked in fear. I waved my wand and they landed on a Cushioning Charm, bouncing slightly before landing lightly on the ground.

"Detention, the pair of you, every Friday until the end of the month!" I snarled at the seventh years as the two girls ran to my side for protection. I put a hand on one of their shoulders protectively. "With Filch," I added viciously.

"You think you're something special, Potter?" snapped one of them. "You're just some bitch who's jealous of her brother."

"Yeah, but I'm a bitch who can kick your sorry asses from here to King's Cross, so I'd clear off if I was you!" I snarled back, and they wisely scattered. I crouched down a little so that I could look the younger snakes in the eye.

"You two alright?" I asked. They both nodded, grinning at me brightly.

"Yeah, you really showed them," grinned the dark-haired one, Emilia Knight.

"They were running scared," laughed the blonde, Chastity Crane.

I was glad they weren't hurt and I was glad I'd sent the Gryffindors running. What I wasn't glad about was that it had happened at all. If I or someone else sympathetic hadn't come along, who knew what would have happened? The younger students were the easiest targets, they were the ones that needed protection more than anyone else. The problem was, short of clinging to an older student, there was no way they could get it. Umbridge's class made it impossible to learn self defense and Harry wasn't going to help any of my house, even if I threw myself on my knees in front of him and begged.

A thought occurred to me. Maybe I didn't need Harry…

"Take them back to the Common Room," I told Nott, pushing the two girls towards him. "There's something I need to do."

Nott raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to break a few rules?" he asked knowingly.

"Of course," I replied, before turning and striding off down the hall. It was close to curfew, but with the Marauder's Map firmly in my pocket, a precaution I'd taken against ambushes, I was relatively free to move about the castle. Besides, ninety percent of my plan would involve me being in a place the teachers couldn't go.

I pushed open the door to Myrtle's bathroom. To my annoyance, Myrtle was there, lounging up by one of the windows.

"Oh, look who it is," Myrtle mocked as she swooped down. "The Other Potter!"

"I don't have time for you, Myrtle," I grunted, swatting at her in annoyance. I resisted the urge to shudder as my arm passed through hers. Myrtle pulled back with an indignant screech and clutched her arm.

"So rude!" she wailed, and dove into the nearest toilet, sending water splashing over the rim. I rolled my eyes. The easiest way to deal with Myrtle was to offend her so badly she ran off to sob in a U-bend somewhere. With her gone, I was free to turn towards the sinks in the middle of the room.

"Open," I hissed, and the sinks began to move. The one with the snake etching sank down as the others slid open and the grating pulled back from the yawning black hole of the pipe. I stared down into it with a sigh. I could already smell the faint scent of damp rot that permeated the whole place. I was spending far more time in the Chamber than I thought I ever would, it really was ridiculous.

"Geronimo," I deadpanned, and leaped down the hole. I slipped and slid my way down the pipe, scowling as I felt unpleasant bits of slime get ground into my clothes. This time, I would force myself to remember to clean off once I popped out.

I slid out of the pipe. This time I was ready for it, and managed to land on my feet with only a little staggering. The crunching of skeletons under my feet was expected by this time. In fact, it almost set the mood. Sighing, I lit my wand and started off down the tunnels. It wasn't long before I came to the cave-in, the first of my problems. I could fit through the hole, but only just barely. We'd never widened the hole beyond the necessary because that hadn't been a priority at the time.

I got to work with my wand, carefully analyzing how everything was lying before I used my wand to levitate stones out of the way. Thankfully, the roof of the tunnel still seemed stable enough. It was Lockhart slamming into it that had brought the rocks down in the first place. So long as nothing else slammed into the ceiling at this place, I was confident we'd be okay. However, just in case, I left the rocks piled at the sides of the tunnel and used a sealing spell to keep the rubble from shifting.

That done, I moved on until I hit the shed snake skin. I observed it. It was a massive piece, and the durability of the scales meant that it was still in one piece despite how long it had been there. I tilted my head, contemplating it. The thing was massive, but if it could be moved… oh, if it could be moved.

An idea came to mind, and I grinned as I carefully raised my wand. The shed skin was nearly sixty feet long, and the most unwieldy thing I'd ever tried to levitate. Nevertheless, I managed to get it to follow me through the tunnels and into the chamber proper. I laid it down so that it was facing the skeleton of its former self. It was a gruesome juxtaposition and one that made me wince as I beheld the two. But still, it gave me an idea.

I crouched down and began to pick at the edge of my skirt. I was able to get a hold of two threads and I pulled them out, keeping them carefully coiled around my fingers so I wouldn't drop them. A quick spell repaired the damage to my skirt and left me with the threads. I cleared a space on the floor so that I'd have room to work and then I sat down on my robe, the threads in my lap, and got to work.

One I laid across my knee while I head the other one up. Directing my wand at it, I muttered a spell and transfigured it from thread into wire. I tested the strength of the wire. It was strong, and didn't break when I tugged on it. Satisfied, I urged it to grow until it was roughly as thick as my fingers but still reasonably easy to manipulate. I replicated the wires until I had dozens of them piled next to me.

The second thread I turned into a length of chain suitable for a necklace. Once more I tested the strength. The chain gave a little so I added a strengthening spell to it. That done, I enlarged it until the links could fit around my wrist. I replicated those as well and coiled them into individual piles next to my wires. Now that my suspension materials were done, I moved on to the skin and bones.

The skeleton was half in the water, so I had to levitate it out and dry it off with a spell before I could get to work. After that I went down the vertebrae, using weaker versions of the Sealing spell to keep them together but allow me enough leeway to manipulate the skeleton a little bit. The skin was, surprisingly, even easier. I was able to reach into the basilisk's mouth – something that made my skin shiver just a little despite the fact that it was only scales – and shoot strengthening spells at the insides of the skin. It could keep spells out, but once you got inside, the protection wasn't nearly as strong.

Next came the tricky part. I cast a feather-light charm on myself and then levitated myself into the air. I went up next to a column, using the wide, carved snakes coiling up it to give me spots to take short breaks and gather myself. Finally, I arrived at the capital and the ceiling, surrounded by darkness, with the floor who knew how many feet below. I lit my wand and used it to examine the ceiling. Surprisingly, the whole thing was smooth, if not a little bit damp. So even up here, where there was no light, Slytherin had made sure his Chamber was to his exact specifications. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

Smiling slightly, I jumped off the capital and let myself slowly free fall to the ground, the feather-light spell preventing me from breaking any bones. Confident my plan would work, I brought out my wand once more and readied for some transfiguration. A handful of Summoned pebbles became iron lanterns and some bones became candles. The weirdly-specific transfiguration spells McGonagall had taught us suddenly had a use, I noted with amusement as I set a candle inside each lantern and then enlarged them until the lanterns were about the size of my lower half. I cast an ever-lasting spell on the wax so that the candles wouldn't need to be replaced any time soon and then got to work attaching the chains to the tops of the lanterns.

Once more I levitated myself up the columns until I got the capitals. It was getting late at night by this point and my eyes burned with the desire to sleep, but I wasn't done yet and I was determined to finish this tonight. Every time I got myself up to a capital, I summoned the chain of a lantern up to me, the lantern itself swinging below. With more Sealing charms, I fused the ends of the chains to the ceilings in strategic spots so that the Chamber could be either well-lit or dim at the edges depending on which lanterns were burning.

Lighting was only the first of my plans. Now I turned to the skin and skeleton. This time it was wire that was used so that the structure would be a little more solid. I fastened the wires to the skin and skeleton. This was even harder work, levitating up to the ceiling and then dragging sixty foot snake remains up after me. I sealed the wires to the ceiling right over the center of the Chamber, adjusting the lengths of them as I went.

Finally I dropped back to the Chamber floor and stared up at my creation. The Chamber was now well- lit, over three dozen lanterns burning brightly overhead like stars against the dark ceiling. It reminded me of the Slytherin dorms that way. Hanging over the middle of the room was the skin and skeleton, formed together in a sculpture. Their tails coiled around each other and then they spread away and around in spirals, skin and skull facing each other. Dangling between the mouths was a lantern, casting interesting shadows over the whole thing.

I tilted my head, observing my work. Aiming carefully, I cast Notice-Me-Not charms on the chains and wires so that the eye ignored them and the lanterns and snakes seemed suspended in midair. It was far better like that, I decided, and I was content with my new decorations. The place was definitely a bit more inviting now.

Now I turned to the puddle of blood and gore on the floor where the basilisk had decomposed. With a wave of my wand and an application of several deep-cleaning spells I'd learned from Mrs. Weasley, I was able to get the stain out. There was only so much cleaning one could do to the place, given that it was essentially a cave in a sewer with some fancy details. Still, I was able to get up the worst of the dirt and grit and slime that had accumulated over the who-knew-how many centuries since the place had been last cleaned. I wondered with a faint smirk if Voldemort ever did a spring cleaning down here in his time.

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly four in the morning – not so much too late to be up but too early. I was resigned to a night of no sleep already, so I retrieved my book bag and sat down on the floor of the chamber, pulling out parchment, ink, and quill. I copied out the same message numerous times and tucked them into my pockets before heading out.

I levitated my way out of the chamber, emerging back in Myrtle's bathroom. I couldn't see the ghost, but I could faintly hear sobbing, so I assumed she was still angsting in a toilet bowl somewhere. Huffing at the ghost, I waved my wand and cleaned myself up before closing the chamber up behind me and pulling out the Marauder's Map. I whispered the password.

Most of the teachers were in bed by this point but a few who were more early risers than late patrollers were up and moving about their private rooms. The castle was clear of everyone but ghosts for a while though, so I headed to the owlery as quickly and subtly as I could. I called down several owls, tying the notes to their ankles and letting them fly up to join the others. The notes would be delivered at mail time tomorrow.

I was nearly asleep on my feet at this point. I didn't even want to bother with the dorms at this point so I headed instead to the apprentice's lab, muttering the password to the serpent and stepping inside. I dumped my bag by the door and moved to check my potions. The Dittany was coming along and would be ready to bottle in two days. This batch of Veritaserum antidote still needed to simmer for another week before the final ingredients could be added, but it was the right color for now. The last cauldron was currently empty.

I transfigured one of the stools into a cot, much like I had after the Cruciatus incident. Since then and in case of long nights I'd taken to leaving a spare uniform down here. I pulled it out from the box on the bookshelf where I kept my tanned basilisk skin and set it on the counter for the morning. I stripped my clothes off, tossed them into a pile on the floor for Dobby or Tippy to deal with later, and grabbed a bottle off the rack on the wall.

Most held ingredients but others held finished potions. This one was a vial of Dreamless Sleep. I carefully measure out two hours and then tossed the dose back. I quickly shoved the stopper back into the bottle and put it back on the wall. As tired as I was I was about to fall asleep on my feet, so I quickly slid under the thin, scratchy blanket the cot came with and passed out instantly.

* * *

The next morning I used cleaning and cosmetic spells to make myself presentable. A shot of Invigoration Draught woke me up a little bit and gave me energy for the day but it didn't take away the heavy bags from lack of sleep. I dressed for the day and made my way to the Great Hall for breakfast, already regretting the fact that those notes had given the time to meet as tonight. Why hadn't I said tomorrow? At least then I could have caught up on a little sleep.

I sat down at breakfast between Daphne and Draco, with Nott across from me.

"You look absolutely wretched," Daphne observed as she cut up her food. I glared at her.

"Thanks Greengrass, good morning to you too."

"It's not as if Potter ever looks good," Parkinson sneered. I raised my hand in a rude gesture at her and pulled bacon onto my plate hungrily.

"Really though, you look like you were up all night. Just what did you get up to?" Nott demanded, picking up his goblet and taking a sip.

"Nothing much," I shrugged. "I was just up late thinking and reading, reading and thinking."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Of course. Oh look, mail's here."

I tried not to look any more interested than usual as the owls came soaring in. As per usual, many of the owls were carrying copies of the Daily Prophet. I stared at the second owl who landed in front of me, carrying a second note.

"What on earth?"

I looked around. Daphne was frowning at her own note. I pulled mine off the owl and read quickly, _Myrtle's bathroom 9 o'clock tonight. Tell no one._

"You've got one too?" Nott was staring between the pair of us. Draco leaned over and looked between the note in his hands and the one in mine.

"Sounds interesting if nothing else," I murmured to the rest of them. "I guess I'll go, see what this is about."

"You think it's safe?" Daphne asked me, looking a bit surprised that I'd go. I shrugged.

"If it was something sneaky, they'd probably be a bit more subtle than just sending us note in the mail."

"Probably," Nott agreed, somewhat hesitantly. "I suppose I'll go. Draco?"

Draco looked from his note to mine, and then up at me. My mouth twitched up ever so slightly and his eyes widened as he realized that I was the one who'd sent the notes.

"I guess so," he said, shrugging carelessly. "Who knows, might be fun?"

It was a Saturday, so after a few minutes of whispered discussion about what the notes might mean, I left the Great Hall. I wasn't surprised when I heard footsteps behind me. Instead of going to the Library like I might have done on any other day, I headed for the seventh floor and the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, the footsteps following me at a subtle enough distance not to be noticed. They stopped, watching as I paced in front of the tapestry. I grabbed Draco's hand with a smile and pulled him through the door into the Room of Requirement.

At my request, it had turned into a small lounge. The walls were lined with bookshelves and thick tapestries. There was a small fireplace and a thick, overstuffed couch in front of it. There was even a small table in the corner with a bottle of Ogden's Old and some butterbeer. I sighed in satisfaction and turned around to face Draco's incredulous expression.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement," I said slyly.

"Room of Requirement," he said blankly.

"Yep," I said, pulling him towards the couch. "Pace in front of the tapestry three times thinking of what you need, and the castle will provide. Within reason," I added as an afterthought as Draco sat down on the couch, adjusting the throw pillow behind his back before opening his arms to me. I sat down next to him and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

"This is the perfect place for us," I said, absently fiddling with the edge of his robe. "No one can get in once we're in here, unless they know specifically what I asked for."

"Why haven't you mentioned this place sooner?" Draco asked, a little hurt.

"Because diving into random classrooms for a snog is fun?" I suggested innocently. He looked at me sideways. "Honestly? This place is being used by someone else. But during the day we should be safe. At night, I'll have to check."

"Who's using it?" he asked curiously. I sucked in a deep breath.

"My brother. To lead a secret defense club in response to Umbridge."

Draco's grip on me loosened. He pulled back, staring at me in disbelief. "Are you serious?" he demanded. "He's doing it here, where anyone could see them coming and going? He's an idiot!"

"He is," I agreed. "But in this case he's actually being surprisingly smart about it. Probably because Hermione's handling security," I admitted. "This is where I came to confront Harry, the night you found me crying in the hallway. It was the dueling club that chucked me out."

"This would be the perfect place to do something like that," Draco mused. "You need targets? The room provides. You need spell books?" He gestured to the bookshelves around us. "The room provides."

"That's why I suggested this place," I nodded. "I heard about it from the house elves."

"House elves?" Draco asked blankly.

"They know more than you'd think and they're very useful," I said sternly.

"Not arguing, just surprised," Draco assured me. He sighed and pulled me closer, staring into the flames. "You're right, this is nice. No dusty tapestry or hard classroom floor."

"If you miss that…" I began teasingly. He shook his head quickly and snorted.

"No thank you. I'd rather my arse didn't go to sleep."

This time I snorted. "You charmer." My elbow was digging into Draco's side. It couldn't be comfortable, but he hadn't said anything. It made me smile faintly – he didn't want to make me shift. Still, it was a sweet but silly gesture.

I'd never done this with anyone but Harry, but it seemed very inviting. I swung my legs up onto the couch and slid down so that my head was in Draco's lap, my hair spread across his legs. He looked down at me in surprise. I looked up at him hopefully.

"Play with my hair?" I requested, poking out my lip just a little bit. He smirked and reached up, catching my bottom lip between two fingers.

"Are you begging?" he asked archly.

"Are you refusing?" I countered. "I'm pretty sure you like my hair." And I was. I couldn't count the number of times he'd pulled out the hair ties I had holding up a ponytail when he kissed me. He'd even done it a few times when we were patrolling, reaching out and snatching the tie off the end of a braid. I usually let him, so long as he gave my hair ties back.

Honestly, I wasn't much better. I was glad he'd stopped using that god awful gel he'd put in his hair when he was younger. I couldn't imagine trying to run my hands through that. Instead of a solid helmet I could drag my fingers through soft, platinum locks easily. It was a bad habit I'd developed. It seemed like the moment he got close enough for me to comfortably reach, my fingers strayed to his hair. He didn't protest, either.

"So what's with those notes you sent out?" Draco asked as he began to trail his fingers through my hair, twining it around and stroking it. I hummed happily and sank further into the couch, closing my eyes.

"I was inspired by Harry's defense club. The way attitudes are towards Slytherin house lately, we need to be ready to defend ourselves. Honestly, Slytherins are hands-down some of the best duelers in the castle but there's still room for improvement. And the younger students are particularly at risk – they don't know what they're doing. Harry's group doesn't welcome Slytherins, so someone's got to teach them."

"You intend for us to duel in Myrtle's bathroom?" Draco asked blankly. "There are better places…"

"No, we won't be dueling in Myrtle's bathroom," I smiled. "We're just meeting there."

Draco stopped his petting and I cracked open one eye. "I think someone will notice a herd of Slytherins moving through the castle with you at the head. They'll think you're going after your brother again."

I scowled at the mention of Harry. He hadn't looked at me or spoken to me since the scene in the courtyard, not that I honestly blamed him. Still, it hurt about as much as one might expect it to if your other half suddenly started denying your existence.

"A pit of Slytherins," I corrected with a faint smile. "And we won't be moving through the castle."

"Then if we're not dueling in Myrtle's bathroom…" He trailed off, waiting for me to clarify. I smirked, shaking my head.

"Oh no, I'm not ruining this surprise. Trust me though. It will be amazing."

* * *

Before I could go to the bathroom I had Occlumency lessons with Snape. I left Draco in the Room of Requirement after spending all day simply lounging. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we stared into the fire. Sometimes we plucked a book off the shelf and read. Sometimes I had my head in his lap, sometimes his was in mine. Once, we even curled up under a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and roasted marshmallows I dipped down to the kitchen for.

It was a tiny slice of heaven.

I was still smiling slightly and a bit dizzy from a heated goodbye kiss when I entered Snape's office.

"You seem happy," Snape observed as he glanced up from his grading.

"It's the weekend," I said with a shrug. Snape looked me over carefully.

"You also seem tired," he pointed out sternly. "Did you sleep last night?"

I didn't even consider lying to him anymore. "For two whole hours."

Snape sighed heavily and looked at me darkly. "You know you don't block as well when you're tired. Tell me Potter, was what you were doing last night more important than our lessons?"

He expected me to say no. I expected me to say no. But after a moment of thought, instead I said, "Yes."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then perhaps you should go and do that since it's more important…"

I shook my head. "No sir. It's not time yet."

"Yet," Snape noted.

"Later tonight," I explained. His eyes narrowed and I hastily added, "And I'll be in bed before midnight, don't worry. Honestly…" I grumbled into my lap. "You're worse than a mother."

"Seeing as you don't care for your personal health someone must," Snape replied shortly before setting aside his grading and standing up, beckoning for me to do the same. I rose from my chair and stood in front of him, trying to clear my head. It was hard though, Snape wasn't wrong. I was tired and I hadn't had time to nip down to the apprentice's lab for another dose of Invigoration Draught after I left Draco…

" _Legilimens."_

Oh shit.

 _First it was just a flash, an image of Draco hugging me tightly in that empty classroom right after the Cruciatus incident. Then it was right after the incident with Dumbledore's Army. I was sitting on the teacher's desk in an abandoned classroom and he was kissing me. A montage of white tulips sent over the years, and Draco confessing to sending them. The patrols were a blur of conversation and kisses and then, finally, a memory rose to the surface of our time in the Room of Requirement._

 _Draco was standing in front of the bookshelves, scanning them for something that caught his interest. I was lying on the couch, watching him._

" _I'm happy I said yes to this," I said softly. Draco paused and turned around._

" _What was that?"_

 _I shook my head, but repeated myself anyway. "I said, I'm happy I said yes to this. To you."_

 _Draco smirked. "I am too. I'll have you know, Lorena, it's never taken me as long to woo a girl as it did with you."_

 _I smirked. "What can I say? I like being difficult."_

 _Draco's smirk changed into a soft smile. He walked back towards the couch and crouched down by the armrest. I dragged myself up and folded my arms across it, my chin resting on them._

" _I'm glad you said yes too," he murmured, and kissed me tenderly before standing up and going back to hunting for a book. He returned with one a moment later. I sat up and he sat down. I draped myself back out across his lap. He held the book in one hand, resting on the armrest, while the other toyed with my hair._

"No, _enough!"_

I was panting, leaning desperately against Snape's desk with my wand half-raised. My face was beet red and I was staring at my teacher in horror. He wasn't supposed to see… He wasn't supposed to know… No one was, no one but Hermione, because she'd walked in on us that first time…

Snape stared back, his face worryingly blank. He said nothing, just looked at me. I straightened up and let my wand lower fully.

"S-Sir?"

"Are… you… _mad?_ " Snape hissed, his eyes blazing with anger – and fear? – as he swooped closer to me. Never before had I been afraid of Snape, but at this moment, with him bearing down on me… I pressed back against the shelves, recoiling. "You would fool around with the son of one of the Dark Lord's inner circle? Tell me, Potter, do you have a death wish? Am I wasting my time attempting to keep you alive? Or are you truly so naïve as to fall for the allure of the forbidden?" he sneered.

"No!" I snapped angrily. "It's… it's not like that, not like that at all! I didn't go after him, he came after me!"

"Of course he did!" Snape shouted. "Because what could make his family prouder than coming home with the Potter girl draped over his arm like a lovesick fool? Draco is my godson but I hold no illusions as to his character-"

"Then you don't know him as well as you think!" I snarled. "Because he's done so much for me that he didn't have to, that no one will ever know about. When I came back from the graveyard last year, he sat up into the wee hours of the morning playing chess with me so I wouldn't have to think about what happened. Merlin, he carried me to bed after I passed out! He's not… he's not his father," I finished weakly.

Snape's lips were pinched together and he seemed to have cooled his instinctive anger but he still definitely wasn't pleased. "He is not Lucius, that's true," he said slowly. "But he is his father's son and you know what that means. You are your father's daughter."

I laughed harshly. "I'm so _sick_ of my family dictating what I can and can't do, you can't even imagine…"

"Then this is some fit of teenage rebellion?" Snape shot. "Risking your life for the sake of going against what is expected of you?"

I shook my head, snarling wordlessly and closing my eyes. "No this is…" I continued shaking my head helplessly, fighting down the tears that threatened to gather. "This is someone caring about me, and not because I'm Harry's sister. Do you know how rare that is? I can count on one hand how many people have done that and still have fingers. You, Sirius, Remus, and now Draco. I'm not stupid, I was skeptical at first and I watched and I waited for him to say or do something wrong but he… he didn't and I… I stopped watching. It's… it's really _hard_ , trying not to care about someone when they care about you." I looked up at Snape, biting my lip and praying he understood, praying that he wouldn't try and tell me to break it off, that he wouldn't tell me I was being a dunderhead.

He continued to look at me, and I was surprised by the softness, the… the sadness in his eyes as he looked at me. I'd never seen my professor look like that. It was the sort of expression that spoke of long-ago pain that was still fresh, an agony that hadn't yet healed, and suddenly I understood.

"I'm sorry you lost her, whoever she was," I said softly. Snape laughed humorlessly.

"So am I, Potter. So am I. I know… what it is to lose…" He looked pained to admit it, as he usually did when things got even remotely emotional, but he was still saying it. "If you care for Draco then I will not… I _cannot_ tell you not to. I would warn you, but you are smart enough to know the danger. So all I can do is remind you of the danger and leave it at that."

I sighed. "Thank you. Thank you, Professor Snape."

He nodded to me. "I believe… I believe that's enough for tonight. Go on your mysterious errand, Potter, and leave me to my grading."

Snape stowed his wand and headed for his desk and his grading once more. I noticed his eyes dart to the cabinet where I knew he kept Firewhiskey and I winced. I felt bad for bringing up painful memories and driving him to drink, but I wondered if he would have ended up in the bottle for one reason or another even if I hadn't brought whoever-she-was up.

I headed towards the door, but paused before I went through it. "Sir? Can I ask what happened to her?"

He laughed harshly. "You may. She died, Potter, but I'd lost her even before that because of my own faults, my own weakness." The amount of self-loathing in his voice broke my heart. I bit my lip, now fighting down tears for a different reason, a different person.

"I hope you find someone else someday, sir," I said quietly. "Or at least you can forgive yourself."

"I have done far too much to ever forgive myself, Potter," Snape said hoarsely. "And I am fully aware of who and what I am. I do not believe a great love was ever part of my future, even then." I turned around and scowled. Snape looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"You know," I said conversationally. "If you'd quite trying to convince everyone you're a colossal prick and let them see how protective and kind you can be, you might be surprised. Food for thought," I said, and fled before he could give me detention.

* * *

In Myrtle's bathroom gathered everyone who'd received a note. Emilia and Chastity were pressing up against one of the sinks, looking nervously at the seventh year who'd spoken for me in the courtyard, Quinlan Stenet. Nott and Greengrass and I stood by one of the cubicles, murmuring, and Draco stood not far away with Blaise, their heads pressed together.

"Does anyone know who called this meeting?" Quinlan called out to the rest of us at large. "Or if we're expecting more people?"

"No, this is all of us," I said, stepping away from Daphne and Nott. Everyone turned to look at me in surprise as I flicked my wand at the door two times in quick succession. The lock clicked and a spell hung over the door, making sure no one would hear us talking in passing.

"Potter?" Nott said in surprise. "This was you?" I nodded. "Why?"

I sighed. "Because no one in this room is stupid. We all know what's going on out there and we all know that despite what the Ministry says, there's going to be a war. And I'd like it if everyone here came out the other side, but that's not going to happen with a teacher like Umbridge."

"You want us to practice defensive magic?" Emilia realized, eyes blowing wide.

"That's not in-keeping with the official Ministry party line," Quinlan said slowly. "That's dangerous to say, Potter."

"And I'm only saying it now because, seeing as you all touched those notes I sent out, you won't be able to tell anyone else about this without suffering some extremely painful consequences," I said, smiling wickedly at him.

Quinlan smirked. "Somehow, I expected that."

"Hang on," Zabini interjected. "While I agree with you about needing to practice, Potter, we can't just start dueling in a bathroom. Teachers do check in here occasionally."

"And so do prefects," Draco agreed.

"Speaking of, why are you here?" Quinlan put in. He nodded to me. "Last I heard, you two weren't friendly."

"We've reached a truce, I guess you could say," I said with a careless shrug, and Draco nodded in support. "And Blaise, we won't be dueling in the bathroom."

"If anyone sees us going through the school like this, they'll think you're headed after your brother again," Daphne told me firmly, placing her hands on her hips. "So where are you planning to do this?"

"If you're all interested, we need to confirm that first," I told her swiftly, and looked around. "Does anyone want to leave? So long as you keep your mouths shut, that's still an option."

I stared everyone in the eye and waited for one of them to waver, particularly one of the two younger girls. But they were a credit to Slytherin – they squared their jaws and stared right back, bless them, and didn't move an inch.

When it was clear no one was going anywhere, I smirked. "Good. Move, please," I bade the younger girls, and they skittered out of the way obligingly as I approached the sink they'd been standing in front of. I bent forwards and hissed at the tap, then quickly stepped back as the rumbling started. The sinks began to move and shift and lower until the yawning pipe was visible. I stared down into the blackness. Once upon a time it had been incredibly intimidating, but now I felt entirely comfortable with the idea of going down there.

I turned around and was greeted with seven startled faces.

"What's that?" Daphne asked faintly. "What did you open up?"

"The place in this school where Slytherins are safest," I replied simply. "The place that's ours."

Quinlan swore explosively, surprising us all. "Potter," he said weakly. "Are you serious… that's…?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," Nott breathed.

I nodded. "It is. Don't worry, the basilisk that lived down there is dead," I assured them. "It's safe. And who has the right to use it if not us?"

Quinlan shook his head helplessly. "Well, no way am I leaving now. I'm not passing up an opportunity to go down there."

Daphne cautiously stepped forwards, right up to the very edge, and peered down into the black tunnel. "Are you sure it's safe?" she asked me, daring me to tell her yes if it wasn't. I shrugged and, in response, gave a little hop to the side and started sliding down. For the benefit of everyone up above, I laughed the whole way down until I popped out the end of the tube, the skeletons crunching under my feet.

"Are you coming?" I yelled up the pipe, my voice ringing up and into the bathroom overhead. I heard them vaguely muttering and then the sliding sound that meant someone was coming down. I stepped aside and braced myself, ready for someone to shoot out.

Quinlan had come first, apparently, and I grabbed him by the hand and jerked him upright so that he didn't face-plant into the ground. He staggered and braced himself against the wall, huffing and panting.

"I feel dizzy…" he groaned weakly.

"Motion sickness," I told him sympathetically. "I'll make a brew for that if you decide to continue, can't have you getting nauseous every time we practice. Whoops!" I grabbed Daphne and did the same, guiding her into a standing position as she came down. Nott was right on her heels and he had to catch himself, barely managing to land on his feet. Behind him came Emilia and Chastity, screaming the whole way and small enough that they clutched each other as they went down. I grabbed them and hoisted them up, setting them on their feet. They looked up at me thankfully and began to giggle a little, dizzily tottering away to sag against the wall beside Quinlan. After them came Zabini, who of course managed to get up elegantly without my help, and lastly was Draco, with a bit of slime in his hair.

"Ready?" I asked as I headed towards the tunnel that led to the Chamber proper. I lit my wand and the others all did the same, looking around in awe as I guided them down the tunnel. I smiled fondly. The past few times I'd been down here I'd been so focused on doing what needed to be done that I hadn't stopped to admire the smoothness of the wall under the dirt of the elegant arch to the top of the tunnel.

"What happened here?" Quinlan asked when we reached the sight of the cave in.

"This was my second year," I explained as I passed through the gap I'd left in the stones. "Lockhart tried to Obliviate Harry with Ron's wand. You all remember what his wand was like that year, always backfiring?" I confirmed. "The spell hit him, blasted him back into the roof, and brought some of the ceiling down."

"Why did he try to Obliviate Harry?" Daphne asked blankly. I sniggered.

"Well, because we'd all figured out that Lockhart was a fraud. He never did any of those things in his books, he just got the stories from other wizards and witches and then Obliviated them."

"That bastard!" Emilia exclaimed. "That's awful!"

"I did wonder how he ended up in St. Mungo's," Nott admitted. "But we didn't have a lot of information about what happened down here."

"For good reason, there was a bloody great snake carcass left rotting down here for a while," I informed him, before hastily adding, "Don't worry, I cleared that up."

We came to the carving of the two snakes coiled around each other, their gemstone eyes flickering in the light of our wands and making their stares appear to flash and dart across us.

"Open!" I hissed commandingly at the wall, and the carving split down the middle, the two sides grinding apart. I stepped inside quickly and turned around. I wanted to see the looks on my house mates' faces as they saw the Chamber of Secrets for the first time, and I wasn't disappointed. Awe, respect, surprise, shock, and a sense of fondness in their eyes that was the same as how I felt when I came in here.

"That's him," Daphne whispered as they crowded inside, pointing to the statue at the very end. Only his feet were visible in the darkness, but the long, trailing beard gave it away. "That's Slytherin." I nodded in approval.

"Look at all of this," Quinlan said, striding curiously over to the columns and dragging his hands along one of the carved scales of the snakes that coiled up it. "Even with magic, this must have taken years to get all of it just perfect…"

"Probably, but you can't really see it properly," I said, and aimed my wand at the ceiling. I muttered a spell and the gigantic lanterns hanging overhead all lit themselves. I heard a chorus of gasps behind me and I smiled proudly at their reactions as they saw the Chamber in all its glory for the first time – Salazar Slytherin's face high overhead, the columns reaching into the air, and the skin and bones sculpture hanging from the ceiling.

"You said you handled that carcass, didn't you?" Nott said slowly, looking from the sculpture to me. "You're more artistic than I thought, Potter."

I shrugged modestly. "I only did the lanterns and the skin and bones," I said modestly. "The rest of this was our founder."

"I like it," Emilia said, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked up at the ceiling happily. "It reminds me of the lanterns in the dorms. They always make me feel better."

All around the room, faces softened. Yes, those hanging lanterns had cheered all of us up at one point or another over the years and that was why I'd chosen to bring them down here. It may not be the look Salazar Slytherin intended for his Chamber at first, but I think it made it just that much easier to see the beauty in the place instead of the intimidation.

"So," I said softly. "Are you all in?"


	66. Firenze

_It was our second practice in the Chamber of Secrets and Emilia and Chastity had been cleared to bring along a friend of theirs, Molly Clayton. I was showing her around, telling her about the spells we'd put up on the edge of the drop-off into the water, similar to the ones used to protect spectators at Quidditch matches, that would keep us from flying off even if we got blasted by a spell. All around us, spells flew as Quinlan coached Emilia and Chastity on a basic Protego, Zabini and Malfoy dueled, and Nott and Daphne squared off._

" _Is it true you took down all those people in the courtyard?" Molly asked, looking up at me in fascination. "I couldn't see. I'm too short," she added irritably._

 _I laughed. "Yeah, it's true."_

" _Then I definitely want you to teach me. And… could you teach my older brother too?" she asked hopefully._

" _Dominic Clayton?" I confirmed, recalling the third year student. He was pretty good in Transfiguration, if my information was correct. I nodded to her. "I'll speak to him about it, but remember, we have to be cautious about who comes down here. I don't want to train people who are going to end up going over to Voldemort."_

 _Molly's face darkened. "Don't worry. A Death Eater killed our aunt."_

 _I raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by the sudden spurt of bitterness. "Why's that?"_

 _Molly shrugged. "Because our uncle was a Hufflepuff and not a Slytherin like the rest of us? Because she was a Muggle?"_

 _I nodded and was once again forcibly reminded that it was not only Voldemort's enemies who suffered, but the people close to his allies as well. He used violence and pain to keep them in line as much as he used it as a tactic against those who opposed him and I felt a deep pang of rightness in my gut. What I was doing here were right and good and I would keep it up, even after this year._

 _Snape placed a hand on my shoulder and turned me around. "That's enough," he said quietly._

I opened my eyes and I was once more in Snape's office, squaring off against him. I had stayed on my feet this time – in fact, it had been a good few lessons since I'd ended up on my knees, even when Snape did eventually break through my walls. I could block for long periods of time now, but he was good at finding a crack in my armor and using it to slide in. He'd promised that by the end of the year he'd have me working on how to bury memories even when someone was already in your mind.

"Well done," Snape congratulated me. His eyes flicked to Harry, who was sitting at Snape's desk and glaring at me. "See? Your sister is capable, Potter, so I fail to see why you are so completely inept."

Harry's jaw tightened. "She's been doing this a lot longer," he grit out.

"And yet after nearly two months under my tutelage you've made exactly zero progress," Snape said silkily. "I think that speaks to a lack of effort on your part. After two months, your sister could hold me off for a few seconds, yet you're incapable of even that."

"Well, I guess she's just perfect, isn't she?" Harry spat out, still glaring at me darkly. I narrowed my eyes right back.

Snape flicked a wrist. "Go to dinner, Potter, I'm wasting my time with you. Potter, stay behind, I'd like a word."

It was easy to guess which Potter he wanted to do what. Harry snatched up his bag and fled the room so quickly you'd think Snape had set off a Dungbomb while I took up his chair. Snape settled himself behind his desk, a scowl on his face and his nostrils flaring.

"He doesn't even try," he snarled irritably. "Not even a little."

"He's not interested," I said with a shrug. "I told you, if he's not interested, he doesn't try."

Snape gestured to me with a hand. "And yet you, who are interested, have come farther than I thought you would have at the beginning of the year."

I smiled. "All this time, and you're still underestimating me, sir?"

Snape snorted. "Apparently. For example, it never occurred to me that you would have gone off and started your own dueling club for Slytherins… and in the Chamber of Secrets, was it?" I nodded, and Snape blew out a breath. "I never thought I'd see it, but I'll admit, it is… impressive."

I grinned. "I think we all feel that way, sir."

It was a part of our heritage as Slytherins, the thing our founder had left behind for us. And maybe he had intended it for darker purposes but that didn't mean the place couldn't be reclaimed. We could use it to learn to defend ourselves, which was what Slytherin's goal with the basilisk had been in the first pace, albeit he was more concerned about the purity of our magic in that case. Still, there was something deeply moving about standing in the place as a Slytherin and realizing that you were one of the very few who'd ever laid eyes on the place and that this was your right as a Slytherin, when, according to the rest of the world, you were nothing but a jerk in green.

"How many do you number now?" Snape asked.

"A dozen," I said proudly. "We've been careful about the loyalties of anyone we let in, so recruitment has been slow, but we've been doing well."

"I see that," Snape nodded, and his black eyes fixed on me, glittering warningly. "But you know, of course, that not all who serve do so willingly."

I nodded. "I know that. But my hope it that the training they're getting in the Chamber will help them stand against Voldemort's men if they ever try to coerce them or threaten them. I've even considered adding Occlumency to the lessons," I admitted. "Though I don't know if I'm qualified to teach it."

"You're not," Snape said decisively. I winced. "You're coming along nicely, Potter, but you're still far from a master."

"And you can't come down and teach," I said glumly. "If wouldn't be good if, like you said, someone got coerced and Voldemort found out you'd been helping a group whose main goal was to learn to defend themselves against him."

Snape nodded approvingly. "Exactly. On that subject, how is your Animagus training going now that Minerva has abandoned you?"

"On Dumbledore's orders, I expect," I said bitterly. "Thankfully, I have Sirius on my side to answer any questions." I pulled my wand from my pocket and focused my thoughts. The familiar prickling and twisting feel took over and I felt myself begin to shrink. My arms turned to wings and the feathers spread down my chest and torso and up across my face, my nose turning to a beak and my eyes, thank god, turning to those of a phoenix. I was halfway to a true transformation at this point. I wasn't shrinking to anywhere near small enough and my legs and feet were still human.

Snape looked me over approvingly. "Well done. And tell me, have those eyes of yours cried yet?" he asked knowingly.

I transformed back into my usual form, scratching at the back of my hand as the feathers sank into the skin and stowing my wand. "I've got a batch of Sine Fraxinus going now. I'll add in my tears and see how it works. Hopefully, it will. I did a test where I sliced my hand and then dripped some tears on it and it did heal, though it did so a little slower than a true phoenix's tears. That could be because I'm not really a phoenix or because I'm not totally transformed yet, but either way, I'll be able to see by the color and texture of the potion if the tears are enough to produce a true potion."

"Good," Snape said, eyes glowing proudly, and I felt the warmth of his approval flood me just like it always did when he praised me.

"Thank you, sir," I said, blushing a little despite myself. I opened my mouth, but was cut off. A woman screamed from somewhere outside the room. Snape's head jerked upwards, gazing at the ceiling.

"What the - ?" he muttered.

I could hear a muffled commotion coming from what I thought might be the Entrance Hall. Snape looked round at me, frowning.

"Did you see anything unusual on your way down here, Potter?"

I shook my head. Somewhere above us, the woman screamed again. Snape strode to his office door, his wand still held at the ready, and swept out of sight. I drew my wand, snatched up my bag, and followed.

The screams were indeed coming from the Entrance Hall - they grew louder as I ran towards the stone steps leading up from the dungeons. When I reached the top I found the Entrance Hall packed. Students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still in progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed themselves on to the marble staircase. I pushed forwards through a knot of tall Ravenclaws and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite Harry me the other side of the Hall and I could see Harry with Ron and Hermione near the Great Hall doors. McGonagall looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other. Her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside-down. It looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something I could not see but which seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.

"No!" she shrieked. "No! This cannot be happening... it cannot... I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and when I ducked around a pudgy Hufflepuff O saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"

"You c - can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses. "You c - can't sack me! I've b - been here sixteen years! H - Hogwarts is m - my h - home!"

"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, and I was revolted but unsurprised to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic: countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us."

But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Across the hall I saw Lavender and Parvati were both crying quietly, their arms round each other. Then I heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

"There, there, Sybill... calm down... blow your nose on this... it's not as bad as you think, now... you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is...?"

"That would be mine," said a deep voice.

The oaken front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds I could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling, on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge, with an unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position." She pulled a parchment scroll from within her robe. "I have here an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she - that is to say, I - feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccough was barely hidden.

"No - no, I'll g - go, Dumbledore! I sh - shall - leave Hogwarts and s - seek my fortune elsewhere-"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sybill..."

Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him. He squeaked "Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Professor Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

"And what," she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Eintrance Hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found - ?" tittered Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two-"

"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the Headmaster is unable to find one," quoted Dumbledore mildly. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. I heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

Through the mist came a face I had seen once before on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest, one with white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes. The head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."

"You magnificent bastard," I breathed.

As much as I loathed Dumbledore I couldn't help but appreciate the brilliance of his movement. In one swift action he had not only deprived Umbridge of the opportunity to bring in a teacher that was under her control and most likely as astonishingly useless at their job as she, but he had made sure that the new teacher was someone that would stay in Dumbledore's camp. As an added bonus, he'd brought in a teacher Umbridge would despise because he was a 'halfbreed.' And, seeing as a centaur wouldn't have been able to get up the silver ladder to Trelawney's tower, he'd ensured that Trelawney stayed where she was.

In my mind I applauded the headmaster. He was a brilliant puppeteer, I forgot that sometimes. His moves were that of a grandmaster, getting the most function out of every piece he moved and, more often than not, delivering a subtle personal slight along the way. It was brilliant, it was petty, it was devious, it was… something I might have done.

I was both pleased and deeply annoyed by the similarity.

* * *

Classroom eleven was on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall from the opposite side to the Great Hall. I knew it was one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. It was the same room Draco had found me in the morning after Pansy attacked me. I exchanged a look with him as we stepped inside and when he looked back I knew he was thinking of the same thing. Then we both realized where we were: in the middle of a forest clearing.

"What the - ?"

The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it. Their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, and all looking rather nervous. In the middle of the clearing, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

"Lorena Potter," he said, holding out a hand when I entered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco join Blaise, Daphne, and Nott in a small group near one of the larger trees on the opposite side of the room.

"Firenze," I greeted him warmly, shaking hands with the centaur, who surveyed me unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. "It's been a while."

"It has," admitted the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again, however."

I noticed there was the shadow of a hoof-shaped bruise on Firenze's chest. I narrowed my eyes, but said nothing. Herd politics was not something I wanted to get involved in – I knew enough about them from Hagrid to know that they were messy and far beyond what I could understand.

As I turned to join the rest of the class on the ground, I saw that they were all looking at me in awe, apparently deeply impressed that I was on speaking terms with Firenze, whom they seemed to find intimidating.

"Where in the world did you meet him?" Blaise demanded. "You've been holding out on us Potter."

"First year, detention in the forest," I said, and saw Draco pale slightly as he remembered that night. I noticed that we'd ended up right next to each other and I wondered if that was Blaise's doing. I stretched out my legs and raised my arms up, arching against the stone behind me. When I relaxed my arms and cross my legs, my wide sleeves were left trailing across the forest floor.

When the door was closed and the last student had sat down on a tree stump beside the wastepaper basket, Firenze gestured around the room.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," explained Firenze, when everyone had settled down, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was - until Monday - my home... but that is no longer possible."

"Please - er – sir-" said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand. "Why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery," said Firenze simply, "but of my position. I cannot return to the Forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" said Lavender in a confused voice, and I knew she was thinking of cows. "What - oh!" Comprehension dawned on her face. "There are more of you?" she asked, stunned.

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the Thestrals?" asked Dean eagerly.

"Dumbass," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. People seemed not to realize that despite the fact that they were half horse, centaurs were also half human. They got on well enough without humans. In fact, they preferred it that way.

"Idiot," Draco agreed, and placed his hands on the grassy ground, shifting to get more comfortable. The end of his sleeve draped over mine and, concealed by the folds of black fabric, his fingers knotted around mine. I smirked faintly, pleased at the sensation, but did not look down.

Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realize at once that he had said something very offensive.

"I didn't - I meant – sorry." he finished in a hushed voice.

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again.

"Please, sir... why have the other centaurs banished you?"

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," said Firenze. "They see this as a betrayal of our kind."

I would put money on it having been Bane who had kicked Firenze in the chest.

"Centaurs think they're superior to humans," I called out from across the room. "To them, what Firenze is doing would be like a person deciding to serve a dog. In some ways, they are superior, but in other ways, they aren't. It's a matter of perspective."

Around the room I saw people looking both annoyed and confused as I explained it and I saw Harry shoot me a look from across the room. I could practically see the words 'know it all' screaming at me from his eyes.

"Miss Potter is correct. Now, let us begin," said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand towards the leafy canopy overhead, then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that er now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars appeared on the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"

"Lie back on the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races."

I shifted and at my side, Draco did too. Our hands separated as we scooted down on the grass and the others did the same. We formed a circle, our feet pointing inwards. Draco was to my right, Daphne to my left. On Draco's other side was Blaise and on Daphne's left was Nott. Once more I shifted so that Draco and I could coil our fingers together under our robe sleeves and sighed as the sense of peace that always came over me when he was a around washed over me.

A twinkling red star winked at me from overhead, and I grinned back at it.

"I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," said Firenze, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unraveled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us-"

"Professor Trelawney did astrology with us!" interrupted Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now-" she drew a right-angle in the air above her "-that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things-"

"That," said Firenze calmly, "is human nonsense."

Parvati's hand fell limply to her side. I had to bring my left hand up to smother my giggles. I glanced sideways and saw Draco fighting his own laughter. His grey eyes glowed affectionately in the dim light and I was struck by how handsome he appeared in twilight.

"Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents," said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. "These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."

"Professor Trelawney-" began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.

"- is a human," said Firenze simply. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind."

Blaise snorted. "You weren't kidding, Potter."

"I know," I said, lowering my hand from my mouth.

"Sybill Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know," continued Firenze, and I heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before us, "but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing."

Firenze pointed to the red star.

"In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must soon break out again. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame..."

Firenze passed around baskets of mallowsweet and sage and instructed us to group together and light a fire before tossing the herbs in and trying to divine certain symbols he described in the smoke. We five Slytherins all circled up around a pile of sticks and Nott lit it with a prod from his wand. We all raised our herbs and chucked them in. They were dried, so they caught quickly, filling the air with their scents. I smiled faintly – Amity was fond of smudging, less because of the spiritual component of it than because of the scent it left behind, and the smell of burning sage reminded me of her. I hoped she was well.

"You alright, Potter?" Blaise asked from across the fire. "You looked pretty far away there?"

"Did the spirits pull you in?" Daphne asked innocently. I snorted and shook my head.

"Just thinking," I explained, and we all settled in to stare into the fire as the herbs burned. After several minutes, though, it was clear that none of us were seeing anything by the growing frustration on the faces around me.

"And have you seen anything?" Firenze asked, coming to stand behind me and looking into our smoke.

"No," Daphne admitted, sounding annoyed by that fact. "Nothing."

"I didn't expect you to."

By the end of the lesson, Firenze seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling us that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things, anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher I had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach us what he knew, but rather to impress upon us that nothing, not even centaurs' knowledge, was foolproof.

The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped. I had completely forgotten we were still inside the castle, and quite convinced that he was really in the Forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed. I trailed out after Daphne, vaguely considering asking Firenze for some of his sage to send to Amity next lesson. A gift seemed like a good idea.

"Harry and Lorena Potter – a word?"

Harry and I turned. The centaur advanced a little towards us. Ron hesitated in the doorway along with Daphne.

"You may stand outside," Firenze told them. "But close the door, please."

Ron hastened to obey, Daphne following him out and shooting me a look that said she expected details later. Harry stood a pointed distance away from me and kept his eyes on Firenze, but only once he'd sent me a withering look.

"Harry and Lorena Potter, you are friends of Hagrid's, are you not?" asked the centaur.

"Yes," said Harry.

"I'd like to think so," I agreed.

Firenze nodded. "Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry repeated blankly.

"And he would do better to abandon it," finished Firenze. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished - it would be unwise for me to go too near the Forest now - Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But - what's Hagrid attempting to do?" said Harry nervously. Firenze surveyed Harry impassively.

"Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," said Firenze, "and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Potters. Good-day to you."

Harry and I took that as our cue that the conversation was over and headed for the door. I pulled it open and held it for Harry, who once again ignored the gesture as he walked through. I followed him, aggravated, just in time to see Daphne's hand crack down across Ron's cheek.

"You bitch!" Ron cursed her, grabbing his cheek.

"You do not say those things about her!" Daphne snapped at him furiously. "You will not insult Lorena Potter in front of me! She is so much more than you will ever be or understand, you stupid little boy!"

"Yeah, a colossal bint!" Ron countered swiftly, and I stalked forward, grabbing him by the tie and jerking him down to my height.

"What was that, Weasel King?" I snarled in his face. "I'm a what now?"

"Lorena, leave off!" Harry ordered, grabbing my hand and tossing me back. My lips curled into a wordless snarl as Ron straightened up, patting down his crooked tie, and Harry stood at his side, looking furious.

"Once again you're choosing him over me," I murmured, glaring at him. "And you call me the traitor." I shook my head in annoyance.

"At least I'm not running around with the children of people who serve the man who killed my parents!" Harry said hotly. "Do you even realize what you're doing, Lorena?"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing," I said darkly. "More than you do, you self-centered little-"

"Oh stuff it!" Ron snapped at me. "We've all had enough of you spitting insults at us, it's starting to get old."

"I could start firing spells, would you like that?" I demanded. "It can be arranged."

"You try and hex him and I'll never speak to you again."

I stared at Harry, feeling like he'd just punched me in the gut. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him to please, please talk to me like he used to, to stop glaring at me because every time it did it felt like he was stabbing me in the heart. But I could say those things, because Ron was standing there looking smug and I had a reputation to maintain and I was far too proud to do such things.

"Were you ever planning to to begin with?" I challenged, keeping my voice low as I looked at my twin brother. Harry blinked, wrong-footed.

"Oh for the love of Merlin, you two are ridiculous!"

We all jerked around. Standing at the end of the corner were a pair of Ravenclaws.

"Ella?" I said blankly as I stared at the girl. "Miles?"

Ella rolled her eyes and strode forwards. Miles followed her, his hands shoved in his pockets and a faint, affectionate smile on his face as he watched her approach us.

"For the love of Merlin," she repeated, scowling at all of us. "Ronald Weasley, maybe if you'd quit insulting her, she'd quit insulting you! It's not as if you're so fabulous yourself! And Harry Potter, you seem to be convinced your sister's some kind of monster when, from where I sit, she's a hero. You really are a bit prejudiced, you know. She's your twin for god's sake, you could try acting like it! It's obvious she loves you. And you, Lorena."

I jerked.

"Yeah, you're not getting off no matter what you did for me," Ella said sternly. "Maybe if you unbent your pride a little bit and quit acting like you could give a damn about everything and everyone people might be a little less willing to believe you are an awful person. After all, you proved you are a caring person with me, maybe you should show everyone else that side. And Daphne Greengrass…" Ella faltered. "Uh…"

"I have no part in this!" Daphne said, stepping back and holding up her hands.

Ella got her wind back. "Right, well, I hope I've give you all something to think about," she said sternly. "You're being ridiculous and you'd see that if you'd quit trying so hard to be angry at each other. Now kindly make up before the whole school gets sucked into your drama again."

And with that Ella Mayfair threw up her hands and stalked away.

"She's grown a bit of a backbone lately," Miles commented as he followed her towards the Entrance Hall.

I looked at Harry and he looked at me. For once I wasn't glaring and I wasn't scowling. We weren't really sure what we were supposed to do. We both still carried the hurt from the wounds we'd inflicted on each other and we both were still licking those wounds, but Ella was right about one thing. We were twins and we loved each other and that hadn't changed. Harry didn't approve of some things I did and I didn't approve of some things he did. We had to accept that about each other.

It wouldn't happen today, here in the hallway outside of Firenze's classroom with Daphne and Ron looking at us like they were waiting for a show to start, but we'd taken a bigger step here today than we had before. We were both willing to consider reconciliation and the heat had gone out of our anger, leaving it to simmer softly, waiting to be banked.

I turned on my heel, Harry mirroring me, and we started off down the hallway in different directions. I smiled faintly as Daphne came after me and Ron hustled after Harry. It wasn't a reconciliation… but it wasn't a fight, either.


	67. Army Uncovered

A month passed and there was still no reconciliation, but that didn't alarm me. It had taken something big to tear us apart and it would take something big to bring us back together, but at least we were no longer so angry that we would resist it whenever it happened. I was confident that, once that something happened, Harry and I would be able to work out our issues and perhaps be closer than we had in years.

I was just generally feeling optimistic at this point, because things were going quite well for me. The dueling club that was held in the Chamber of Secrets had grown to include twenty people, including at least one student from every year. We were able to pair off and have duels while I prowled around, correcting the wand movements of the younger students and advising the older ones on footwork and defensive spells I knew that weren't taught in the curriculum, like the one I'd used in the courtyard duel.

On top of that, my Occlumency lessons had been progressing well. They were still tense, what with Snape and Harry being in the room and Snape constantly poking and prodding my brother, but the simmering heat of anger in the air was gone and it was easier for me to focus. Harry hadn't improved, but Snape had allowed me to move onto burying memories, teaching me to sink them into the flowing river of my mind and keep them there without them starting to bob up. It was even harder than regular Occlumency, because so much focus was on both keeping the memories repressed and not thinking about repressing them.

My batch of Sine Fraxinus had come out and it was positive. Less effective than if the tears had come from a real phoenix, perhaps, but I was confident that would change once I became able to fully transform. I'd written Cutler Barnes to let him know that I would hopefully be able to start sending out test samples to dragon sanctuaries soon and he replied with a list of contacts he had at various sanctuaries who he would be willing to endorse me too.

On the subject of my Animagus transformations, they were coming along as well. I'd torn a pair of shoes when my toes sprouted claws and I was shrinking more these days, feathers spreading over the top of my head and down my back. My hair didn't hang around these days and my wings were becoming easier and easier to move as well as the appropriate musculature came in. I was pleased with my progress and so was Sirius when I wrote him to tell him.

What happened a few days before April began brought my good mood to a screeching halt – I was summoned to Umbridge's office. And not just me, but Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and a number of older Slytherins. The place was packed as we all crammed inside, but I could clearly see the expression of vicious triumph on Umbridge's face as she cleared her throat for silence.

"As some of you may have heard, there has been an illegal dueling club operating within Hogwarts that I have been working very hard to uncover." Working hard, right, she was dosing students. "I am very happy to report that tonight I finally made a breakthrough. They are meeting tonight, and I know where."

I resisted the urge to curse fluently or even visibly react. I could feel Umbridge's eyes on me as she gave the news and I forced a look of pleasure onto my face even as I clenched my fists in my pockets, resisting the urge to hex the bitch for what was about to happen.

"Where?" Crabbe asked eagerly, guessing that he'd be able to bring some people down before the night was over, an unintelligent, thuggish gleam in his eyes. Umbridge glowed.

"They're meeting in the Room of Requirement, behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor. And that's why I've called you here, to ask you to help me in bringing this club down."

There were murmurs of assent and even a few whoops from the more enthusiastic of the Slytherins. They had probably already guessed that there would be quite a few Gryffindors to be punished once the night was over and they were completely okay with that. I felt a hand slide into my pocket and knew that was Draco as the fingers knotted around mine and squeezed soothingly before retreating.

"So, are you with me?" Umbridge asked simply, and this time the murmurs were louder as an electric, primal sort of joy for the hunt began to filter through the room. I looked around and I wasn't surprised to see the ugly desire to find and crush this group on some of the faces around me, but I was pleased with the faces where it was absent. "Then get them!"

There was a stampede for the door. Draco and I were hustled and shuffled along as Slytherins poured from Umbridge's office and headed for the stairs. In contrast, I grabbed Draco's hand and yanked him behind a tapestry, into a secret passageway.

"What do we do?" he asked immediately, looking at me expectantly. I loved how he knew I already had a plan.

"I'll show you," I said. "Dobby!"

Draco stared at me incredulously. "Dob-"

Crack!

"What can Dobby do for… Miss Potter…" Dobby faltered slightly at the sight of Draco.

"Dobby, listen to me!" I said sharply, feeling a bit bad for being so abrupt. "The Umbridge knows about Harry and the others! Go, warn them!"

Dobby looked horrified. "Dobby will, miss, Dobby will!"

With another crack Dobby was gone. I looked up at Draco, who was staring at me in surprise.

"He works at Hogwarts now?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, he does," I said, urging him to follow me as I ran along the passageway. We were flat-out sprinting, his longer legs making the run easier for him, but we needed to get to the seventh floor quickly – hopefully, before the others. "He's a house elf, he can Apparate inside of Hogwarts, which means he can get there faster than the other students and warn them. With luck, some of them will get away."

"Not all of them will," Draco pointed out. I shook my head.

"No. Harry won't," I admitted. Draco raised an eyebrow at that.

"Why?"

"Because we'll be the ones to catch him. It's believable, you bringing him in. And I want him brought down peacefully, not punched out and dragged in by someone like Crabbe," I spit out, recalling that he and Goyle had been at the front of the line to go and raid the DA.

We popped out on the fifth floor and we could hear the others behind us. The stairs had slowed them down apparently.

"Come on!" I urged, picking up the pace. Draco kept up easily, taking the stairs two and three at a time as we sprinted up two more floors onto the seventh. I saw the door to the Room of Requirement bang open and people start pouring out. I shoved Draco sideways, into a niche where an ugly dragon-shaped face sat and hid myself behind a suit of armor. I saw students of all ages come pouring out and scatter. Some seemed to be headed for the Library, others for bathrooms, some for the safety of a Common Room. I waited desperately for the flash of glasses as the others vanished around the corners with flying heels and flicking robes.

Harry came sprinting out. I met Draco's eyes from across the aisle and mouthed, "Nicely."

He nodded and aimed his wand at Harry's back as he went running down the hall. All of a sudden, Harry froze as if he'd slammed into a wall. Draco stepped out from behind the vase, the familiar nasty smirk on his face.

"Impedimenta, Potter," he taunted as he strode over and move around him to stand in front of Harry. I slipped out from behind my post, clutching my side.

"Damn it, Malfoy, why'd you tear off like… Harry," I said, feigning surprise as I stepped around him. I glared at Draco viciously. "You absolute bastard."

"Umbridge told us to bring anyone she found running around," he said arrogantly. "And Potter seemed to be in an awful hurry, didn't he?"

I stepped forwards and muttered the counter-spell. Harry sagged out of his frozen half-running position and I caught him before he could topple over.

"I'll work on it," I breathed in his ear before stepping back. Harry shot me a surprised but hopeful look. My stomach lurched. I couldn't get him out of this one and I knew it. It would be too suspicious if Draco let him go just because I asked and no way would Umbridge trust me if she heard Harry got away from us.

The hustling off footsteps and the approaching blob of pink proved as much.

"It's him!" Umbridge said jubilantly at the sight of Harry standing glumly in front of us. "Excellent, Draco, Lorena, excellent, oh, very good - fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here… Come with me, Potter!"

I had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized Harry's arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to us.

"You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco," she ordered. "Tell the others to look in the library - anybody out of breath - check the bathrooms, Miss Potter can do the girls' ones - off you go - and you," she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, 'you can come with me to the Headmaster's office, Potter."

"Professor, can I come?" I asked uncertainly. "I want to see what happens. I did help catch him after all, and he is my brother."

Umbridge looked me up and down as if she was sizing me up and a confident glitter entered her eye. She thought she'd finally gotten me on her side, truly and fully. She was an absolute idiot.

"Yes, I think you've earned it," she tittered. "Come along, Miss Potter!"

We were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. I wondered how many of the others had been caught. I hoped bitterly that Stebbins had gotten caught. Fred, George, Ginny, even Ron I supposed, for his mother's sake, I hope they all got off, and Hermione too. But then again since Harry had been caught, Ron and Hermione might be punished just for association.

"Fizzing Whizzbee," sang Umbridge. I filed the password away as the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and er ascended the moving stone staircase. We reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Harry. She seemed to think she was already in charge and unfortunately, she was close to being right.

The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation. Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom I did not recognize, were positioned either side of the door like guards. Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.

The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were alert and serious, watching what was happening below them. As we entered, a few flitted into neighboring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbor's ear.

Harry pulled himself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind us. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at him with a kind of vicious satisfaction on his face.

"Well," he said. "Well, well, well…"

Harry replied with the dirtiest look he could muster. I had to hide a smile – dirty looks were not my brother's forte.

This wasn't the time to smirk, though. This was the time to think. Of the people in this room, we were outnumbered. Harry had McGonagall and Dumbledore on his side, and me, though I had to pretend to be there for Umbridge. That left her with the Minister, Kingsley, and a man who was presumably an Auror. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Once upon a time Dumbledore and his deputy might have stood a chance but not now.

"He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower," announced Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure I had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dissolving with misery in the Entrance Hall. "The Malfoy boy and his sister cornered him."

"Did they, did they?" mused Fudge appreciatively. "I must remember to tell Lucius. And Miss Potter as well, nicely done." He smiled at me. "Well, Potter... I expect you know why you are here?"

Dumbledore was not looking directly at Harry - his eyes were fixed on a point just over his shoulder - but as Harry stared at him, he shook his head a fraction of an inch to each side.

Harry changed direction mid-word. "Ye - no."

"I beg your pardon?" said Fudge.

"No," said Harry, firmly.

"You don t know why you are here?" Fudge asked incredulously.

"No, I don't," Harry repeated.

Fudge looked from Harry to Professor Umbridge. Dumbledore gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.

"So you have no idea," said Fudge, in a voice positively dripping with sarcasm, "why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?"

"School rules?" asked Harry innocently. "No."

"Or Ministry Decrees?" amended Fudge angrily.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Harry blandly.

"So, it's news to you, is it," said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, "that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school?"

I resisted the urge to smirk once more. There were, in fact, two such organizations, and both of their leaders were standing in this very room right at that moment.

"Yes, it is," said Harry, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise on to his face.

"I think, Minister," interjected Umbridge silkily, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."

"Yes, yes, do," said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. "There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?"

"Nothing at all, Cornelius," agreed Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head.

There was a wait of several minutes in which nobody looked at each other. Then I heard the door open behind him. Umbridge moved past him into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho's curly-haired friend, Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands.

"Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened," cooed Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back. "It's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been.

"Marietta's mother, Minister," she added, looking up at Fudge, "is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office - she's been helping us police the Hogwarts lines, you know."

That was good to know, I mused. The Floo lines were being monitored.

"Jolly good, jolly good!" said Fudge heartily. 'Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to - galloping gargoyles!"

As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backwards in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed, and stamped on the hem of his cloak which had started to smoke. Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes, but not before everyone had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word SNEAK.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing aloud. I was sending Hermione a damn fruit basket for this one and begging for the spell she'd used.

"Never mind the spots now, dear," said Umbridge impatiently, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister-"

But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.

"Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him," snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back on to her face and said, "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex," she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, "came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me anymore."

"Well, now," said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look, "it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?"

Marietta would not speak. She merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?" Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. "So she can speak freely?"

"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge admitted grudgingly. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here.

"You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade-"

"And what is your evidence for that?" cut in Professor McGonagall

"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired," said Umbridge smugly. "He heard every word Potter said and hastened straight to the school to report to me-"

"Oh, so that's why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!" mused Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "What an interesting insight into our justice system!"

"Blatant corruption!" roared the portrait of the corpulent, red-nosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. "The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!"

"Thank you, Fortescue, that will do," said Dumbledore softly.

"The purpose of Potter's meeting with these students," continued Professor Umbridge, "was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age-"

"I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores," said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.

I wondered if he'd found the same loophole I had.

"Oho!" said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on - Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life and a couple of invisible Dementors?"

Percy Weasley let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, very good, Minister, very good!"

I was going to follow Fred and George's example and mail him dragon dung, I really was. When I looked over again, Dumbledore was smiling gently.

"Cornelius, I do not deny - and nor, I am sure, does Harry - that he was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defence Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry Decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry's Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules at all in the Hog's Head."

Percy looked as though he had been struck in the face by something very heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open. Umbridge recovered first.

"That's all very fine, Headmaster," she said, smiling sweetly, "but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are."

"Well," said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, "they certainly would be, if they had continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?"

I hated that man but he was brilliant and that brilliance was currently geared towards keeping Harry in school and our of Azkhaban and for that, I appreciated Dumbledore at this moment. His eyes flicked to mine briefly and, to my surprise, I felt a subtle, sneaky prod at my mind coming from the Headmaster. Snarling silently, which only added to my credibility with Umbridge, I slammed down my defenses with extreme prejudice, flinging the Headmaster from my mind with extreme prejudice.

"Evidence?" repeated Umbridge, with that horrible wide toad-like smile. "Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"

"Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?" said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight."

I shifted my wand subtly in my sleeve. Under the guise of reaching up to knock a loose strand of hair out of my eyes I aimed the tip at Marietta and did a nonverbal spell. I smirked as I lowered my hand and stared at Marietta's unfocused eyes.

"Miss Edgecombe," said Umbridge at once, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months? Just nod or shake your head, dear," Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta. "Come on, now, that won't re-activate the jinx."

Everyone in the room was gazing at the top of Marietta's face. Only her eyes were visible between the pulled-up robes and her curly fringe. She shook her head slowly. Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge, then back at Marietta.

"I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?"

Again, Marietta shook her head.

"What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" said Umbridge in a testy voice.

"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," said Professor McGonagall harshly. "There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"

Marietta nodded.

"But there was a meeting tonight!" said Umbridge furiously. "There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organized it, Potter - why are you shaking your head, girl?"

"Well, usually when a person shakes their head," said McGonagall coldly, "they mean 'no.' So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans-"

Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her round to face her and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised. Kingsley started forwards and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.

"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores," said Dumbledore and, for the first time, he looked angry. I couldn't resist the urge to hold back a snort at that one.

"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," advised Kingsley, in his deep, slow voice. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now."

"No," agreed Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. "I mean, yes - you're right, Shacklebolt - I - I forgot myself."

Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her. She seemed neither perturbed by Umbridge's sudden attack, nor relieved by her release. She was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes and staring straight ahead of her.

I felt Harry shift next to me, the back of his hand brushing mine. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw him shooting me an incredulous look. I smirked ever so slightly and winked at him. His lips twitched up before he quickly fought down his grin.

"Dolores," said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, "the meeting tonight - the one we know definitely happened-"

"Yes," said Umbridge, pulling herself together. "Yes... well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided."

And to my horror, she withdrew from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement's wall and handed it to Fudge.

"The moment I saw Potter's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with," she said softly.

"Excellent," said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face. "Excellent, Dolores. And... by thunder…" He looked up at Dumbledore, who was still standing beside Marietta, his wand held loosely in his hand. "See what they've named themselves?" said Fudge quietly. "Dumbledore's Army."

Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge. He gazed at the heading scribbled by Hermione months before and for a moment seemed unable to speak. Then he looked up, smiling.

"Well, the game is up," he said simply. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius - or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"

McGonagall and Kingsley looked at each other. There was fear in both faces. Harry seemed completely lost with the sudden turn of events and so did Fudge. I understood then what Dumbledore was doing – he was taking advantage of the situation.

"Statement?" said Fudge slowly. "What - I don't - ?"

'Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius," stressed Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge's face. "Not Potter's Army. Dumbledore's Army."

"But – but-" Understanding blazed suddenly in Fudge's face. He took a horrified step backwards, yelped, and jumped out of the fire again. "You?' he whispered, stamping again on his smoldering cloak.

"That's right," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"You organized this?"

"I did," said Dumbledore.

"You recruited these students for - for your army?"

"Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course."

Marietta nodded. Fudge looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest swelling.

"Then you have been plotting against me!" he yelled.

"That's right," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"No!" shouted Harry.

Kingsley flashed a look of warning at him, McGonagall widened her eyes threateningly, but it had suddenly dawned on Harry what Dumbledore was about to do, and he could not let it happen.

"No - Professor Dumbledore -!"

I turned around and snarled in Harry's face, "Oh, for once in your life, stop defending him, you absolute idiot! I warned you!" I moaned. "I warned you, but you didn't listen!"

"Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, shut up, Potter!" barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumbledore with a kind of horrified delight. "Well, well, well - I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and instead-"

"Instead you get to arrest me," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?"

"Weasley!" cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight. "Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!" said Percy eagerly, whose nose was splattered with ink from the speed of his note-taking.

"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?"

"Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!" cried Percy, scanning his notes joyfully.

"Very well, then," said Fudge, now radiant with glee. "Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!" Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. "You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trial!"

"Ah," said Dumbledore gently. "Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."

"Snag?" repeated Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. "I see no snag, Dumbledore!"

"Well," said Dumbledore apologetically, "I'm afraid I do."

"Oh, really?"

"Well - it's just that you seem to be labouring under the delusion that I am going to - what is the phrase? - come quietly. I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course - but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing."

Umbridge's face was growing steadily redder. She looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise, then looked round at Kingsley and the man with short grey hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forwards a little, away from the wall. Harry saw his hand drift, almost casually, towards his pocket.

"Don't be silly, Dawlish," Dumbledore warned. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror - I seem to remember that you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your NEWTs - but if you attempt to - er - 'bring me in by force,' I will have to hurt you."

The man called Dawlish blinked rather foolishly. He looked towards Fudge again, but this time seemed to be hoping for a clue as to what to do next.

"So," sneered Fudge, recovering himself. "You intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?"

"Merlin's beard, no," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to."

"He will not be single-handed!" said Professor McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes.

"Oh yes he will, Minerva!" said Dumbledore sharply. "Hogwarts needs you!"

" _Expelliarmus!"_ From its barely-drawn position, McGonagall's wand shot from her hands towards me. My hand flashed out and I caught it with Quidditch-worthy reflexes, waving it in front of her tauntingly.

"Enough of this rubbish!" said Fudge, pulling out his own wand. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! _Take him!"_

A streak of silver light flashed around the room. There was a bang like a gunshot and the floor trembled. I grabbed the scruff of Harry's neck and forced him down on the floor as a second silver flash went off, dropping next to him. Several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, I saw a dark figure fall to the ground with a crash in front of us. There was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, "No!" There was the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan... and silence.

Dust was still floating gently down through the air on to them. I saw Marietta being sheltered by a crouching McGonagall, who had lost her hat in the panic. I pitched her wand back to her with a nod and a wink. McGonagall caught it, looking both surprised and pleased as she peered at the very tall figure moving towards us.

"Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes!" confirmed Professor McGonagall, getting up and dragging Marietta with her. I hauled Harry back up as well and looked around.

The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view. Dumbledore's desk had been overturned. All of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.

"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious," said Dumbledore in a low voice. His eyes flicked to me. "You were remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way – well done, Miss Potter."

I nodded shortly. Dumbledore liked me about as much as I liked him but here was our common ground – we could appreciate the lengths to which the other went to protect Harry. There was a moment of mutual understanding where I almost saw the man Harry idolized in the man I despised, but circumstances intervened and it was gone.

"Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate - you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember-"

"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh no," said Dumbledore, with a grim smile, "I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you."

I smirked. Getting rid of Dumbledore was perhaps the worst move Fudge could have made, actually. Without the duties of Headmaster to keep him occupied, Dumbledore was a free agent and there was quite a bit he could accomplish with the benefit of time and effort.

"Professor Dumbledore…" Harry began, but he paused, a helpless expression on his face. He didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore didn't let him work it out. "Listen to me, Harry," he said urgently. "You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams - you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me-"

Dawlish was stirring. Dumbledore seized Harry's wrist. I threw myself onto the floor. McGonagall looked at me sideways but her eyes widened in understanding as I let my wand roll a few inches from my fingertips and closed my eyes, evening my breathing. To Umbridge, I was on her side, and my actions against McGonagall made it highly likely Dumbledore would take me out to make his escape as well. Also, it would explain how McGonagall got her wand back.

"Remember - close your mind - you will understand," whispered Dumbledore.

Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him. Dumbledore released Harry, raised his hand and grasped the phoenix's long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them were gone.

"Where is he?" yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the floor. "Where is he?"

"I don't know!" shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.

"Well, he can't have Disapparated!" cried Umbridge. "You can't do it from inside this school-"

"The stairs!" cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

I broke it. "What bloody spell was that?" I demanded, smacking my hand down on an overturned footstool and heaving myself upright, glaring around irritably and shaking dust from my hair.

"Well, Minerva," said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, "I'm afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore."

"You think so, do you?" said Professor McGonagall scornfully.

Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him. One or two even made rude hand gestures.

"You'd better get those three off to bed," said Fudge, looking back at Professor McGonagall with a dismissive nod towards Harry and Marietta and I.

Professor McGonagall said nothing, but marched us to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Harry heard Phineas Nigellus's voice.

"You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts... but you cannot deny he's got style…"

"I can make it myself," I said, tugging my shoulder away from McGonagall. She pursed her lips and stared at me.

"Miss Potter," she said simply. "I owe you an apology."

"There should be a line," I grumbled, reaching up and prodding myself with my wand to clear away all the dust. "It's fine, professor. I know exactly what I seem to everyone else."

And with that I turned away. McGonagall's own revelations weren't my main concern. Right now I wanted to see Draco. I ducked into a niche behind a vase and pulled out the Marauder's Map.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I murmured, and prodded the map with my wand. The ink began to bloom and I started scanning, looking for Draco. I checked the usual classrooms where we met, the Common Room and dorms, even the bathrooms and Library, but nothing. It was like he had vanished from the map.

I smirked and tucked the map away, heading for the seventh floor. I paced three quick lines in front of the tapestry while thinking of Draco. Sure enough, the door appeared and I was able to push it open and step inside.

With Draco as the designer, the room was a little different. The place was still lined with books, but the furniture was in an older, more elegant style, the fireplace was marble instead of plain stone, and the place was lit not by torches but by a chandelier. There was a more elegant feeling to the place than when I'd been the one to dream it up.

It took me a second to figure out where Draco had gotten too. Then I saw the sleeve of his robe hanging over the arm of the couch. I rounded the furniture and smiled. He was asleep, his robe bundled up under his head as a pillow and his shoes kicked off and resting haphazardly on the rug. In his sock feet, with one arm flopped over his stomach and his hair sleep-mussed, I was reminded that he was only fifteen, that we were only fifteen. It made my stomach jolt – I felt so much older, and so, I imagined, did he.

A feeling of warmth filled my heart as I looked at him, driving out the bitter sadness. I crouched down beside his head and reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from his eyes. "Draco?" I whispered softly. "Draco, wake up, I'm back. Draco?"

His eyes opened, grey eyes bleary as he struggled to focus on me. "Lorena? That you, love?"

I nearly had a stroke at the term of endearment. With one word, the word I had yet to let him say to me, he had complete spun me. "Y-Yes," I said weakly. "Yes, it's me."

Draco propped himself up on his elbow, staring around at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece that hadn't been there a minute ago. "What time is it?" He groaned. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, I was waiting for you…"

"It's alright," I assured him, resting my hand on his knee. He looked down at me in amusement.

"Got off the floor, ridiculous girl." He grabbed me by the waist and picked me up, heaving me onto the couch so that I lay with my legs between his, my side on his chest, my head on his shoulder. I blushed widely as he dragged his fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead.

"What happened?" he asked curiously, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.

Immediately I fretted, "I can get off if I'm too heavy…"

He rolled his eyes. "I'd feel better if you weighed more, actually," he said drily. "Now come on, what happened?"

"Marietta Edgecomb sold them out," I began, my hand habitually rising to play with his tie as I spoke. I snuggled by cheek deeper into his shoulder to hide my grin as I continued, "I've got to ask Hermione for the spell she used, it was a stroke of genius."

"Are you plotting revenge again?" he asked me in amusement. I shook my head.

"No, but you never know. Someone might piss me off."

"So long as it's not me, you have my blessing."

I snorted. "Oh good, I was worried. Anyway, Fudge was there, along with a couple of Aurors. Those bastards were all so smug, going on like they'd managed some great victory when Marietta handed it to them on a silver platter." I sneered. "I nailed her with a Confundus."

From there I explained how the loophole about dates had been involved, and how tensions began to heighten until the paper was revealed.

"Dumbledore's Army?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Are they mad? That's what they named themselves? Do they not know how Fudge feels about Dumbledore these days?"

"That's why they did it," I explained, rolling my eyes. "This could have been avoided if they'd just called themselves something random, but no, they had to be dramatic."

"Well, Harry if your brother," Draco mused. I looked up at him, glaring.

"Are you implying something, Draco dear?" I asked icily. He arched an eyebrow.

"Lorena, if you could enter rooms through a cloud of smoke with a string quartet accompaniment, you'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Oh like you wouldn't," I huffed, laying my head back down. "Anyway, that's when Dumbledore blew the place up. While the others were down he grabbed Harry and imparted some advice, then disappeared with Fawkes."

"What kind of advice?" Draco asked curiously. I hesitated. His eyes darkened. "Really?" he demanded. "You still won't tell me?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Now hang on, I only hesitated because it needs a bit of context and it's a very long story. And honestly," I admitted, "it's not my story to tell, it's Harry's. That's why I'm not telling you, not because I don't trust you."

Draco sighed and relaxed. "I know. I just feel like we have so many secrets… it's annoying."

"Someday it won't be that way," I promised him, reaching up and placing the tip of my finger on his chin. "After the war – then I'll tell you everything."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "After the war?" he repeated. "Really?"

I blinked. "Yes, what's wrong with that?" I asked defensively. Draco squeezed me to him tightly.

"Nothing, I'd love it, I just… it's the first time you've talked about this like it's something that might continue indefinitely."

I bit my lip. "I'm… trying out optimism. I'm thinking about a world where we both survive and Voldemort is defeated and we don't have to worry about Death Eaters or the Order and in that world… I'd want you there," I admitted quietly.

"But in that world the war's already happened," Draco said gently. "We'll both have had to play our parts. What if… what if I have to do something you can't forgive?"

I looked up at him. "What if I have to do something you can't forgive?" I countered. "This war will be nasty, Draco, we both known that. But someone told me once that, if you can come out of things like that and still have it in you to care… then you're alright. So, short of torturing or killing my friends and family…. You should be alright."

"I might have to," Draco said, and I heard the very real fear in his voice as he said it. "Lorena, he might make me and I don't… I don't know if I can." There was a broken quality to his voice. I reached up and seized his chin.

"You are braver than you think, Draco Malfoy," I told him firmly. He managed a weak grin, eyes disbelieving.

"Aren't you the one always saying I'm a coward?"

I shook my head. "You're braver than I thought," I admitted. "You're not a coward, but you're not brave either. You're… somewhere in the middle. And if you're in the middle, then you can still go either way. I'm hoping," I admitted, "that you'll be brave."

Draco shook his head helplessly. "I'm going to have to hide this from him, all of it, like it's something I'm ashamed of when I'm not. He can't have any idea what I feel for you or what you feel for me or we're both well and truly dead."

"Occlumency," I said immediately. Draco looked at me curiously. "It's the practice of shielding the mind-"

"I know what it is," he assured me. "I just wondered how you knew."

I raised my chin smugly. "I can do it. Snape's been teaching me."

"Can you?" Draco asked eagerly. "Then if you could teach me."

I blinked. Snape had said I wasn't ready to teach anyone, and he was right. I wasn't ready to be a teacher. But Draco wasn't ready to stand in front of a mass murderer and have to hide part of himself to save his life. We were all going to have to do things we weren't ready for or we would end up dead, and the sooner we started, the better chance we had.

"I could try,' I said slowly. "Mind you, I'm not a master myself," I hastened to explain.

Draco shook his head. "Doesn't matter, it's better than nothing."

I looked at him uncertainly. "You know… what you'd be letting me do, right? You'd be letting me see inside your head. You're okay with that?"

Draco frowned. "No, I'm not," he admitted. "There's parts of me I don't want you to see. Not because I don't trust you," he hastened to add, "but because I'm ashamed of them."

"I won't judge you," I promised him. "I don't have any room to."

Draco took a deep breath. "Okay then," he said firmly. "We have a plan."

I looked at him wryly. "You don't seem too happy."

"I'm not," he agreed. "But I'm trying to be braver."

He squeezed me tightly and kissed the top of my head, and I knew exactly who he was trying to be braver for. I smiled and pressed closer to his chest, stretching out contently and luxuriating in the firelight and the feeling of being loved.


	68. Occlumency and Disney

Breakfast the next morning was quite the event. Umbridge had taken up Dumbledore's chair and the new decrees declaring her Headmistress had appeared seemingly everywhere overnight. Even more impressive, the whole school seemed to know that Harry, Marietta and I were the only ones who had been in the room when everything went down, so we were popular targets for questions.

I filled Daphne, Nott, and a few eavesdroppers in over my morning pancakes and sent every other curious student away with a glare and a biting comment about keeping their noses to themselves, playing up being infuriated by Dumbledore's escape.

Umbridge had wasted no time in settling herself into the position quite nicely. The headmaster's office had barred itself to her, to my delight, but that didn't stop her from technically holding the position. With the morning post came several luridly pink envelopes addressed to many Slytherins. Inside were silver I pins and a brief welcome to Umbridge's newly-formed Inquisitorial Squad.

"She's tossing out the prefects, then," Nott said, observing his own pin with a wrinkled nose. Daphne stuck up her nose at hers and shoved it back into her envelope.

"I'd rather get the real position myself, thanks," she said stiffly.

"Of course she's undermining the prefects," I answered Nott, rolling my eyes. "Dumbledore picked them, and she can't have that." My own I was already pinned to the front of my robes by my prefect badge, which I was infinitely prouder of. As soon as Umbridge was gone, I was going to flush that damn I pin down Moaning Myrtle's toilet.

"It's all a bit Spanish Inquisition," Zabini put in as he pinned his new accessory to the front of his sweater.

"Yet you're wearing it," Draco pointed out.

"So are you," Zabini countered. Draco sniggered.

"Well, I'm hardly going to chuck the ability to take points, am I? Mind you, that's the only privilege I had now that I didn't before."

"Yes, you're prefect, we're all proud," I said, rolling my eyes. "Well done Malfoy, you're slightly more than average."

Our positions hadn't changed. Those that were in our dueling group knew that we got along decently enough these days, although to this day only Hermione and Zabini knew the full truth. But a full about face was a bit much for them to believe and to everyone else, we had only slightly backed off each other. For show's sake, we still picked at each other.

Classes progressed as usual, and everything proceeded pretty much as usual, right up until lunch.

The explosion rocked the castle. I, like everyone else in the Great Hall, flooded through the doors to see what had happened. Someone, and I was certain I knew who, had set off what had to have been an entire crate worth of magical fireworks.

Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swear words in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere I looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer I watched.

"Weasleys," Zabini said decisively from next to me.

"Has to be," Daphne agreed.

The best part wasn't even the fireworks, although those were impressive. It was Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed in horror, halfway down the stairs. As I watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to maneuver. It whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister _wheeeeeeeeee._ They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.

"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something - Stupefy!"A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his incantation.

"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in midair. Within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.

I couldn't help it. I ducked down low and ran to a door I knew was concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor. Fred and George couldn't have gotten far, the sound had brought the whole school running. Besides, they'd want to see what happened. I slipped through it and sure enough, Fred and George were hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth. Harry was standing with them and looking delighted.

"Impressive," Harry said quietly, grinning. "Very impressive... you'll put Dr Filibuster out of business, no problem..."

"Bless you both," I breathed, and they all turned to look at me.

"Cheers," whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next... they multiply by ten every time you try."

"Well Rena?" Fred challenged. "That better than what you have planned? I assume now that she'd headmaster you'll let the toad have it?"

I smirked. "You read my mind. I was saving it for a special occasion and I think her new promotion is the perfect time!"

Harry looked between us blankly. "Wait, what's this now?"

"Rena's been planning something for ages, said it would affect the whole Great Hall."

"Well, the whole school, once I add a few modifications," I corrected, smirking as I decided to skip the rest of lunch for a quick nip down to the kitchens. "I've got someone to beat, now."

And with that I ducked out of the tapestry, making for the kitchen and grinning all the while. The fireworks were part of the reason, no doubt, but part of it was also that standing behind that tapestry it had been like old times – Harry and I laughing at the antics of Fred and George, congratulating them on a job well done.

* * *

The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers didn't seem to mind them very much.

"Dear, dear," said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang I saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.

"Thank you so much, Professor!" said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. "I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority."

Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Fred and George's section of the table was particularly rowdy that night at dinner and I didn't blame him. It was no secret by this point who had been behind the fireworks and while Umbridge might desperately wish to wring their necks, there wasn't actually any proof that it was the Weasley twins.

"You have to admit, the spell work behind them is very impressive," Nott mused as he watched a sparkler write enthusiastic curse words in various languages in front of Umbridge's face.

"I may even buy a few once they come on the market," Daphne admitted. "Can you imagine the look on my mother's face if she saw one of those sparklers?"

I looked at her sideways speculatively. "You're a lot more devious than we give you credit for."

"Of course," Daphne said primly, sipping her goblet with her pinky extended. "I am a Slytherin after all."

"Potter, can I have the beans?" Zabini requested. I smirked and lifted the dish up, passing it down the table to him.

"Be my guest," I purred. Zabini looked at me askance.

"Er… thanks?"

But a moment later it was made clear. With a bang and a puff of smoke, a candelabra appeared on the stylized owls of the podium in front of the head table. The Great Hall froze, staring at the candlestick as it swayed for a moment. It brought around one flaming candle and coughed, a sound louder than something that small should have been able to produce.

"Ma chere, Mademoiselle," it announced. "It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents - your dinner!"

Once more, the candlestick coughed, and then it began to sing in earnest. The plates on the tables began to rattle alarmingly as the spells on them were triggered as well.

" _Be our guest! Be our guest! Put our service to the test. Tie your napkin 'round your neck, Cherie, and we'll provide the rest. Soup du jour! Hot hors d'oeuvres! Why, we only live to serve! Try the grey stuff, it's delicious! Don't believe me? Ask the dishes!"_

At that, the dishes ceased their vibrating and began to outright dance. Soup tureens picked themselves up and began to spin up and down the tables, sloshing their contents everywhere. The platters lifted themselves into the air and began to glide along, bobbing in time with the music as the whole hall was sucked into the song.

" _They can sing, they can dance, after all, Miss, this is France, and a dinner here is never second best. Go on, unfold your menu take a glance and then you'll be our guest! Oui, our guest! Be our guest!"_

Umbridge looked beside herself with rage. The day's firework wrangling had already singed and blackened her clothes but now her curly hair was plastered to her face by the contents of her goblet, which was bobbing cheerful circles around her head. Her dinner was in her lap and her plate had seized her fork and was using it like a cane as it danced a chorus line on the head table with the other plates.

" _Beef ragout, cheese soufflé, pie and pudding en flambé. We'll prepare and serve with flair a culinary cabaret! You're alone and you're scared. But the banquet's all prepared. No one's gloomy or complaining while the flatware's entertaining."_

At that point, all of the flatware began diving and darting through the air, forming elaborate configurations made of glittering gold knives, forks, and spoons. They swirled like they were doing the waltz, some coming alarmingly low and close to students' head before swooping back up.

" _We tell jokes! I do tricks with my fellow candlesticks and it's all in perfect taste that you can bet. Come on and lift your glass! You've won your own free pass to be our guest. If you're stressed it's fine dining we suggest. Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!"_

By that point Umbridge had plainly had enough. She was on her feet, stubby wand in hand, and was desperately firing spells around trying to hit the dancing dishware. They all dodged and dived in their dances, avoiding her spells with ease. Not that it would have mattered if they hit, because I'd taken advantage of the distraction of the fireworks to sneak down to the kitchen and add strengthening spells to the dishes I'd spelled.

The doors to the Great Hall burst open.

"Oh look, the tea sets have arrived," I said mildly as a teapot swooped the length of the Great Hall to join the candelabra on the podium, singing all the while as the tea cups followed it along, bobbing and clattering rhythmically on their saucers.

" _It's a guest! It's a guest! Sakes alive, well I'll be blessed! Wine's been poured and thank the Lord I've had the napkins freshly pressed. With dessert, she'll want tea and my dear that's fine with me. While the cups do their soft-shoein'. I'll be bubbling, I'll be brewing I'll get warm, piping hot. Heaven's sakes! Is that a spot? Clean it up! We want the company impressed!"_

Umbridge had apparently decided that the candelabra and the teapot were the ringleaders of this little show, because she had come out from behind the table and was advancing on the podium with a mad gleam in her eye towards the two spelled objects, which had started up a fox trot as they sang. She started firing spells and the pair simply floated up into the air. She nailed the teapot with what looked like it was supposed to be a Stunner, but it only made the teapot sing louder.

" _Is it one lump or two? For you, our guest! She's our guest! She's our guest! She's our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Our command is your request. It's been years since we've had anybody here and we're obsessed with your meal, with your ease. Yes, indeed, we aim to please!"_

The best part of it was the reactions of everyone else in the Great Hall. By this point dinner was all over the floor and the students. I myself had been doused in salad and pumpkin juice and had a platter of chicken dump its contents directly on me during a particularly impressive twist-dip with Daphne's goblet. The students stared at the dishware in a mixture of awe and delight. I could tell who had seen the movie, because those students were laughing uproariously and clutching their stomachs, some even singing and clapping along. The teachers seemed content to simply watch, protected from harm by shielding spells.

" _While the candlelight's still glowing. Let us help you. We'll keep going course by course, one by one 'til you shout, 'Enough! I'm done!' Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest. Tonight you'll prop your feet up! But for now, let's eat up! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Please, be our guest!"_

And with that, the dishes suddenly fell silent and still. They settled back into their places on the tables and the Great Hall seemed to ring with the sudden silence. Umbridge was left standing on stage, panting and covered in tea, her want aimed helplessly at the innocent-looking teapot and candelabra on the podium.

"When I find out who did this," she hissed, "they'll be _lucky_ if all I do is expel them!"

I was delighted with the results of my work. She seemed an inch from tears. I could see McGonagall looking at me proudly from the Head Table and across the hall at the Gryffindor Table Fred and George were shooting me subtle thumbs up.

Then the candelabra and the teapot began to vibrate again. Umbridge shrieked in rage as the dishes lunged heavenward again and the singing started up once more. Technically, these songs weren't sung by Lumiere and Mrs. Potts, but I wasn't picky, and by the looks on the students faces when they started an ominous rendition of 'Kill the Beast' neither were they.

The dishes began to head towards the door and out into the school, singing all the way.

"Inquisitorial Squad!" Umbridge shrieked. "Come with me at once!"

We all got to our feet rather less eagerly than Umbridge moved as she sped down the aisles between tables as fast as her short little legs could carry her, wand raised and ready to do battle with the dishware and fireworks.

"It won't do her any good," I murmured to Daphne as we trooped out of the hall after her. "If you hit them with a spell it just makes them sing louder."

Daphne had to duck into a secret passage and gather herself for a moment.

Umbridge made us hunt down the dishes and fireworks until curfew, which was fine by me. I happily tried to Vanish the fireworks, feigning annoyance and surprise when it just made more and more of them appear, which was of course my goal. I passed Daphne and Nott, who had pinned down a gravy boat in a corner and were absently hitting it with spells, urging it louder and louder until it was bellowing 'Gaston' at the top of its metaphorical lungs.

"It's hopeless," Umbridge said weakly, slumping against the wall with the Inquisitorial Squad huddled around her. "I don't know who did this, and I don't know how it's possible…"

I stepped forwards uncertainly. "I might be able to help with that."

Daphne looked at me incredulously, but Umbridge lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me wildly enough to make my teeth snap together. I winced as she yelled in my face, "If you know who did this, Potter, you will tell me this instant!"

I extracted myself from her hold as delicately as I could as I explained, "I don't know who did it, but I do recognize the songs."

"Songs?" Umbridge snapped. "What do the songs matter?"

"They're from a Muggle movie, Beauty and the Beast," I explained. "So that means that whoever did this is either Muggleborn or has been exposed to Muggle pop culture. And the spells to make the dishes act like that are pretty advanced, so someone who's good in Transfiguration and Charms – probably an older student. I'd add to that that they likely have a younger sibling, seeing as it's a kid's movie. Although it is Disney," I added as an afterthought.

Umbridge looked delighted with these new clues to the identity of the perpetrator. "Yes, yes, I can work with that. Check the student records. Thank you, Miss Potter, fifty points to Slytherin for your contribution!"

I smiled smugly as Umbridge hustled off to get her hands on the student records, confident she wouldn't suspect me.

* * *

Draco and I were closeted in the Room of Requirement. We were supposed to be patrolling, but the room's own defenses ensured that we wouldn't be discovered as we worked. It was different again. Instead of a couch in front of a fireplace and a room lined with books, the room was smaller and more intimate. It was lit by torches on the wall that blazed blue, which set the mood if nothing else. The floor was covered in soft velvet pillows in various jewel tones.

I sat on top of two amethyst-colored pillows while Draco had perched himself on a green one.

"The hard part about Occlumency is doing it without thinking about doing it," I explained gently. "It has to become instinct, something you don't have to think about to accomplish, like breathing. If you keep thinking about hiding something, then a Legilimens can use that as a thread directly to what you don't want them to find."

"Then how is it possible?" Draco asked. He was a little shorter than usual, but I didn't blame him. I was about to invade his mind, after all. The mind was a person's last sanctuary. It showed a huge amount of trust that he was willing to let me see inside for the sake of teaching him. To be honest, I expected him to be touchier about it than he was.

"How did you get good at flying?" I asked instead of answering.

"Practice," he supplied immediately. I nodded.

"And now you can fly without even thinking about it, can't you?" I said, trying to draw a parallel he could understand. Snape's constant barking of 'control your emotions' and 'discipline your mind' had never really worked for Harry or me. I needed to understand what I was supposed to be doing and how I was supposed to go about it.

"Okay." Draco nodded glumly. "So this is going to take a while."

I looked at him indulgently. "You thought it would happen overnight? I've been working on this since the beginning of the year and I can only hold Snape off for a couple of minutes. It can take a lifetime to master."

"Then what's the point of mastering it?" Draco snapped. "I don't have a lifetime – I don't even have a year!" I raised an eyebrow at him, eyes frosting. He groaned, dropping his face into his palms. "I'm sorry, Lorena. I'm just… scared," he admitted, voice strangled with embarrassment at the admission.

"Just knowing how to do it is more than Voldemort will expect of you," I tried to reassure him, reaching out to pull his hands away from his face. "He won't go looking for something he doesn't think can be hidden."

Draco let out a long breath. "I suppose that's true. Okay, so how does this work?"

"It's like meditation, in a way," I explained. "You have to clear your mind and control your emotions. Anger, sadness, pain… all of these are things that can rock your concentration and make you lose focus."

"It explains why Snape goes around like he has a stick up his ass," Draco said with a snort. "Sounds exhausting."

I snickered. "Yes, I guess so. Now, are you ready to try it?" I asked him.

Draco's eyes widened. "Wait, what? That's it? That's all the instruction I get?"

"That's all I can give you," I said apologetically. "You have to figure out how to block your thoughts and clear your mind yourself. Everyone has different things that relax them, just like everyone has another way to clear their mind. Snape said he pictures his thoughts sinking into a lake, past where you can see. I read about a wizard who imagined a mass of fog and concealed his memories that way. The method is individual, but the result is the same."

"Lakes and fog," Draco repeated, visibly steeling himself. He squared his shoulders and tensed his jaw. "Right."

"Now, don't go stealing other people's ideas," I rebuked. "Do what feels natural to you. Those methods may not work for you, and if that's all you're trying, then you'll never get anywhere."

"How do you do it?" Draco asked curiously. I blinked and my jaw dropped open.

"How do… I?"

"Yeah, how do you do it?" Draco asked eagerly.

I sighed. "A cauldron."

He looked at me blankly. My cheeks went red. "A cauldron."

"Yes, alright, a cauldron?" I said, hunching into myself slightly. "I'm… I'm happiest when I'm brewing." I tried to explain the choice I'd made. "I feel connected with my mum, I feel like I'm completely in control. I know exactly what to do and how to do it. So yes, a cauldron."

"How does that work?" Draco asked, intrigued.

"It's like… like all my memories are ingredients spread across a table," I explained. "The thoughts I don't want seen, I drop into the cauldron and they dissolve into nothing, into the great big potion that makes me who I am."

Draco raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. There was a teasing glint in his eye. "Have you ever considered poetry, Potter?"

I scowled furiously. "Do you want my help or not?" I huffed.

"Alright, alright," he said, smothering laughter.

"You're not there yet anyway," I sniffed. "That's hiding memories. First, you need to work on blocking. For that, I recommend thinking about a blank slate. Think that you're staring at a brick wall, or a piece of parchment, and that's all you can see. Something uniform, that way it's easier to imagine and there aren't any little discrepancies to distract yourself with."

Draco looked at me. "Okay, I've got something."

"You ready for me to try?" I asked, pulling out my wand. Draco gritted his teeth and nodded. Already, I could tell he would fail. He was too tense, too paranoid. But we'd never get anywhere if he didn't know what it was to have his mind invaded.

"I'll try to be gentle," I promised, and dove in.

Unsurprisingly, seeing as I was sitting right in front of him, I was the thing his memories were focused on. It was as Snape had described, a barrage of memories and flickers of feelings. I saw myself both as I was now and much younger. I was bent over a cauldron, over a book, over a broomstick. I was in robes, in casual clothes, in my Quidditch uniform. I draped myself across a couch in the Common Room, I sat straight in a chair in class, I sagged sideways in an armchair with my legs thrown over the opposite arm. My hair was down, in a ponytail, braided, hanging around my face like fire, green eyes burning in anger, in jest, in barely-repressed agony.

Once Draco locked on a memory that had flickered in front of his eyes, so did I. It was last year, the day the unicorns had been presented in Care of Magical Creatures. Draco, backed by Crabbe and Goyle, were standing by Harry and Ron. But Malfoy wasn't looking at Harry, he was looking at me. I had my head pressed to the unicorn's. My eyes were closed and so were its. I looked more peaceful than I'd ever seen myself and I recalled that memory with a smile.

 _It's… beautiful. She's beautiful._

I heard Draco's thoughts wash against my ears and then felt his admiration rise up and choke him. I remembered that day, turning around and seeing him staring at me like he'd never seen me before. This was why, I realized. This had been the first day he ever really thought of me as a girl, as someone who was beautiful.

I pulled back from Draco's mind. We were sitting on the ground so he didn't collapse like Harry and I had in the beginning. But he was pale and shaken, sweat gleaming on his brow. He slumped forwards, catching himself with hands braced against more of the pillows.

"Did you…" He swallowed thickly. "Did you see all that?"

"Flashes," I admitted, reaching forward and brushing his hair away from his forehead. It stuck slightly to the wetness. I brushed it back, smiling at him kindly. "It's only settled on the memory of the time with the unicorn."

Draco blushed redder than I had ever seen him. "Oh. _That."_

"Yes, _that,_ " I repeated, mirroring his tone. "What about it?"

"Nothing, just…" Draco looked up at me sheepishly. "Do you, er, hear what I was thinking when that happened?"

I nodded, blushing at the memory. "You thought I was beautiful."

"Yeah." Draco shook his head. "You remember how I said I admired you first, and then it all snowballed?"

"Yes." I'd never forget that moment."

"I think that was the time I realized it had snowballed," he admitted, still adorably red. I resisted the urge to tease him about it. "I'm afraid that's probably one of the nicer memories you're going to see in my head." He looked at his hands sadly.

"Don't worry," I said, trying to reassure him. "I promised you, I won't judge. Do you see what the intrusion feels like now?" I asked gently. Draco nodded. "Good. Now, again, and this time, try…"

* * *

 _I'd never thought of myself as a teacher, but I was doing a damn good job of it_ I thought proudly as I watched spells flash across the Chamber of Secrets. Molly yelped as her brother sent her flying with a masterful Knockback Jinx and she smacked into the protective spells that kept her from sailing into the water.

"Alright Molly?" Emilia called out as she and Chastity went at it.

"Alright!" Molly called back, and sent a Disarming spell toward her brother, charging back into the fray without a second thought.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

" _Protego!"_

Chastity and Emilia were too young for nonverbal spells. They'd only just gotten down the basic dueling spells that I'd drilled everyone on. They weren't allowed to focus on anything else until they'd mastered Disarming, Stunning, and Shielding. The two first years were vicious about it too, throwing themselves into it with a zeal that surprised me. I didn't think they'd quite forgotten that Gryffindor hanging them in the air, and they were determined not to let it happen again.

Near the statue of Salazar Slytherin, Quinlan was working with his fiancée. Maeve was her name, a pretty brunette. She'd been one of the first new recruits we brought in and she'd taken to my lessons like a duck to water. She was one of the few who hadn't balked at my lecture on fighting dirty. She had zero problem throwing a punch or a kick to disarm her opponent. On one memorable occasion, she'd gotten just a little too into it and kicked Zabini squarely in the crotch. We'd had to call that fight while Draco helped Zabini up and I gave Maeve a stern talking to.

They were far and away some of my best students. They'd both mastered nonverbal spells and their fights were silent these days except for a few taunts called back and forth or the odd cry as a spell landed. Maeve stepped close and aimed a punch at Quinlan's nose. He grabbed her hand and spun her, keeping her pinned to his chest with his wand arm across the front of her shoulders, his free hand pointing her wand towards the ceiling.

Smirking, Maeve ground her rear back into his crotch. Quinlan gave a strangled groan and thrust her away from him, beet red.

"Merlin, woman!" he yelped. "Have some sense of propriety!"

"Aw, where's the fun in that?" Maeve teased.

"Damn it, Lorena, he's doing it again!"

I turned around. Daphne had her wand pointed at Nott, who was suspended in midair by a Levitation spell. His robes had flipped up over his head and he flailed and floundered to get free of them as Daphne glared and tapped her foot.

"Nott, you've got to quit going easy on Daphne," I sighed. This was a lecture I'd had to give more than once.

Nott's words were muffled by his robes, but it sounded like he said, "I don't want to hurt her."

Daphne apparently heard the same thing, because she stomped her foot and demanded, "What, you think you could? You're the one hanging in the air right now, last I checked!"

Nott finally managed to tug his robes away from his face, hair disheveled and flopping in his face. He was red from effort. "Sorry Greengrass," he apologized.

Daphne sniffed. "Good. Now don't do it again."She flicked her wand and Nott smacked into the ground.

"Gentle," I warned her. She huffed.

"Oh, he needed it."

"Hey Lorena, you mind swapping out for a while?" I looked over. Blaise was clutching his stomach and panting, winded. He shot Draco a nasty glare. "Bastard caught me with a Stinging Jinx to the stomach."

"I said I was sorry," Draco snapped.

"Just give me a second," Blaise said, staggering over to one of the columns and sliding down it to rest against the ground.

I drew my wand and approached Draco. "Well, I can't leave you partnerless," I said decisively, stepping up to take Blaise's place. Draco arched an eyebrow and smirked.

"Oh, you think you can take me, Potter?"

"I took on fifteen other students, I think I can handle you," I sneered.

"Oh yeah, a bunch of baby Hufflepuffs, what a challenge," he snickered. "Call me when you can handle real fights, huh Potter?"

"Oh, I'll give you a real fight." I scowled and shot off a Stunner, erecting a shield the moment after. My spells were silent for the most part, and so were Draco's. We both slipped at times though. After so many years of speaking spells aloud it was habit and we had to put effort into fighting nonverbally.

Sure enough, Draco immediately followed up with a Stunner of his own, and then we were fighting in earnest. My hair was up in a high braid for safety's sake. It swayed and snapped around me as I spun and ducked and dodged. Shields took focus and magic. Dodging was just as effective and I could shoot off a retaliatory attack at the same time. I vastly preferred dodging to shielding.

Draco, on the other hand, had a stand and fight kind of style. He erected a shield and then kept pressing, strengthening his shield whenever he needed. His spells were nonverbal and required little movement, so there was rarely any warning that they were coming. It was a mix of aggressive and subtle, and it was exactly what I would have expected from him, knowing what I knew about how he'd been taught.

We paused, both of us panting, Draco from firing off spells in such quick succession and me from avoiding all of his attacks. I took a step to the right and so did he. Smirking, I began to pace and circle and Draco matched me step for step. We paced around our dueling ground, wands ready for a sign of attack from the other.

"Ready to give up, Potter?" Draco called.

"Only in your dreams," I promised him. "But if you want to surrender, go ahead."

"Not happening," Draco said, and lunged into an attack. I smirked. My shield was already ready. I took advantage of the slippery stone and dropped, sliding like a baseball player into home plate. My foot connected with Draco's ankle and he came down. Unfortunately, he came down right on top of me. His chest smacked into mine, pinning me to the ground. The air wooshed out of me and we groaned in sync as Draco rolled off of me.

"Was that really necessary, Potter?" he moaned.

"Completely," I panted.

Zabini appeared standing over us. He was obviously recovered, because he bent over and offered us both a hand. Draco and I both took the offer and Blaise helped us heave ourselves up.

"Try and be a bit less obvious, you two," he murmured, smiling slightly as he let go of our hands.

"Don't know what you're talking about," I said simply.

"Talk sense, mate," Draco agreed, and raised his wand.

* * *

 _Tom Riddle was about fifteen, sitting in a large room at a round table with a humongous portly man with a thick moustache. It looked like Hogwarts, probably a dinner party held by an old professor. With a jolt I recognized the green and silver ties that marked every boy there as a Slytherin. I looked at the professor in disbelief. Was this Snape's predecessor?_

 _Tom was older now, grown into himself. He sat with a confident ease and grace, like his mere presence turned the regular straight-backed chair into a throne. He sat like a king among his subjects, and the boys around him all looked to him with traces of awe in their eyes. I didn't blame them – it felt weird and wrong to think, but Voldemort had once been ridiculously handsome, with blue eyes, thick, dark hair, and aristocratic features._

" _Sir?" he asked slyly. "Is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"_

 _The professor chuckled and picked up a piece of crystallized pineapple from a tin in front of him. "Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," he chided teasingly, wagging a sugar-coated finger at the boy. "By the way, thank you for the pineapple. You're quite right, it is my favorite. But how did you know?" he asked, leaning forwards curiously._

 _Tom's mouth quirked in an amused little smile. "Intuition," he said simply._

 _The professor nodded and sat back, but his attention was caught by the sight of a clock on the mantelpiece. "Good gracious, is it that time? Off you go, boys, or Dippet will have us all in detention!"_

 _The other boys rose and moved towards the door with quiet goodbyes, but Tom remained, rising slowly and deliberately as the professor stood and walked over to the fireplace contemplatively._

" _Intuition," I mused, and at once I was sucked into his body again. His thoughts were mine, his feelings were mine, and now I could sense a hunger in his thoughts. He wanted something from this professor, wanted it desperately and was willing to do anything to get it._

 _We flicked the small hourglass sitting on the table, a slight noise designed to unobtrusively bring the professor's attention back to us._

" _Look sharp, Tom, don't want to be caught out of bed after hours," the professor advised, looking at us in surprise. We didn't move towards the door and the professor tilted his head. "Something on your mind, Tom?"_

" _Yes sir," we said, pacing absently towards the fire. "I couldn't think of anyone else to go to. The other teachers…" We hesitated, not because we didn't know how we wanted to say it, but because this was how we wanted to say it. Every single word and inflection had been planned in our head to carefully flatter and gently cajole our way to an answer. "They're not like you," we finished delicately. "They might… misunderstand."_

" _Go on," the professor urged, seeing nothing wrong with a student coming to him with a question. Why would he? He was a teacher, answering questions and imparting knowledge was what he did._

" _I was in the Library the other night, in the Restricted Section, and I read something rather odd about a bit of rare magic," we said, taking a few deliberately idle steps towards the fireplace and the professor. "I thought perhaps you could illuminate me. It's called, as I understand it… a horcrux."_

 _The effect on the professor was visible, and expected. He paled and his eyes bulged. Suddenly the rich clothes his massive form was swaddled in seemed to swallow him as he shrank back from the word like it was a physical attack. There was fear, fear and disgust in his eyes._

" _Beg your pardon?" he said faintly, although he knew exactly what he'd heard._

" _A horcrux," we repeated. We were determined. We would have our answers tonight, because from this would come everything, all of our power, all of our glory, all of our triumph._

" _I came across the term while reading, and I didn't fully understand it." We wrinkled our nose, partly as a show of annoyance at not understanding something, a little touch to add to the image of the diligent student simply seeking to understand. In reality, we hated not understanding. We hated being this close and yet barred from what we craved._

" _I'm not sure what you were reading, but this is very dark stuff, Tom, very dark indeed," the professor cautioned, still seeming rattled. His hand shook. We resisted the urge to sneer. Such a powerful bit of magic and he feared it? Why did he not use it? Why did he not become more than a fat old professor?_

" _Which is why I came to you," we stressed. We needed to make him feel special, important. He liked to feel special and important, it was very nearly the only goal he had, to feel as special and important as he possibly could._

" _A horcrux is an object in which a person had concealed a part of their soul," the professor said quietly, the words escaping him in a rush, and annoyance flared in us. We knew that, we knew all of that, what we needed to know was how many, how many, how many!_

" _But I don't understand how that works." We pressed both verbally and physically, taking a few steps forward and staying just this side of making the professor feel trapped against the wall._

" _One splits ones soul and hides part of it in an object," the professor continued. He looked pained, as if he hated that he knew what he knew. Why, why would he hate such knowledge? "In doing so you are protected should you be attacked and your body destroyed."_

" _Protected?"_

" _The part of your soul that is hidden lives on. In other words… you cannot die," finished the professor miserably._

 _It was time to back off a bit. If we pressed any closer, if he saw our face, he might begin to understand why we wanted to know. It was hard to keep the eagerness from our eyes when what we desired was so close at hand. So we turned and stared into the fire, folding out hands beside our backs._

" _How does one split ones soul, sir?" we asked mildly._

" _I think you already know the answer to that, Tom."_

 _He was right, of course. "Murder," we said blandly._

" _Yes. Killing rips the soul apart. It is a violation against nature."_

 _We sneered at that. A violation, eh? Then why was it so common? Muggles killing Muggles by the thousands in concentration camps, herding them to the slaughter like sheep. Wizards killing each other for other reasons, different reasons, but still killing nonetheless. If killing was such a great sin, then why did it seem like everyone was doing it these days?_

 _Absently, we fiddled with the ring on our finger. It was a trophy from our own crime. Murder hadn't felt so bad. It had felt cathartic, in a way. A release of some of the hatred and sadness and bitterness that had been building inside of us for so long. It had been a beautiful moment, letting that loose on our father and grandparents who so resembled us. The memories flashed behind our eyes and it was still just as sweet to watch them fall in a blaze of green. Puppets with their strings cut – and we held the scissors._

 _Here, now, was the opening to the question we needed to ask._

" _Can you only split the soul once? For instance, seven-"_

" _Seven?" the professor yelped. "Merlin's beard Tom, isn't it bad enough to consider killing one person? To rip the soul into seven pieces!" We could hear the horror in his voice, the slight niggling of suspicion under his words as he asked desperately, "This is all hypothetical, Tom? All academic?"_

 _We looked up at him and smiled, because we had our answer. The only limits to how many you could make was how far you were willing to go, how many lives you were willing to take – and we were willing to go as far as it took. There were so many worthless people in this world, so many people who were less powerful than us. What would it matter if some of them were gone? It wouldn't, not once we'd achieved all our goals, and with this new knowledge tucked safely away in our minds like fragile china in newspaper, we had all the time in the world._

" _Of course sir. It'll be our little secret."_


	69. Snape's Worst Memory

I was feeling worn and tired, like I usually did after a Tom Riddle dream. Once again I came out of it feeling both better and worse. Better, because it was never a bad thing to know more about one's enemy, about what made them the way they were, about why they did what they did. Knowing more about how Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort could only benefit me.

But at the same time it was like looking into some warped, horrible mirror. Had I not manipulated McGonagall into teaching me to become an Animagus, to an extent, just like that professor had been tricked? Had I not read things I shouldn't have read, learned things I shouldn't have learned? Had I never thought the world would be better off without some people in it? I had been willing to kill, as willing as Tom Riddle was.

I had an advantage he never had though – I had people who cared about me. About me, not who I pretended to be. I had Snape and Draco, hopefully still Harry. When I had been ready to kill Barty Crouch, Snape had pulled me back. When I had been willing to rain hellfire and agony on Parkinson, thoughts of Draco and how he would look at me stayed my hand. It was for Harry that I fought so hard against Umbridge's tyranny instead of genuinely going along with her and reaping the rewards.

Snape – Merlin I needed him like I never had. I knew he wouldn't be pleased that I'd had a dream of Voldemort's childhood – they'd been blessedly absent since he'd started teaching me Occlumency – I needed him to know the things I was feeling. I needed him to tell me again what he'd told me when he found me standing over Barty Crouch. I needed him to tell me I wasn't a bad person, because he knew bad people, he had been one himself, and he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I didn't bother with dinner. Instead I left my last class and went straight to Snape's office, hoping to find him there. I knocked on the door.

"Enter!" he called sharply, and I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Snape was busily pulling strings of memories from his mind and dropping them into the Penseive on his desk.

"Potter," he greeted. "You're early."

"I had a dream."

I didn't need to tell him what kind. He knew. There was only one kind of dream I'd be telling him about. Snape turned from the cabinet and sat behind his desk, gesturing wordlessly for me to take the opposite seat.

"Explain."

"In the dream," I began, "there was something like a dinner party going on. A Hogwarts professor was holding it. He was… really fat," I said, miming with my arms. "And he liked crystallized pineapple."

Snape's eyebrow bobbed. "Horace Slughorn, my predecessor both as Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master."

I nodded. "That would make sense. All of the boys there were Slytherins. Anyway, he sent them all off, but Tom hung back."

His eyebrow bobbed again. "Tom?"

I looked at him beseechingly. "Please don't look too far into it like everyone else seems to."

Snape laced his fingers together. "Very well, I will not. I suppose you do have more insight into him in that sense than the rest of us do."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. "Well, in it… he asked about a thing called a horcrux."

Snape had always been pale, but there was a sallow yellowness to his complexion. That vanished, leaving him white as a ghost as he stared at me. His jaw tightened. "I see. That's very interesting."

"We wanted to know about them," I said, not thinking about my word choice.

"We?" Snape challenged. I blinked and flushed.

"Sorry, I… It's hard to explain. When I have these dreams, sometimes I'm just watching but sometimes… I am him. I'm thinking his thoughts as he thinks them, I'm saying his words as he says them. It's… enlightening. And terrifying," I admitted.

"I can imagine," Snape allowed. "Proceed."

"He knew how to make them already, I think," I tried to explain. "That wasn't what he wanted to know. He knew you had to kill people to split your soul." I looked up at him and smiled weakly. "Just like you told me. He'd even killed someone already. His father and grandparents. He remembered it, and I saw it."

"So young," Snape mused.

"Does it surprise you?" I countered.

"Yes and no," Snape admitted. "You were willing to kill at age fourteen, were you not?"

"Until you stopped me," I agreed, looking at him thankfully. "What he wanted to know was whether you could make more than one. The answer is, apparently, yes. That's it, isn't it?"

"It what?"

"How he survived after the curse rebounded," I asked, seeking confirmation of what I'd already worked out for myself.

Snape shook his head. "I can't know for certain, and I won't discuss this with you further."

I blinked. Snape had never refused me knowledge, never. He may have declined to provide it to make me figure it out myself but he had never deliberately kept something from me. "What?"

"The headmaster would be furious that you know even this much. I will say no more and I would advise you not to share any of your suspicions with your brother."

I glared. "Why? Why won't you tell me? Hang whatever Dumbledore thinks, he's not here!"

"Potter!" Snape said sharply, cutting me off before I could build up a good head of steam. "No matter what you may think of him, the headmaster does what he does for a reason. Even you cannot deny that."

I nodded grudgingly.

"If the headmaster wishes you to know, he will tell you, if he even knows himself," Snape said. "I am not saying never. Just not yet. Much as you might hate to hear it, you are still too young for some things."

"When you're older," I quoted irritably, the phrase that was adult code for 'I'm going to hope you forget about it and never ask again.' But again I had to give Snape a point. If Tom Riddle had found out about horcruxes here, then I imagine Dumbledore knew about them. He seemed to know everything that was contained in Hogwarts halls at times. I bet those books had swiftly been removed from the Restricted Section once he became headmaster. He probably had already guessed how Voldemort had survived the killing curse and yes, maybe I was too young. Maybe Harry was too young.

I smirked faintly as I remembered what had occurred to me while I watched Draco sleep: we _were_ only fifteen.

"Fine, but you won't tell Dumbledore what I've told you," I said firmly.

The door opened suddenly and Harry stepped inside, looking annoyed. I could have smacked myself in the forehead. Oh lovely, he'd do fabulously if he was coming into this already mad, and Snape would of course be completely respectful of whatever had upset Harry and not push his buttons.

This was going to be bad.

"You're late, Potter," said Snape coldly, as Harry closed the door behind him. "Have you been practicing?"

"Yes," Harry lied, looking carefully at one of the legs of Snape's desk. He was a wretched liar.

"Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?" said Snape smoothly. "Wand out, Potter."

Harry moved into his usual position, facing Snape with the desk between them.

"On the count of three then," said Snape lazily. "One – two-"

Snape's office door banged open and Draco sped in.

"Professor Snape, sir - oh – sorry-"

Draco was looking at Snape and Harry in some surprise.

"It's all right, Draco," said Snape, lowering his wand. "Potter is here for a little remedial Potions. His sister is assisting."

Draco's eyes flicked to me and understanding flashed in his eyes briefly. He understood – this was an Occlumency lesson. I tipped my head down and then tossed my hair, a nod disguised in a regular motion. He smirked faintly.

"I didn't know," he said, leering at Harry, who had gone red with embarrassment and increased anger.

"Well, Draco, what is it?" asked Snape shortly.

"It's Professor Umbridge, sir - she needs your help," said Draco. "They've found Montague, sir, he's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor."

"How did he get in there?" demanded Snape, which honestly I thought was a credible question. I knew, however. He'd tried to dock Fred and George points the very same morning he got his Inquisitorial Squad pin and they'd shoved him in a broken Vanishing Cabinet.

"I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused."

"Very well, very well. Potter," barked Snape, "we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening."

He turned and swept from his office. Draco mouthed, 'Remedial Potions?' at Harry behind Snape's back before following him.

"I really hate him," Harry scowled, shoving his wand into his pocket.

"Malfoy or Snape?" I asked mildly as he headed for the door. I rose to follow him out. There was no point staying if Snape was going to be gone. I had potions I could check on.

"Yes." Harry paused abruptly at the office door, his eyes fixed on a patch of shivering light dancing on the doorframe. He stopped, and stood looking at it. He turned around. The light was coming from the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk. The silver-white contents were ebbing and swirling within. Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity visible on his face

It was easy to guess what he was thinking.

"Harry," I hissed. "No! He'd kill you!"

Harry looked over his shoulder.

"Montague's Captain of the Quidditch Team," he said slowly. "Snape will have to get him free… then probably escort him to the Hospital Wing and stay for a diagnosis. If I'm quick…"

"It doesn't matter, it's still wrong and he'd kill you!" I argued.

"Oh, come on Rena!" Harry snapped at me. I jolted. It was the first time he'd called me Rena in months. "Tell me you're not dying to know what he doesn't want us to know."

I paused. I did. Snape had denied me knowledge when he never had before and by god I wanted answers. I wanted answers whether or not Snape wanted to give them to me and more than that, I wanted to be Harry's sister again. I wanted it more than anything. And if Harry would like me again for committing this infraction against Snape… well, between the two of them it was no contest, really.

Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand. I couldn't help myself, the curiosity was too strong. I ventured over to stand by his side.

The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry and I leaned forwards over it and saw that it had become transparent. We were looking down into the Great Hall, our breath actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts.

Harry took a great gulp of breath, and plunged his face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. I stared. I wanted to pull him out. I wanted to join him. My heart was racing and the decision was made for me when Harry's hand stretched out, searching for mine, asking me to come with him. He wanted me with him, so I would be with him. I gripped his hand tightly and leaned forward the last few inches.

We standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four house tables were gone. Instead, there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time.

Sunshine was streaming through the high windows on to the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light. I looked around carefully. Snape had to be here somewhere, this was his memory.

And there he was, at the table right behind us. I stared. Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping on to the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. I smiled faintly – somehow I wasn't surprised to see my Head of House like this. I could read the heading of the examination paper upside down: DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS - ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL.

So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen, around my own age. His hand was flying across the parchment. He had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbors, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped. He'd always been brilliant, then.

"Five more minutes!"

The voice made Harry jump. I whipped around and saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair… very untidy black hair.

My heart lurched into my throat and I stared at the back of a head that could only be my father. Of course, they were in school together. Of course he would be here. Harry and I moved at the same time, sliding through the desks with abandon as we moved through the memory, desperate to reach him.

Dad was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment towards him so as to reread what he had written as we stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at our fifteen-year-old father.

It was like looking at Harry, but not. I found my brother's hand, squeezing it tightly. He squeezed back just as hard as my eyes roamed greedily over my father's face. I'd seen pictures of him before, and everyone said Harry looked just like him, but this was different, this was seeing him exactly as he had been.

James's eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry's and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows. James's hair stuck up at the back exactly as ours did. I had my father's hands, I realized with a start, long-fingered and slender, almost delicate.

James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance towards Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him.

With another shock of excitement, I saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking, and he obviously knew it. His dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance that no Potter's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed.

Two seats along from this girl was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky, like he did right before and right after the full moon. He was absorbed in the exam. As he reread his answers, he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly.

So that meant Wormtail had to be around here somewhere, too. After a quick glance around, I spotted him: a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose. Wormtail looked anxious. He was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his paper, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced hopefully at his neighbor's paper. Rage burned in me as I looked from the man who would get him killed to my father.

James was now doodling on a bit of scrap parchment. He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters L.E. After a second, I realized what it was. _Lily Evans_. My mum. Even that far back, he'd been doodling her initials like a lovesick girl. It made me smile – my dad was an absolute dork, and I loved it.

"Quills down, please!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! _Accio!"_

Over a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backwards off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows and lifted him back on to his feet.

"Thank you... thank you," panted Professor Flitwick. "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!"

I looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the L.E. he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam paper into his bag slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him.

I looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables towards the doors to the Entrance Hall, still absorbed in his own exam paper. Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, and his oily hair was jumping about his face. It was a far cry from his usual bat-like prowl and suddenly it clicked what the difference was. The Snape I knew was Potions Master. He was confident and sure of himself. This Snape had yet to come into his own.

Harry's hand in mine tugged me along, dragging me away from my contemplations. A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James, Sirius and Lupin, and by planting us in their midst, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining our ears to catch the voices of James and his friends.

"Did you like question ten, Moony?" asked Sirius slyly as they emerged into the Entrance Hall.

"Loved it," said Lupin briskly. "Give five signs that identify the werewolf. Excellent question."

"D'you think you managed to get all the signs?" said James in tones of mock concern.

"Think I did," said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. "One: he's sitting on my chair. Two: he's wearing my clothes. Three: his name's Remus Lupin."

Even I stifled a snort at that one. Merlin, the sarcasm fairly rolled off Lupin, I wouldn't have suspected it from him. Then again, he was friends with my dad and Sirius, so he had to be able to hold his own there.

Wormtail was the only one who didn't laugh. "I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes and the tufted tail," he said anxiously, "but I couldn't think what else-"

"How thick are you, Wormtail?" said James impatiently. "You run round with a werewolf once a month-"

"Keep your voice down," implored Lupin.

I looked anxiously back. Snape remained close by, still buried in his exam questions. However, this was Snape's memory and I was sure that if Snape chose to wander off in a different direction once outside in the grounds we would not be able to follow James any further. To my intense relief, when James and his three friends strode off down the lawn towards the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the exam paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By keeping a little ahead of him, we managed to maintain a close watch on James and the others.

"Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake," Sirius said proudly. "I'll be surprised if I don't get 'Outstanding' on it at least."

"Me too," said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Nicked it," said James casually. He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away before seizing it again. His reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe.

They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where I had once spent a Saturday reading a novel I borrowed off of Nott, and threw themselves down on the grass. Harry and I looked back and saw that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadow of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the OWL paper as ever. We exchanged delighted looks and sat down on the grass between the beech and the bushes to watch the foursome under the tree. The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting, with their shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom further and further away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, I wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. I noticed that my father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water's edge.

"Put that away, will you?" snapped Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer. "Before Wormtail wets himself with excitement."

Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

"If it bothers you," he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. I had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.

"I'm bored," groaned Sirius. "Wish it was full moon."

"You might," said Lupin darkly from behind his book. "We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me. Here…" He held out his book.

But Sirius snorted. "I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all."

"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," said James quietly. "Look who it is."

Sirius's head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit. "Excellent," he said softly. "Snivellus."

I looked around, wondering briefly what the hell a 'Snivellus' was before I recalled the name Sirius had spat at Snape before.

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the OWL paper in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting. Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.

"All right, Snivellus?" called James loudly.

Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack. With a start I realized that he must have been. This had to have been a regular occurrence for as quickly as he reacted. Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

" _Impedimenta!"_ he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand.

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" asked James mockingly.

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."

Several people watching laughed. Snape was clearly unpopular, not that I'd really expected he wasn't. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him. He was struggling as though bound by invisible ropes.

"You - wait," he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. "You - wait!"

"Wait for what?" said Sirius coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"

Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.

"Wash out your mouth," said James coldly. _"Scourgify!"_

I watched all of this in horror. I'd never been quite as devoted to dad's memory as Harry had. He was the one who looked like James and me, I looked like Lily, so it was Lily I'd always been more interested in. I knew that dad and his friends had never gotten on with Snape but I'd assumed it had been like what Draco and I had years ago – spitting insults, with the occasional hex tossed in for flavor. No, this was brutal and degrading in an intense way and it turned my stomach as pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth. The froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him-

I opened my mouth to yell, but someone did before I could.

"Leave him _alone!"_

James and Sirius looked round. James's free hand immediately jumped to his hair. It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes - Harry's eyes. My eyes.

"Mum," I breathed.

I understood why everyone had always said I looked like her – I did. Our hair was parted in the same way and my skin was only a few shades lighter than her, both blessedly clear of the pimples and acne that plagued some teens. Our mouths were the exact same shape and fullness and I saw that we were built much the same as well, tall and without much shape, but just enough to show that we were in fact girls in a very obvious way. More than anything, I saw that when we were angry, our jaws set in the same way, our eyes flashed with the same rage, and we both cocked our hips and crossed our arms.

My heart ached.

"All right, Evans?" said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. He may have already liked her, but she did not feel even close to the same. "What's he done to you?"

"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point. "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…"

Many of the surrounding students laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and nor did Lily.

"You think you're funny," she said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

This, I realized, was how Snape and Aunt Petunia knew each other. It was through my mum. My mother and he had been friends – good friends too, going by just how fabulously angry my mother looked at the moment. It surprised me. I knew for a fact Snape had been a Death Eater, had joined right out of school, and if mum had been a Mudblood, how had that worked? Clearly everyone knew they were friends because no one seemed surprised to see mum standing there stick up for Snape, and he wouldn't have been allowed to join up if he was best buddies with someone like my mum. So what had happened?

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," offered James quickly. "Go on... go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Lily blackly.

"Bad luck, Prongs," said Sirius briskly, and turned back to Snape. _"Oi!"_

Too late. Snape had directed his wand straight at James. There was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about. A second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants.

Many people in the small crowd cheered. Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, ordered, "Let him down!"

"Certainly," said James and he jerked his wand upwards. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ and Snape keeled over again, rigid as a board.

" _Leave him alone!"_ Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," said James earnestly.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the counter-curse. "There you go," he said, as Snape struggled to his feet. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

Lily blinked.

The words hung in the air. I had wondered what had happened and here I had my answer – Snape had said what was, in his mind at the time, the worst thing he could say to her. I saw the shock and horror and hurt in mum's eyes, and I saw the moment of regret and fear in his before both of them resumed their normal expressions. The masks had come down again and they were who they were supposed to be.

"Fine," she said coolly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is."

"What?" yelped James. "I'd _never_ call you a - you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can - I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me _sick!"_

She turned on her heel and hurried away.

"Evans!" James shouted after her. "Hey, _Evans!"_

I had no doubt that Harry, like everyone else, was looking at James as he shouted. But me, I looked at Snape. He was on the ground looking after Lily with such longing and fear and regret and grief and nine thousand different other things on his face that in that moment I understood. What had he said? The woman he loved, she had died, but he lost her even before then? Because he'd insulted her in a way that couldn't be taken back.

Lily didn't look back for either of them.

"What is it with her?" said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius, rolling his eyes.

"Right," said James, who looked furious now. "Right." There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, Harry and I never found out. A hand had closed tight over my upper arm, closed with a pincer-like grip. I whipped around and saw with horror a fully grown Snape standing right beside us, white with rage.

"Having fun?"

I felt myself rising into the air. The summer's day evaporated around me, replaced by the chill of the dungeon office, Snape's hand still tight upon my upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though I had turned head-over-heels in midair, my feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon and I was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk.

" _So,"_ snarled Snape, releasing me and gripping Harry's shoulders so tightly his knuckles went white. He glared at both of us with more hatred than he'd ever directed at me. "So... been enjoying yourselves?"

"N-no," winced Harry, trying to free himself.

It was scary, and I was frozen in place, pressed against the desk with my hands gripping the edge behind me. Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.

"Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" said Snape dangerously, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose.

"I - didn't-"

Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. I shrieked as Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor.

"You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed.

"No," jabbered Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I wo-"

"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"

As Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and pelted into the corridor. The door shut behind him, leaving only myself left in the office with Professor Snape, who still trembled with rage, his wand in his hand.

"I expected that I could trust you, Potter," he said, his voice coming out through gritted teeth. "Apparently I thought wrong."

"He called me Rena," I tried to explain throatily. "I just wanted… to be his sister…"

"I don't give a _damn_ about your petty sibling squabbles, Potter!" Snape roared, rounding on me. I cringed back against the desk, shrinking away from him as he strode towards me powerfully, robes snapping.

"Do you know how tiring it is to have to listen to you whine about you brother, the Weasley boy, your idiot classmates. And yet I do, and this is how you repay me? I had so much faith in you that I didn't think it was necessary to tell you to keep out of my memories, but clearly I was wrong! You are _so like_ your father!"

I squeaked in horror. It was perhaps the worst insult Snape had in his arsenal, to be like James Potter. I understood now why he'd always been so good to me – he'd loved my mother. He saw her in me. That's why Sirius had called him a pervert and a freak before – he saw that and assumed Snape had merely transferred his attention from mother to daughter. Of course Sirius knew, he'd been at school with them.

"He too took _particular_ delight in finding the things that would hurt most," Snape continued to rage, spittle flying and nostrils flaring. I had always known my professor could be scary, but I had never been terrified of him until this moment. "He would forever point out that he had friends to back him up while I had none, that I kept my nose in a book while he never needed to turn a page. He was the star of the Quidditch pitch and I could barely manage to stay on a broom.

"And you stupid girl, you knew that I wanted those thoughts private, but you let your brother drag you along onto another misadventure. How many times have you ranted to me about how stupid he is for not thinking things through, you little hypocrite? Are you any better? You think yourself so clever, Potter, and yet all I see before me is a little girl crawling for any scrap of affection she can get!"

The words were designed to hurt and they did. They struck true, biting deeply into old wounds and sticking. I winced and my arms gave. I crashed down, my back scraping painfully against the edge of Snape's desk. I landed hard on my rear and instinctively I raised my hands in defense as memories of my childhood ran riot in my brain, memories of Uncle Vernon towering over me and swinging his fists as he raged.

Snape's words rang in the office and silence followed them. Slowly, aware that my chin was quivering and tears were building in my eyes and hating it, I uncurled my arms and looked up. Snape stood over me, an expression of horror and self-loathing on his face. I must look pitiful, curled up and pressed as tightly to the bottom of his desk as I could get, and he knew why I looked like that too. He'd been conditioned the same way when he was young.

"Merlin." Snape looked as if he might vomit. "Potter, I-I… I didn't… I would _never_ …" he swore.

"You wouldn't hit me," I said softly, my voice trembling as I loosened the ball I'd curled into a little more. "You have words for that, just like the words you used against my mum. You got backed into a corner and you did the same thing, didn't you? And what happened? It lost you the woman you loved!"

In retaliation I hurled the words at him. Snape was milk white as he staggered back, his knees hitting the chair I usually occupied. He collapsed into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

I froze. I wondered if, with those words, coming from the mouth of someone who looked so like her, I might have just broken the Potions Master.

"S-Sir?" I asked weakly.

"I begged for forgiveness," he said hoarsely, and I froze. "I got down on my knees before her and begged but she wouldn't hear a word of it. She said that I was too far gone with people like Mulciber and Avery."

I stared blankly as it slowly washed over me. It was my parents who had contributed to making the man before me the bitter, angry soul he was today. First it was my father and his friends, who turned every walk through the halls of Hogwarts into a battle ground. When he turned to the Dark Arts to defend himself like every Slytherin did, swaddling ourselves protectively in the fear the dark reputation of our house could bring, the one person who he'd thought would stand by him in everything had thrown him over. I tried to imagine my proud Potions Master down on his knees begging for anything and I realized how broken he must have been to debase himself that way. Once he lost my mum, he lost the only tether he had to the light and was set adrift on the path that had brought him to a life of being the most mistrusted and hated person in the room.

And suddenly I hated them for it, both of them. My father who I'd assumed had been nothing more than a prankster, along the same vein as Fred and George, had been capable of just as much cruelty and torture as I could be. My mother, who I'd been told was so kind and caring and forgiving, had abandoned her friend when he needed her most. They both came crashing down from their pillars and joined me on the ground with the rest of the imperfect humans of the world.

"I-I'm not sorry I looked," I said softly, not sure if it would make him scream again. "I'm not sorry that I saw that because now I understand why you hate my father so much. If I were you, I'd hate him too. I do hate him a little, for what he did to you. And my mother… she was an _idiot."_

Snape's head snapped up. I clenched my fists, staring at him with my chin wobbling. I blinked, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. I refused to stay silent though, because he needed to know.

"She should have forgiven you," I said harshly. "One word, one _stupid_ word, and she threw you away. You were so devoted to her, I could see it, and she tossed you aside. You begged her – how could she not know what that must have cost you? – and she still didn't relent. She was stupid, so stupid, so damned _stupid_ …"

Snape licked his lips and looked at me, his expression curiously blank. "I wonder, Potter, if there will ever come a day when you cease to surprise me. Why would you say such things about your own _sainted_ parents?" There was a sneer in the words.

"Because I don't know them," I said simply. "To me, they are stories from Sirius and Remus and pictures in a scrapbook and now people who live in a memory. If they were alive I'd probably think you were the villain in all of this. But they're not, so that doesn't matter. They've never been here for me. You have. And that's why…" I swallowed hard. It had never been said but it always felt that way to me. I'd never thought I would ever say it, really. I'd always thought it would just be something that hung in the air between us, wordlessly acknowledged yet never commented on.

"You're more a father to me than James Potter will ever be," I said, and the words came out tumbling over each other, like once the first one passed my lips the others couldn't wait to be spoken.

Snape groaned. "Don't say that. Please don't say that, I don't deserve that. I didn't deserve her forgiveness and I don't deserve yours."

I stepped forward and grabbed the older man by the shoulders. "You need to stop it," I said firmly. "Because not everyone hates you, you know it? And not everyone should. Stop hating yourself so much, please, because it kills me to see you hate yourself so much when you mean so much to me. You were the first person who ever acted like I was capable, like I was worth something, and god help me, I'll never forgive you for it, because you made me realize that I could be something incredible, and now I can't stop trying to be that person."

"Leave," Snape said brokenly. I jerked.

"Sir… please…"

Snape scoffed, but it was a faint shadow of the disdain he would usually have conveyed with the noise.

"I am not throwing you out forever, but you cannot be here Potter. Not right now."

That I understood. Snape was going to break a little bit, break a little bit so that he could heal tougher and more resilient than before, and I couldn't be there for it, nobody could. If someone was there then it was a weakness, an embarrassment.

"Alright sir," I said softly, and grabbed my bag from the ground. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Snape waved a hand dismissively, his face held in his palms again. My heart broke for him, it really did, and I wondered how my mum could have failed to see the good in him. I turned for the door and walked out, leaving my mentor behind to put himself back together.

* * *

Potions the next day was nerve-wracking as I stepped into the classroom and took my seat between Daphne and Nott. On the other side of the room, Harry looked nearly ready to wet himself in fear. He kept shooting me uncertain looks. He'd fled Snape's office but I'd stayed behind, and he wanted to know what had happened.

At precisely the time class was to start, down to the strike of the bell that could be heard even down in the dungeons, the door to the potions classroom banged open and in stalked Professor Snape, looking as menacing as ever. In fact, he looked exactly like he usually did. There was no extra tenseness in his shoulders or flexing of his fingers that would indicate he was angry.

I nearly sagged in relief. All was forgiven.

"Hey, Potter." Daphne leaned over and whispered out of the side of her mouth. "Can we meet tonight? I've got a spell I want to practice that I found in the Library, think it could be useful."

I nodded. "Tell the others," I murmured. "And I'll be there to let you all in."


	70. Basilisks

If I were a normal student, the approaching OWLs would have made me sweat bullets of nervousness. But I was not a normal student. With six weeks left until testing, the exams were fairly low on my list of things to do. Murtlap essence had to be brewed, along with Veritaserum antidote. Quidditch practice was over for the year, our last match had ended with us only narrowly scraping a win over Ravenclaw – unsurprising, given our Captain was in St. Mungo's and we hadn't had a proper practice since. I had lessons to teach in the Chamber of Secrets, and in the pillow-laden Room of Requirement.

I glowed as I thought of my students. Emilia and Chastity and Molly should all ace their Defense Against the Dark Arts test and they'd teamed up with Maeve, getting her to help them in History of Magic, which was Maeve's area of expertise. This had happened more than one way – other students of mine had teamed up across years to get information in subjects they weren't great in, and I fully expected them all to come out with exemplary Defense grades.

Draco was coming along swiftly as well. I wasn't terribly surprised by that – despite having denied it for many years, he was brilliant. Over the course of a month, he'd begun to understand the basics. He could hold me off for a scattered handful of seconds before his focus began to slide and I could exploit the cracks in his armor. Surprisingly, he'd chosen to use the image of an emerald as his focal point, a wash of glittering green the first thing that greeted me when I entered his mind. I saw potential in it too – the shimmering edges provided a myriad of pretty distractions and the darker etchings on the surface of the stone could be used to tuck away memories he didn't want seen once he progressed that far.

"You're doing well," I assured him as we lay among the pillows on the floor of the Room of Requirement. Practice was over for the day, called as Draco began to get frustrated at his lack of success. I'd told him that was hardly the case and crawled into his arms, dragging him down to stretch across the cushions with me.

"Am I?" Draco countered. "You're hardly Voldemort, and he won't be as nice as you are."

I inclined my head in agreement. "You'd be surprised what you're able to do with a basic knowledge once you're put under stress," I countered. "You may surprise yourself."

"How so?" Draco asked, shifting and tugging me closer to his chest. His tie was only a few inches from my nose. I reached out and began to toy with it, sliding the edges around my fingers.

"When Pansy tortured me, I used Occlumency," I murmured. "Or something like it, at least."

Draco's grip tightened on me protectively at the mention of Pansy's attack. "How's that?" he asked.

"She used the Cruciatus on me," I said slowly. "But I didn't scream."

Draco flinched. "You didn't... But, Lorena… how's that possible?"

"Like I said, I did something like Occlumency. That state of nothingness you have to have in your mind for it to work… I sort of sank into it and it was like the pain was happening to me but it wasn't. I still felt it, but I was separated from it. It gave me enough clarity to be able to focus on not screaming, not giving Pansy what she wanted." I ground out the last words darkly. Draco held me even tighter, his finger digging into me.

"That's how… I wondered, you said you'd bitten through your lip to keep from screaming."

"It wasn't easy," I said with a wry laugh. "I was so scared something would pull me out of that state and I'd have to face the pain, but I managed to keep a hold of it until the end. I didn't scream," I repeated proudly.

"Of course not." Draco reached up and ruffled my hair. "No one beats Lorena Potter."

"Damn straight," I said, and we shared a laugh, the sound vibrating in his chest as I nuzzled closer, breathing deeply the petrichor scent of his cologne.

"So, career advising," Draco said, changing the subject.

I nodded. The posters announcing it for fifth years had appeared on the bulletin board in the Slytherin Common Room that morning, along with a flurry of pamphlets on nearly any magical job a person could wish to have, from Ministry work and healing to the magical fungus trade.

"My meeting's tomorrow just before lunch."

"Mine's after breakfast."

"Lucky, you get to miss History of Magic," I teased, tugging his tie lightly before continuing my fiddling. "So what sort of career are you thinking?"

"I'll be taking over the family business, I expect," Draco said with a shrug. "I mean, it's there, if would be foolish not to take advantage of that. Plus, I think I could do a good job at it."

"Malfoy Apothecary," I mused, recalling the label that abounded on potions ingredients and completed potions in stores. They also carried a few highly expensive wines, if I recalled correctly, some of which had been matured for a thousand years. "Hmm, that would definitely be convenient for me."

"Oh, would it?" Draco asked archly.

I nodded and smirked. "I could trade kisses for ingredients, and I'm pretty sure you'd go for it."

Draco snickered. "You're right there." He leaned down and slanted his mouth over mine, kissing me softly in a way that made my toes curl. He gave a little parting suck to my bottom lip and I actually whined a little in protest when he pulled back.

Malfoy leaned in and breathed against my ear, "But I'll still have to charge you for the unicorn hair."

I made a sound of mock offense and smacked his shoulder gently, sniggering. "You're terrible. Maybe we can work out some kind of exchange?"

"Hm, I think so," Draco agreed, looking down at me archly, his eyes hooded. "What do you have in mind?"

I leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. "What'll that get me?" I asked slyly.

"A half-ounce of standard ingredient powder," Draco said dully. I pouted.

"Stingy," I accused. "Alright, what about this?" I leaned up and kissed him sweetly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling back.

"Hmm, I think that'll get you some boomslang skin."

"And this?" I added a nip to the kiss this time and Draco made a surprised sound against my mouth as I pulled away. I smirked at him confidently. "What'll that get me?"

"That'd do for a small pouch of fairy wings."

"I see," I mused, and dipped my head down and trail kisses along his jaw onto his neck. His grip on me tightened almost imperceptibly and I smirked against his throat, feeling a flood of womanly pride that despite all of my scars and flaws I could still make the great Draco Malfoy tremble. And he _was_ trembling, shaking ever so imperceptibly as I gave a hard suck to a spot on the side of his throat.

"Lorena," he groaned. "I think you're working your way into the more exotic ingredients now."

"Can I have unicorn hair?" I asked coquettishly, sending a silent thanks to Iliya for teaching me how to talk like this.

"I don't think you're quite there yet," Draco said, a smug look sliding across his features. I leaned in and gave a long lick up the edge of his ear and he cursed wildly.

"Erumpent tail," he offered weakly.

"Unicorn hair," I sang as I nibbled at his earlobe.

"Ptolemy," he countered.

"Unicorn hair," I insisted as I reached up, dragging my nails lightly across his scalp as I tangled my fingers in his hair, shifting so that I was half on top of him. His hands rose up to rest gently on top of my hips, my robes falling over us both. I leaned in and kissed him heatedly.

"Dragon scale," Draco panted. I smirked and drew back, shifting so that I lay next to him again. The hem of my robes still spread across his legs.

"Good, I'll expect my payment before the week's out," I said. Draco groaned and threw an arm over his eyes.

"You're wicked, you know that? You're going to kill me, doing that."

"Uh uh." I shook my head. "I happen to like you alive, I want to keep you that way." I lay my head down on his chest and closed my eyes, listening to the soothing sound of his heart beating as his chest rose and fell. His heartbeat was a little rushed, I noticed, and it brought a small, proud smile to my lips. "Yeah, I like you like this," I decided, tossing an arm across his stomach and pulling him closer.

* * *

"Hello sir," I said as I strode into Snape's office. One look at his face made my smile drop. His eyes were glued hatefully to the corner. I turned around and my eyes widened at the sight of Professor Umbridge sitting on a stool in the corner.

"Professor Umbridge," I greeted in surprise. "If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, why are you here?"

Umbridge giggled, "Why, I'm inspecting random teachers during their career advice sessions today, Miss Potter."

Right, random. I bet she'd pop up at Harry's session or she planned to, at least.

"Okay," I said, and dumped my bag, settling easily into the chair in front of Professor Snape's desk. I'd sat here a thousand times before and even Umbridge couldn't take the comfort the place brought to me.

"I expect this to be a quick meeting, Potter," Snape said. There were more papers strewn across his desk than I could ever recall seeing and I realized I was looking at the records of all the fifth years Slytherins. He pulled mine from the pile and scanned it over.

"You've expressed your desire to become a brewer for years, now," he continued carelessly. "And being very familiar with your Potions work, I have to say that I foresee no problem in you following that career path."

"Actually, sir," I cut in. "I've been considering something different."

Snape paused, looking at me with one eyebrow raised. "And that is?" he asked slowly.

"Well…" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, wishing that this had come before I had told Snape exactly how I felt about him. Somehow it made my new considerations seem much more childish. "I was thinking about teaching potions, sir. Like you. You manage to brew potions for St. Mungo's and do your own research on the side while still teaching."

Snape's expression went blank. "Is that so?"

"Hem hem."

I would rip out her vocal chords and beat her over the head with them.

"Professor?" I asked innocently, turning to face her. "You alright?"

Umbridge tittered. "Oh yes, fine, dear. I was simply wondering if you were aware of some of Professor Snape's history? I wouldn't recommend him as an example."

Snape's fists were clenched on top of his desk, knuckles white, and I could see him holding himself back from throttling the pink-clad witch. Oh, perhaps more tempting, exploding the jar over her head and letting her get spattered by rhinoceros testicles.

I pretended to be confused. "What history, ma'am?"

Umbridge simpered. "Suffice it to say, enough for him to be dragged before the Wizenagamot."

"Right," I said, looking over my shoulder uncertainly at Professor Snape. "So uh… You know what I want to do sir, and I know what I need to do to get there, so I think we're good here, right? Right," I said, and fled the room.

I stopped just outside the door and scowled, leaning back against the wall. I flipped off the door of Snape's office, directed at Umbridge.

"Now that's surprising."

I whipped around. Daphne was standing there, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Umbridge came to observe my meeting," I said by way of explanation.

Daphne nodded. "Ah. Well then, in that case…" And she flipped the door off as well, smirking. I smirked right back.

"Greengrass, that wasn't very ladylike," I teased.

"Neither is Umbridge," she said simply. "So if you're done I believe I'm next?"

And with that she strode up to the door and knocked before barging right in.

"Professor Snape, I'm here for my career meeting!" she called out. In the hallway, I sniggered as I made my way down the hall, wondering if Umbridge knew that she possibly owed Daphne her life for barging in when she did.

* * *

Explosions that rocked the very foundations of the school seemed to be getting more and more common lately, I mused as I sprinted down the stairs towards the Entrance Hall. The explosion had sounded down the Charms corridor and I'd seen the rivers of thick, gloopy, bubbling mud that had covered every inch of the floor as I darted past. You could tell exactly who'd been in that corridor when whatever that was went off because they too had a coating of the stuff.

The action was in the Entrance Hall, however. It was crammed full, Umbridge standing on the stairs triumphantly just like she had the night of Trelawney's sacking. Fred and George stood at the base of the stairs looking cornered, Peeves floating overhead. The Inquisitorial Squad surrounded them, looking pleased. I quickly slipped past a cluster of Ravenclaws, shoved some younger Hufflepuffs out of the way, and slid into an open spot in the ring between Zabini and Draco.

"So!" said Umbridge triumphantly. "So - you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear.

Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness.

"I've got the form, Headmistress," he said hoarsely, waving a piece of parchment enthusiastically and nearly crying with happiness. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting... oh, let me do it now..."

"Very good, Argus," she said. "You two," she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are." He turned to his twin. "George," announced Fred, "I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," agreed George lightly.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.

"Definitely," said George.

Before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, "Accio brooms!"

I heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.

Fred looked around at the assembled students, at the silent, watchful crowd. "It anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley - Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.

"Stop them!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

And Peeves, who I had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.

* * *

Cleaning up the swamp was impossible for Umbridge and Filch, not that they didn't try. Umbridge fired spell after spell into the mud, trying to get it to go away, but it remained resolutely glooping away in the Charm corridor. Filch was given the job of punting students across to classes, which was definitely not his favorite assignment.

Added to that, Filch had attempted to mop up the swamp and he'd finally laid hands on the mop I'd tied the trigger to my next spell prank. The moment the mop had been dunked into a bucket of water, it had begun to trill alarmingly and every single cleaning product around the castle had joined the serenade. It was now impossible to walk down the halls without having to dodge overenthusiastic dust rags and brooms going about their duties and singing _Whistle While you Work._

"Not under the rug!" wailed a dripping rag as it sailed overhead, splattering those of us beneath in dirty water. It splattered against a window and began scrubbing, its words muffled against the glass.

"It's actually a rather catchy song," Daphne mused as she hummed along with a broom that was cheerfully making its way down the hallway.

" _And as you sweep the room imagine that the broom is someone that you love and soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune!"_

"Interesting advice," Nott said, visibly struggling not to grin. I decided then and there that I wouldn't allow him to get away with not smiling. I dumped my bag on Daphne and swept forwards, grabbing the broom and proceeded to waltz down the hallway with it. People laughed and pointed as I swept and I doffed an imaginary hat to them, pulling out the side of my robes like I was wearing some grand gown.

Abruptly, the broom decided to dart down a secret passageway. It yanked itself out of my hands and I ended up spinning with nothing to stabilize me. I smacked into a chest and whoever's chest it was grabbed my hips and lifted me into the air, spinning me around. I was dipped, my hair trailing along the floor. Blinked and stunned by the whistles and cheers that had sprung up, I looked up and smirked when I saw Draco had a hold of me.

"Graceful as ever, Potter," he said drily, straightening me up and letting me go, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I had it well in hand, Malfoy," I said coyly.

"Oh did you? Seemed to me like your partner had abandoned you," he said, nodding to the passage the broom had vanished down.

"The song ended, and I'm terribly sorry, but I've got a tango scheduled with a mop bucket next, so if you'll excuse me…" I winked and started off down the hall again, retrieving my bag from Daphne. Sure enough, Nott was grinning irrepressibly now. I reached up and pinched his cheek with a smirk.

"There's a smile!" I cooed, and Daphne laughed as Nott went bright red and tugged his face out of my grip.

"You're not funny," he said sternly.

"I'm _hilarious."_

* * *

I paced through the Chamber of Secrets, watching everyone critically. The Chamber was alight, and not just because of the lanterns swaying overhead. It had a lot to do with the glowing silver creatures gamboling about.

"They're gorgeous!" Daphne cooed, tickling her elegant silver horse under the chin. It tossed its head and reared before taking off and soaring around the Chamber, joining up with Nott's somewhat shaky silver owl.

"Focus hard!" I encouraged him as I walked past. "And make it a powerful memory!" I urged.

"Come on Potter, let's see you do it!" Quinlan urged as he and Maeve's matching foxes curled up together on the Chamber floor. He looked at her fondly and Maeve softened, kissing him on the cheek. Quinlan blushed.

"I can't get it!" Zabini said in frustration, his wand spewing silver mist but no solid form yet.

I shook my head. "The memory isn't strong enough," I explained. "Shield form is still pretty good and it'll protect you fine in a pinch. But for a corporeal Patronus, you need to have the most powerful memory in your mind. It doesn't have to be something big, it can be something little that makes you happy."

Blaise frowned slightly and lowered his wand, contemplating different memories and taking a break, leaning back against a column and muttering to himself.

"What do you think about?" Draco asked quietly, his own wand lowered. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's awfully personal," I said uncertainly. Draco raised an eyebrow and I relented. "I think of Harry."

He was visibly incredulous. "Seriously? After all he's done?" he demanded.

I shrugged helplessly. "We may not get along but he's my brother, my twin, my other half. I love him no matter what. Besides," I said quietly. "It wasn't always like this."

Malfoy softened, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention before brushing a hand across my cheek. "It can get better," he whispered in my ear, pressing a kiss to my temple. I blushed and stepped back before anyone could notice, crossing my arms and looking at him sternly.

"Alright Malfoy, let's see what you've got, you've been avoiding casting it all day!" I barked, but my eyes were twinkling in amusement.

Draco saluted sarcastically and raised his wand. His expression was careless but I could see the intense focus in his eyes.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

At first it was just a spray of silver light from his wand, but as I watched his memory gained solidity in his mind and so did the shape of his Patronus. His eyes flicked to me, so unbearably soft and tender, and my heart thudded as I realized that I was his happy memory – there was no other reason he'd be looking at me like that right now.

I smiled at the albino peacock that appeared from Draco's wand. Somehow, it didn't surprise me. A flashy character, and of course it was as pale as its master. A creature that represented glory and royalty – and one, I recalled, that had a similar alchemical meaning to the phoenix, to the point where they had occasionally been interchanged.

"A bird?" Draco said blankly.

"What were you expecting?" I said drily.

"I dunno, a snake maybe?" he said with a shrug, watching his peacock curiously as it fanned its tail, the feathers sending off little trails of silvery mist.

I snorted. "It's not that transparent, Malfoy," I said, and raised my wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ I cried, the image of Harry strong in my mind. It was that moment in first year when he'd come into the Great Hall, battered and bruised but grinning and delighted to see me. From the tip of my wand burst the giant phoenix that was my form. It gave a watery-sounding cry and took off, doing a lap around the Chamber of Secrets. My students fell silent, watching it as it passed.

"Way to make us all feel inferior, Potter," Maeve said sarcastically as her and Quinlan's foxes stood up and watched the phoenix pass curiously. My Patronus dove for theirs, playfully swatting at them with its tail feathers. The foxes leaped into the air and began to chase the phoenix through the skies. Soon a group of Patronuses were all in the air, playing tag with each other as we watched below.

"Nicely done Blaise!" I praised, applauding as a coyote shot from his wand and joined the chase in the sky, distracting the foxes when it flashed past them. They tore off after it, leaving my phoenix free to soar down. It alighted on the ground next to Draco's peacock and reached out, nipping teasingly at its tail feathers. The peacock nipped back and the birds began to hop and dance around each other playfully.

"Would you look at that?" Malfoy said drily. "They like each other."

"Play nice," I urged as I walked over to the trio of first year girls, all of whom were watching the Patronuses soar overhead jealously. "Problem?" I asked them.

"We can't do it!" Emilia said in frustration. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Not with that attitude, you can't," I agreed. "Look, I only brought this up because I figured we all needed a break from test prep. I didn't expect this many people to get it so quickly," I admitted, looking around at the silvery shapes. "I couldn't do this until the end of my fourth year. Don't be angry that you can't make a corporeal shape yet," I assured them. "It'll come. A shield charm is pretty damn impressive for your age."

* * *

I could hear the roaring from the Quidditch pitch even in the Chamber. The entire school was down at the pitch for the final game of the season. Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw. If Harry had still been playing I might have bothered to go down, but right now I didn't care. So long as Ravenclaw won by only a few points, Slytherin would win the cup for the year. Unfortunately, if Gryffindor won by a decent margin, they'd take the cup. I didn't have a whole lot of hope for them without Harry.

But with the whole school gone, it meant that my group could be a little more free than we usually were. Daphne and Nott were down at the pitch, but Blaise, Draco, Emilia, Chastity, Maeve, Quinlan, Molly, Dominic, and the half-dozen others we'd recruited were all under the school, practicing.

Molly giggled as she ducked under her brother's attack and swept back, retaliating with a nasty Trip Jinx that had him eating floor. I hustled over and administered a few quick healing spells to his skinned palms before he shook me off and came back at Molly with renewed determination. I stayed crouched by where Dominic had fallen, watching with pride as Molly held her own against an opponent two years older than her.

"I feel like we need a name," Emilia mused. I glanced over my shoulder. She and Chastity were sharing a flagon of pumpkin juice against a column, both of them panting lightly from the intense duel they'd just finished up.

"How about Down with Voldy?" Maeve suggested coyly as she swung around a column and fired a jinx at Quinlan. He leaned back and the spell flew over his head as Maeve giggled and darted to another column for cover while he was distracted. Quinlan whipped around, looking for her, and she sent a light Stinging Jinx to his rear. Quinlan yelped and whipped around, and Maeve met him in a soft kiss, sliding deftly from behind her column.

"Ew!" Chastity squealed, but Emilia's eyes were fixed interestedly in Dominic. I raised an eyebrow. Well well, Emilia had her first crush, it seemed.

"That's lame!" Molly protested.

"It would also probably get us killed," Nott agreed.

We all whipped around to see he and Daphne coming into the Chamber proper. My eyes went wide.

"How'd you two get down here?" I demanded.

Daphne straightened herself up and hissed smugly. It was garbled and a bit harsh on my ears, but it was unmistakably the word 'open' in Parseltongue. I stared at her incredulously.

"What?" she said with an innocent but pleased smile. "I listen."

I smirked and hissed a long sentence at her, bolstered by her lack of reaction.

"Just checking," I said, and drew a bit of laughter from the surrounding students.

"Hey, boss!"

I jerked and spun around. Emilia jerked back as Silas slithered right past her hand, Sasha hot on his heels. I bent down and extended a hand to each of them. Silas slithered up my left arm, Sasha my right, and they draped themselves over my shoulders, hissing in my ears.

"Hagrid has shown your brother and the bushy-haired girl the giant," Sasha hissed.

I had known about Grawp for a while now. After Firenze's warning I'd sent my snaky spies in search of an answer and they'd come back with interesting information. Hagrid was keeping a giant in the woods, and not just any giant, but his half-brother. I'd been in disbelief at first but it sounded like a very Hagrid thing to do – bring in a dangerous creature, in this case, one that was family. You only had to look at his record to see that he had a soft spot for monsters. It did explain the injuries we'd been seeing him with, at the very least.

"He's afraid the Umbridge will fire him," Silas hissed, having gleefully picked up the house elves' name for the pink terror. "He wants to leave someone to look after Grawp."

"So he picks two under-aged children?" I groaned and rubbed my head. "Well, I suppose it's not like Dumbledore's here to help him out."

"Uh, Lorena? Mind letting us in on the conversation?"

I glanced up. Everyone was looking at me uncertainly, eyes lingering on Silas and Sasha. They had yet to be introduced to my little dueling club, even though I'd given them permission to hang around in the Chamber whenever they wanted.

"Sorry everyone," I said, and gestured to the snakes. "This is Silas and Sasha. They keep an eye on things for me when I can't."

Maeve raised her hand. "Alright, show of hands… who thinks that's badass?"

Emilia, Chastity, Molly, and Dominic all sheepishly raised their hands, along with a handful of others. It was when Blaise's hand hit the air that we all laughed.

"Go up to the kitchen for eggs," I urged the snakes, and dropped down so that they could slither off for their prizes. I watched them go and noticed that Sasha was getting a little chunky. I'd have to cut off her eggs soon, or she couldn't be able to fit through the cracks and holes that riddled Hogwarts.

"Good news or bad?" Quinlan asked me nervously.

"Bit of both," I said simply, and brushed my hands together, ending the questioning on that line. "Alright, what were we talking about?"

"Naming our group," Maeve replied immediately. "I still vote Down with Voldy."

"We're not calling ourselves Down with Voldy, dear," Quinlan said gently, taking her hand. Maeve pouted.

"Whatever, I think it's a good name."

"How about the Anti-Darkness Brigade?" Molly suggested hopefully.

"How about not?" Blaise disagreed. "I'd prefer a name slightly more subtle, don't know about the rest of you."

"I second that," Nott agreed. "So we really need a name? we know who we are and what we're doing? We've gone this long without one."

"Because this feels much more awesome if we've got a name for our secret club, mate," Blaise said, walking over and clapping him on the shoulder. He gestured to the Chamber grandly. "Look around, we've already got the secret clubhouse to end all secret clubhouses."

Daphne scoffed. "I hate to agree, but I do think we should have a name. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I have a suggestion."

"Let's hear it," Nott said, suddenly much more on-board with the whole enterprise.

"Whipped," Blaise coughed into his arm. Nott narrowed his eyes.

"Something caught in your throat, Zabini?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Blaise said with a cheeky grin.

Daphne rolled her eyes at the pair of them. " _As I was saying._ This is the Chamber of Secrets, right? So our name should have something to do with the Chamber, I think. What about the Basilisks?"

Maeve grinned. "I like it."

"We too," Dominic grinned. "We're the monsters under the school no one expects."

"Not so much with the _monsters_ if you don't mind," Emilia huffed, tossing her hair.

"Merlin, she's been spending too much time around Daphne and Astoria," I muttered, and I heard Draco snort.

"Let's vote, then," Quinlan said diplomatically. "All those in favor?"

Around the Chamber, hands went up nearly instantaneously. Everyone seemed on board with the idea and I watched my little nest of Basilisks smirk and grin, their eyes glinting, as a somewhat dramatic study group suddenly became something far greater.

"Alright the, Basilisks, get back to work!" I grinned. "Can't fight anyone if our fangs are dull!"

There was a roar of approval and like it had never stopped the flow of combat picked up once again, spells and hexes flying twice as fast and powerfully as they had before as my group became more than they had been a moment ago.

I was proud and terrified. They were all so pleased to be part of an official group, to have a name. But at the same time the moment we gave this a name it became something bigger, something larger than a couple of students learning to defend themselves. Of course it had long been hanging over our heads that Voldemort and the coming war were the reasons they were here, but with a name to carry on our banners it felt like the threat had just dropped a little closer, a little lower, and little more present.

"Lorena?" I glanced over my shoulder at Daphne, who had moved to stand behind me as Nott, Draco, and Blaise joined in a three-way fight. Draco caught my eye and smirked at me, giving me a faint nod of approval before casting a shield charm and committing himself to the fight.

"Yeah, Daphne?" I asked absently as I scanned the crowd for any sign of someone who'd gone down and needed a quick healing spell or someone who was having trouble.

"Do you have any more of the basilisk skin from those robes you made last year?"

I blinked, distracted, and turned to look at her. Daphne's face was innocent, which was my first clue. I'd come to realize that Daphne Greengrass only looked innocent when she was guilty.

"Why?" I asked slowly, suspiciously.

"Well, I thought it would make a lovely wrap," she said sarcastically. "It's a secret Potter, but don't worry, I don't need your whole supply, just a little bit."

"How little of a bit are we talking about?" I asked, now even more suspicious.

"Oh, about a six inch square?" Daphne offered. She smiled sweetly. "That's not much to ask, is it? How much trouble can I get into with a piece that little?"

"A lot, you sneaky little snake," I said, but I was smiling. "Yeah, sure, I can manage that. I'll get it to you by dinner."

Daphne's face split into a smug little grin and I rolled my eyes as she purred, "Excellent. Then if you don't mind, I've got a few letters to write and something to draft up."

I chuckled, shaking my head as Daphne headed for the exit, a determined gleam in her eyes as she went. I watched her go and glanced back at the three boys fighting. Nott's eyes were on Daphne's retreating back, undisguised longing on his face for just a second. Long enough for Blaise to nail him in the ankle with a Trip Jinx and send him to the ground.

"Keep your eyes on the prize, Nott!" Blaise laughed as he and Draco exchanged a volley of spells. They were too distracted to notice Nott's lips framing the words, "I am."

* * *

"So what do you think Daphne intends to do with the basilisk skin you gave her?" Draco asked as we lay on the floor of the Room of Requirement after yet another successful Occlumency lesson. He was getting better and better and now that we didn't have to worry about Harry's group meeting we had the Room of Requirement open to us whenever we wanted.

"It'll be something weirdly clever," I mused. "That I know."

"Probably," Draco agreed with a snort, reaching down and coiling his fingers through mine. He raised my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it before pulling it to rest on his chest. I glanced over at him, a faint smile on my face. My expression fell when I saw the serious look on his. He stared up at the ceiling, stormy eyes dark, a faint glimmer of fear in them.

"Draco," I said, rolling onto my side. "What's wrong?" I asked in confusion.

He was silent for a long time. Long enough that, for a time, I thought he wasn't going to answer. I opened my mouth, about to ask again, when he responded.

"Do you ever think of the future?"

I blinked, watching him uncertainly. "You… know I do," I said hesitantly, not sure where he was going with this question.

"What do you see?" Draco asked me, turning his head to look at me, and there was a hint of desperation in them. "Tell me what you see."

I opened my mouth. "I'm… I'm not a Seer."

"I know. But tell me what you see anyway."

I licked my lips. My mouth opened and closed as my heart rose to my throat. There were things I had to say. I wanted to be honest, but I didn't want to acknowledge some of what I feared the future would bring.

"I see a lot of pain and a lot of suffering," I whispered. "I see people dying. Some of them I'm glad to see die," I murmured. "But some of them I'll grieve. I see terror for Harry in my future. For you." I pulled my and back to me, and this time I kissed the back of his hand.

"I'm afraid for you," I murmured. "I'm terrified that by being here like this with you I'm risking your life. I'm scared that Voldemort will find out about this and hurt you. That _I'll_ be the reason you get hurt. Maybe even the reason you die."

I closed my eyes and I could feel tears welling up. I willed them not to fall but the idea of seeing Draco's face, still and cold, frozen in an expression like Cedric's had been, filled me with a nameless, insurmountable dread. I physically felt a chill and my mouth dried.

"Don't think that, I shouldn't have asked-" Draco said quickly, a guilty expression on his face.

"Not, it's fine," I assured him with a watery smile. "I just… I don't want to lose you." I felt very small and very young as I curled my body slightly, forming into a ball. I laughed weakly. "Funny… couple of years ago I'd have been glad to be shot of you but now…"

"Same here," Draco said, and his laugh was equally bitter. "But now…"

"Now," I agreed.

Draco moved suddenly, rising up on one elbow and looking over at me. Anger blazed in his eyes. "This shouldn't be our problem, you know it? It's not _us_ that brought this on, but we're the ones that have to deal with it. OWLs are next week, we should be worrying about test scores and passing our classes, not fighting some bloody _war!_ But for you and I and people like us, because of who our _parents_ are, we don't get that!"

"I know, Draco," I said, surprised by his sudden vehemence but understanding his rage. If only I wasn't a Potter, if only he wasn't a Malfoy. If only our parents hadn't decided our roles for us, maybe we wouldn't have been terrified out of our minds of our futures, but able to look at them brightly, with hope.

I reached out with one hand, cupping his cheek. Draco buried his face in my palm. His lips brushed my wrist as he clutched my hand closer to him.

"I'm scared, Lorena," he whispered into my skin. "I'm so scared. I got a letter from father… he's staying at our house," he choked out, and a cold weight settled in my stomach. Draco didn't need to clarify who he was. I knew. I was sickened by the idea of it, of how close to home all of this was coming.

"Sweet Merlin," I breathed, and reached out with my other hand, holding his face between my palms as I stared at him in horror. "Draco…" I shook my head helplessly. "Words can't even…"

"No, you're right, words can't even," he agreed hoarsely. His eyes were rimmed red with unshed tears as he looked down at me. "This isn't how my life was supposed to go. When I was a child, I thought I'd go to Hogwarts and pass all my classes. Thought I'd meet some wonderful pureblood girl and settle down with a good job, have kids, send them off to Hogwarts. See my grandkids grow up. But now… now none of that is certain. I might die in a matter of months and I can't… I'm not like you, Lorena, I'm so terrified."

"I'm terrified too," I assured him, but he shook his head sharply.

"No, it's different. You can take your fear and work with it and turn it into something you can use like you do with everything but I can't. I never learned how. And I want to be braver, I want to be braver for you but I don't know how and I feel like I'm letting you down every time the fear comes and I…

Draco sucked in a heavy breath through his teeth. I stared up at him, frozen with my mouth half-open and my eyes blown wide as he looked back down at me. This boy who'd been an untouchable, imperturbable wall of nasty comments and dirty looks when I was a child was breaking apart in front of my eyes and the unassailable wrongness of it assaulted me. Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to be this close to crying in my arms, he was supposed to face everything with a snarky comment and a smirk.

This, too, Voldemort had ruined.

"There's so many things I wanted to do that I might not be able to," Draco growled out. "I might die and I've never had a real job. I never had kids. I want kids, Lorena, I really do. I might never do all those stupid little things people have on their cauldron lists like visit Greece or… or fly across England on a broomstick or…" His eyes burned into me. "Or tell a girl that I lo-"

I sucked in a breath, stopping him. "Please," I pleaded, tears spilling over my eyes and running across my temples into my hair. "Please don't, I… I can't…" I shook my head helplessly. "I don't know how to… to l-love someone Draco and I can't let you say it if… if I can't do the same for you."

Draco scoffed harshly. "You can love people, Lorena. You love people like no one I've ever seen. I think that's part of your problem. You love so many people so deeply you don't know how to handle it so you wall them off and yeah, your childhood was shite and it gave you a good reason not to trust people, but not trusting people doesn't mean you don't care about them. So I think you can love people, I think you just don't know how to show it."

I sobbed, unable to keep the noise down, and Draco's weight collapsed onto me. His hands buried under my back, clutching me to his chest tightly and mine wrapped around his waist, my fingertips digging into the fabric of his robes. The two of us huddled there on the pillow-strewn floor of the Room of Requirement, trembling as we clutched each other and trying not to cry.

We were fifteen… fifteen and facing the reality that we might not see our next birthday, or the one after that, or the one after that. Nothing was certain in our world anymore. Those long-held, easy dreams of family and future were no longer a given for us. Our security was no longer guaranteed – Draco's was already pretty much gone, with Occlumency being his only saving grace.

"I'm afraid too," I breathed into his shoulder. "Please don't think you need to be brave for me, because I'm afraid too. How could I not be?"

"We shouldn't have to worry about this," Draco hissed into my hair, his grip tightening on me to the point of being painful. I didn't care. I liked the way he clung to me.

"I know, I know," I whispered soothingly. I was shaking and my eyes were as watery as Draco's were but this was his time, his turn to break and get all of this off his chest. It was like a bone – once it broke and healed it was stronger. He needed to break and put himself back together so that he could be stronger in the future. I could break later, now was for him.

So I shoved my own issues aside and hugged him tighter right back. "We shouldn't have to deal with this," I agreed. "But we do, and that doesn't mean we can't be afraid. We're still just kids. What it means is that we have to appreciate what we have now while still being aware of what could come. And right now," I grit my teeth. "Right now I appreciate being with the man I… I lo… lo-lo…"

"It's okay," Draco whispered. "I don't need you to say it yet."

I let out a burst of air, sagging with relief. "I will one day," I swore. "I just…"

"Can't, yet," Draco finished for me. "I understand. But…" He drew back. His expression was a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little hopeful, and very affectionate. "I would really appreciate it if some day soon you'd let me call you Rena."

I chuckled at that, the seriousness broken but not gone. It was swept under the rug for now, to be taken out later and examined and pieced back together when both of us were more ready to face it.

"No, you can't call me Rena," I said simply.

He looked at me incredulously. "Potter," he said seriously. "I don't know if you missed it, but I just poured my heart out, and I really hate doing that…"

I laughed. "I know, sweetheart, I know," I whispered, leaning up and kissing his cheek. "But Harry and Fred and George all call me Rena. I think you've earned yourself a special name all your own."

Draco's eyes glowed with delight. "Really?" he asked, like a child who'd just been told he could pick out a treat in the toy store.

"Try not to make it too embarrassing?" I requested.

Draco blinked and smirked. "What was that, my little pumpkin pasty?"

I scoffed and whacked his shoulder viciously. "Ass."

"I prefer sweetheart, thanks." Draco sniggered. "Do I have to decide now?"

I blinked. "What, you need to sleep on it?" I asked sarcastically.

"This is serious!" Draco insisted.

I smirked. "What, you've no got something floating around in that head of yours?"

Draco smirked right back. "Well you said nothing embarrassing, so I was pretty sure that ruled out my sexy little-"

"Take a day!" I yelped. "Take two! Bloody hell, take a weekend for all I care!"

Draco laughed, rolling off of me and covering his face with his hand as he really, truly laughed for the first time that I'd seen in weeks, his shoulders shaking and his mouth opened wide.

"Your face!"

I huffed. "Glad I could be a source of amusement," I grumbled.

I really was glad.


	71. OWLs

It was the morning of the DADA test that a trio of white tulips arrived for me in Artemisia's claws. My eyes flicked from them to Draco in disbelief, but he just smirked into his oatmeal and went right on chatting with Blaise.

"Oh, sent yourself some more flowers, Potter?" Pansy asked saccharinely.

I'd gotten to the point where I didn't even need my wand for this spell. I just flicked my wrist and Pansy's pancakes exploded in her face.

Ignoring her shrieks of rage I lifted up the tulips and smelled them, smiling happily and carefully not looking in Draco's direction.

"There's a card," Daphne noticed, plucking the thin slip of parchment from the petals of one of the tulips. I snatched it back from her defensively.

"Mine," I said quickly, and lifted the card to read it.

 _To: Phoenix_

 _From: Sweetheart_

I chuckled, staring at the card fondly. "Ass," I laughed to myself, and I was only slightly surprised when another line of writing shimmered into being at the bottom of the card.

 _I prefer sweetheart._

"Of course you do."

Hours later, I was still floating as I entered the Great Hall for the practical portion of our Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, thinking of the tulips drying down in the dorm and the card safely squirreled away in my box.

I passed Harry as I approached my examiner, a tall, austere looking woman with a pair of pince-nez spectacles on her nose and a stern set of a plum-colored robes. She looked like she could be anywhere from sixty to eighty years old, but I was also confident that she could probably kick my ass should she wish it.

Harry glanced sideways and he gave me a small, hesitant smile and a subtle thumbs up. I beamed back unashamedly and flashed him a thumbs up in return, gratified when his grin widened as he turned back to his examiner.

"Lorena Potter?" my examiner called, not looking up from the clipboard she held in her long, wrinkled fingers. Next to her was a sad-looking stuffed dummy for me to perform offensive spells on.

"Present," I said as I approached. Her eyes flicked up from the paper, darted over me, and then focused.

"Draw your wand," she said shortly. I did so, pulling out my yew wand. I saw her eyes linger on it for a moment before flicking back to me. "I will call out spells for you to perform, you will perform then to the best of your abilities. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," I said respectfully, and raised my wand, conscious of Umbridge lingering in the doorway, her piggy little eyes fixed on Harry maliciously.

"Shield Charm," the examiner barked, and I dragged my wand through the air. The examiner raised an eyebrow and drew her own wand, firing what looked like a light Stunner at me. It bounced off my nonverbal shield and her eyebrow arched, looking pleased and impressed despite herself. I smirked.

"Stunner," she ordered, and I shot one off. "Impediment. Incarcerus."

She continued to list off spells faster and faster, eyes boring into me as I cast them at speed with her until I was very nearly outright dueling the dummy while she scribbled furiously on her clipboard, never glancing down at her words.

When my last spell connected and lit the dummy ablaze, the raised her wand once more to douse ad repair it before looking down at her clipboard. It tilted enough that I was able to get a good look at her words and was encouraged by the amount of boxes she'd ticked.

"Aside from being proficient with nonverbal spells before you've even been taught them, I hear you're capable of a fully-corporeal Patronus, are you not, Potter?" the examiner asked, raising an eyebrow at me challengingly.

I grinned at her and summoned up a memory. With Harry standing only a short distance away it was easy to drag up a memory of how we'd been before. I raised my wand and saw Harry do the same.

"Expecto Patronum!" we chorused, and great silver-white shapes burst from the tips of our wands. Harry's stag cantered the length of the hall with my phoenix soaring over it, letting off a watery song as it swooped. People looked around as the patronuses passed them. My phoenix lit on the antlers of Harry's stag before both animals burst into silvery mist.

Harry glanced sideways and I looked back at him. He was suppressing a grin and so was I, our matching eyes shining with affection. For once I didn't care that Umbridge was standing there and could see it.

"Well done, Miss Potter," the examiner said, and sent me from the room with Harry. We walked out next to each other, an awkward silence hanging between us.

"I, uh…" Harry shifted. "I've never actually seen your Patronus before, you know?"

"Have you not?" I asked, vaguely surprised. But no, he wouldn't have. I was with Cedric in the maze last year when I first cast it and I was with Amity when the dementors attacked this past summer.

"No. It's… it's pretty," Harry commented, like he wasn't quite sure what to say. I smirked.

"Thanks."

"I'll… see you at dinner?"

"Yeah, probably."

* * *

Harry and I stationed our telescopes not too far from each other for the Astronomy OWL two nights later. It might have been a coincidence, but I saw Harry shook me a small, uncertain smile as he erected his and I knew he'd moved close to me on purpose, even though it meant he had Nott on his other side.

Nott threw me a pointed glance at my blank star chart before turning to his own, adjusting the dials on his telescope to focus. I dipped my head down as examiners Tofty and Marchbanks made a pass, lest they think I was cheating.

This exam, at least, was nice and peaceful, with a pleasant soft sort of nip in the air and the low, flickering light of the torches, which I'd come to greatly prefer to the electric lights of Privet Drive over the years. All was quiet except for scratching quills and the faint metallic creaking as someone adjusted their telescope. As the night dragged on, the little squares of light pouring from the windows onto the grass below were doused as teachers finished their business and headed for bed.

It was as I was drawing the constellation Draco and trying my damnedest not to burst out laughing in the middle of the exam that the front doors burst open almost directly below the parapet where I was standing. Light spilled out onto the grass and that accompanied by the bang of the doors flying open pulled most people's attention from the heavens back down to earth. Five or six elongated shadows were visible before the doors swung shut and the grounds were dark once more.

I scowled down at the grounds. I was almost finished now, just two or three more constellations that I could probably fill in from memory left and almost a half hour to do it. I could afford a slight break, so I abandoned my telescope for a moment and watched the half dozen figures making their way across the grounds with the moonlight on their heads the only thing distinguishing them from the swaying grass. I scowled harder when I realized who the squat figure leading the charge was.

My eyes widened as I realized that the figures were making a beeline for Hagrid's hut. There was a muffled knock and then the sound of Fang's deep, rumbling bark rolled across the grounds and even up to us on the parapets. The figures could be seen against the lights of Hagrid's windows. The door swung open, framing Hagrid's massive bulk. The figures went inside and the door shut with a snap.

"You should be working," said a soft voice behind me. I whipped around and saw tiny Professor Tofty standing there. I gave him a dismissive look and he huffed and moved along, muttering about how it was my grade to trash if I wanted. I glanced up at the sky and scribbled down a few notes, confident in my positioning based on how it related to the other constellations I'd already filled in. Even if I guessed in the ballpark of correct on the last few constellations I was confident I could wrangle an Exceeds Expectations at worst – Astronomy was easy, you just had to chart positions and the heavens were surprisingly predictable.

There was a roar from the distant cabin that echoed through the darkness right to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Several of the people around me ducked out from behind their telescopes and peered instead in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. I scribbled down Orion, said to hell with it, and abandoned the test entirely, moving back to the parapet.

Professor Tofty gave a dry little cough.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls," he said softly.

Most people returned to their telescopes. I looked around. Hermione was gazing transfixed at Hagrid's cabin. Ron seemed torn between his grade and Hagrid, looking between the grounds and his telescope. Harry was looking at Hermione, almost like he was seeking permission from the resident bookworm to abandon the test for a few minutes.

"Ahem - twenty minutes to go," said Professor Tofty.

Hermione jumped and returned at once to her star-chart. Harry looked down at his own and bent to correct it.

There was a loud BANG from the grounds. Several people cried _'Ouch!'_ when they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes as they hastened to see what was going on below.

Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin we saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.

"No!" cried Hermione.

"My dear!" said Professor Tofty in a scandalized voice. "This is an examination!"

"Who gives a damn?" I snapped back at him without concern and leaned over the parapet to get a better look, my hands white-knuckled on the stone as Tofty gaped at me. My heart was pounding as I watched the fight down below.

I wasn't the only one. Nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star-charts any more. Jets of red light were still flying about beside Hagrid's cabin, yet they seemed to be bouncing off him. He was still upright and still, as far as I could see, fighting. His giant blood would make him almost impossible to Stun unless the idiots managed to coordinate a simultaneous attack. Given that they were Umbridge's goons I didn't have high hopes for their intelligence. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds. A man yelled, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

Hagrid roared, "Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!"

I could see the tiny outline of Fang, attempting to defend Hagrid, leaping repeatedly at the wizards surrounding him until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground. Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground and threw him. The man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up again. Hermione gasped, both hands over her mouth. I looked round at Ron and saw that he, too, was looking scared. Harry looked shocked. None of us had ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before.

"Look!" squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors had opened again. More light was spilling out on to the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.

"Now, really!" said Professor Tofty anxiously. "Only sixteen minutes left, you know!"

But nobody paid him the slightest attention. We were watching the person now sprinting towards the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.

"How dare you!" the figure shouted as she ran. "How dare you!"

"It's McGonagall!" whispered Hermione.

"Leave him alone! Alone, I say!" said Professor McGonagall's voice through the darkness. "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such-"

Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender all screamed. I snarled in rage and hurled epithets. The figures around the cabin had shot no fewer than lour Stunners at Professor McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle the red beams collided with her. For a moment she looked luminous and glowed an eerie red, then she lifted right off her feet, landed hard on her back, and moved no more.

"Galloping gargoyles!" shouted Professor Tofty, who also seemed to have forgotten the exam completely. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!"

"COWARDS!" bellowed Hagrid. His voice carried clearly to the top of the tower, and several lights flickered back on inside the castle. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT - AN' THAT-"

"Oh my-" gasped Hermione.

Hagrid took two massive swipes at his closest attackers. Judging by their immediate collapse, they had been knocked cold. I saw Hagrid double over, and thought he had finally been overcome by a spell. But, on the contrary, next moment Hagrid was standing again with what appeared to be a sack on his back - then I realized that Fang's limp body was draped around his shoulders.

"Get him, get him!" screamed Umbridge, but her remaining helper seemed highly reluctant to go within reach of Hagrid's fists. He was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his unconscious colleagues and fell over. Hagrid had turned and begun to run with Fang still hung around his neck. Umbridge sent one last Stunning Spell after him but it missed. Hagrid, running full-pelt towards the distant gates, disappeared into the darkness.

There was a long minute's quivering silence as everybody gazed open-mouthed into the grounds. Then Professor Tofty's voice said feebly, "Um... five minutes to go, everybody."

The minute the test was over I grabbed Daphne and Nott and dragged them to a corner. They'd become my lieutenants in a way, the people I trusted to get things done and done quickly and correctly.

"Chamber, twenty minutes," I hissed, and they nodded and scattered. I watched them go and turned as I heard Hermione ranting on her way down from the tower.

"That evil woman!" gasped Hermione, who seemed to be having difficulty talking due to rage. "Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's," said Ernie Macmillan sagely, squeezing over to join them.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" mused Ron, who looked more alarmed than impressed. "How come all the spells bounced off him?"

"It'll be his giant blood," reasoned Hermione shakily. "Its very hard to Stun a giant, they're like trolls, really tough... but poor Professor McGonagall... four Stunners straight in the chest and she's not exactly young, is she?"

That was exactly why I was calling a meeting of the Basilisks. Umbridge had crossed a line. She'd attacked Hagrid and she'd caught McGonagall in the cross-fire. I was nowhere near as close to the older witch as I had been when she was teaching me, but I still respected her and the fact that Umbridge had dared to attack a woman who was practically a Hogwarts institution, and one what I cared about? No, this was over. I was done playing. The time to strike was soon, before term ended, and it would be swift and brutal.

"Dreadful, dreadful," repeated Ernie, shaking his head pompously. "Well, I'm off to bed. Night, all."

People around them were drifting away, still talking excitedly about what they had just seen.

"At least they didn't get to take Hagrid off to Azkaban," said Ron. "I 'spect he's gone to join Dumbledore, hasn't he?"

"I suppose so," agreed Hermione, who looked tearful. "Oh, this is awful, I really thought Dumbledore would be back before long, but now we've lost Hagrid too-"

She stopped talking abruptly as I stepped in front of them. Ron opened his mouth to say something, annoyance and dislike plain on his face. But to my deep and abiding pleasure, Harry cut him off with a firm look before he could saying anything.

"Lorena?" Harry asked.

I clenched my fists. "I'm going to make a play soon," I said simply. "Umbridge crossed a line she shouldn't have. Before the week's out."

And with that I turned on my heel and stalked away.

()()()()()()()()()

It was clear by the grim looks that greeted me when I entered Myrtle's bathroom that those who hadn't been up on the Astronomy Tower had heard what had happened. I didn't say anything, just moved to the taps, conscious of the eyes on me as I bent forward and hissed. The sink rumbled and slid back and down, the grate sliding back. I stepped aside. Once, my snakes would have hesitated to jump down that hole, but now they all leaped without a second thought.

It made me smile a little as I followed the last of them down. The tunnel leading into the Chamber had been fitted with torches and they flickered and burned as we walked past, throwing long shadows on the wall. I saw a pair up ahead holding hands, their shadows showing it where their sleeves hid it, and knew Daphne and Nott were up there leading the way.

Another hiss and the carved snakes on the wall slid open, revealing the darkened Chamber. Normally I lit most of the lanterns, but not this time. I flicked my wand and a line ran down the middle of the Chamber, lanterns lit, leaving the edges of the room dark. The Basilisks filed in and I walked in front of them. I stood there, staring at the loose knot of a little over a dozen students of all ages.

I licked my lips. "How many of you," I asked softly, "have received detention with Umbridge?" Two hands raised. I recognized a pair of half-bloods in the back and nodded to myself. "How many of you have a friend who's had detention with Umbridge?" This time all the hands went up, grim faces tightening in remembered rage at Umbridge's Blood Quill. I nodded again.

"Did those friends find Essence of Murtlap in their bags?" I asked quietly, and a few murmured assent, curiosity, confusion.

"Did any of you who were summoned to Umbridge's office find antidote to Veritaserum in your bags?"

Again, murmurs of assent and confusion, although understanding seemed to be dawning. I saw several people staring at me inscrutably.

"That was me," I said simply, and watched the comprehension on the faces of the last few who had yet to figure it out. "I have been brewing potions in secret for months and secretly distributing them to foil Umbridge."

"But… you're on the Inquisitorial Squad?" Chastity said blankly.

Nott nodded, staring at me with dark eyes glittering intelligently in the half-light. "Of course she it. It's the best strategy – to have an enemy think you're a friend."

"I need to know here and now if any of you support Umbridge," I asked, and stared around, waiting for a hand or two to go up. But, to my surprise, none did.

Quinlan stepped forwards. "You're a half-blood, Potter, but you're a damn good witch, and no one here can deny that," he said simply, and I blushed under the praise. "You're living proof that Umbridge's crusade against half-breeds is nonsense. And as much as we may not like him, Albus Dumbledore is the headmaster of this school, and that's how it should be."

I saw people nodding and murmuring in agreement.

Maeve stepped forwards, taking Quinlan's hand and smiling at him affectionately. "McGonagall may be a lion, but she's been nicer to us snakes than a lot of her house. She's… she's Minerva McGonagall," she said simply, and we all nodded. We knew what she meant. Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts without Professor McGonagall.

"I'll be honest," Daphne spoke up. "I don't care much about Hagrid, but what Umbridge did…" She sniffed. "It was low and dirty and tacky and not at all appropriate."

"Let's all be honest," Blaise said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "I think we're all here for Potter on this one." I jerked and looked at him in surprise. Blaise smirked. "What, Potter, you thought we were just here for the lessons? I'll admit I appreciate the help and it's because of you that I'm pretty sure I got an Outstanding in Defense, but a lot of us here have watched you grow up and we watched you overcome everything Slytherin and Hogwarts threw at you.

He shrugged. "I think it's time Slytherin did something for you for once." And he grinned at me. I flinched as a cheer went up. There weren't many of us, but the echoing of the Chamber made it sound like a multitude screaming in support… support of me.

Draco stepped forwards, the firelight flashing lightning across his storming eyes. "Whatever you've got planned for the toad, we've got your back, Potter."

The cheers blazed louder and I grinned in delight. "Then wait," I smiled around at all of them. "Wait for my signal, and when it happens, I'll make sure she suffers for what she did to our friends."

One more time the cheers grew louder and I could have sworn that I saw the stone face of old Salazar Slytherin looming over us smile down upon his little snakes.

()()()()()()()()()

Daphne had the basilisk scales for a little over a week before we realized what she'd intended to do with them. It was the next morning, when a series of owls descended on the Slytherin table with small white boxes clasped in their hands. I stared at the box deposited in front of me as Daphne smugly took hers.

The elegant script embossed on the box was the same kind that appeared on my Christmas gifts every year. I looked from the boxes to Daphne.

"What did you do now?" I asked blankly, looking up and down the table. It was easy to pick out the pattern. Every single person with a white box sitting in front of them was one of mine.

"Nothing," Daphne said simply, picking up her box and sliding it into her pocket. She nodded to me. "Go on, open it," she said smugly. I narrowed my eyes at her but nevertheless I reached out and picked up the box, lifting the lid off. A ring box fell out into my hand.

"I don't feel that way about you, Greengrass, no offense," I said simply.

"Forward, isn't she?" Nott mused, looking from the box to Daphne, who rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Open the boxes, the lot of you."

All down the table, my Basilisks were opening their boxes and gaping at the rings inside. They were simple rings with thick bands, a single acidic green basilisk scale pressed into it instead of a crest. Four small prongs held the scale in place. The metal was, of course, silver.

"You're outdone yourself," I smirked, as I pulled the ring from the box. I saw Draco doing the same and watched as he slid the ring onto his finger with a proud look on his face. Nott and Blaise did the same. I grinned and plucked the ring from its box, looking at my hands. On my right hand was my signet ring on my pointer finger, the traditional place, so I slid the basilisk ring onto my left ring finger with a grin, enjoying the symmetry.

"Well played, Greengrass," Blaise congratulated, eyeing his new jewelry with a smirk. "Now we're a proper secret society. All we need is a secret handshake."

* * *

The Great Hall was set up for the final examination. It was just like it had been in Snape's memory – the rows and rows of desks with exams laid out neatly, students arranged in rows exactly too far apart for them to be able to glance over at their neighbor's partner. I looked around. If I thought about it, I could pick out the seat where dad sat. Now, it was occupied by a Hufflepuff. Sirius's seat was taken by a Ravenclaw and Tracey was in Snape's seat.

"Turn over your papers," said Professor Marchbanks from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hour-glass. "You may begin."

I flipped the paper open and stared at the first question, glad that I'd grabbed a few minutes to go over flash cards and look over dates and names. Now instead of being vague memories – did the eighteenth-century goblin riots start in 1865 or 1856? – I had names and dates on lock. I quickly scribbled down about how wand control affected those riots and made a note about the Ilfracombe Incident before moving on.

All around me quills scribbled. I took a moment to look up from writing about Pierre Bonnacord and his issues with Lichtenstein to glance around. Predictably, Hermione was hunched over her paper and scribbling frantically. Ron had his tongue between his teeth, looking like he was weighing every word. Harry had his head in his hands over by the window and I glanced at him pityingly. History was always one of his worst subjects.

I looked to the other side of the room. Lily and Tracey were both scowling at their papers. I hadn't spoken to them in months and they didn't seem to have any problems with the loss of contact. In fact, they seemed relieved by it, happily ingratiating themselves to Bulstrode and a Ravenclaw who was the heiress to a spell inventor's fortune. I wrinkled my nose at them in distaste before my eyes were pulled on, past Nott and Daphne who were easily writing out answers, past Blaise, who was slouched back in his seat and writing with a casual ease, a smirk on his face, and settled on Draco.

I smiled faintly. Draco, for all his bullying bluster, was actually a bit of a berk, I'd noticed. He didn't really need to crack a book – he probably could have made As and Es without ever glancing over his notes, but he'd been reviewing nonstop for the past week. Now he bent over his paper, confidently copying out answers in his elegant, sloping handwriting. I had no doubt that he was correct. He was clever, no doubt about it, which was a good thing, or I'd have been bored stiff.

I smiled happily, feeling a warm knot in my stomach, and turned back to my paper. I copied down answers about goblin activism and giant relations, about International Summits where historical decisions had been made, adding side information wherever I remembered it to try and make up for answers I was less confident in.

I had just lifted my quill from the parchment, my last question finished and with twenty minutes to spare, when it happened. A loud, agonized yell ripped through the air and several of the more skittish girls shrieked in surprise. There was a loud squealing as several people jerked and inadvertently scooted their chairs or desks.

"Harry!"

I was on my feet and moving in a flash. I dodged up two aisles and down a third, Tofty puffing along from the front, and headed for the chair Harry had just slid sideways out of. He hit the ground, still yelling, eyes opening blearily, a hand clutched to his scar.

"Harry! Harry, are you okay?" I demanded, dropping to my knees and supporting him in one arm. I reached up and laid my hand over his on his scar. "Harry, what's happened?"

"Oh my!" Tofty gasped, finally having made it over to us. "Miss Potter, please return to your exam!" he urged. "I'll handle this."

"Hang my exam," I snapped at the old man, more concerned with Harry. He was clutching his head and I knew what that meant. Voldemort was on the move, and judging by how Harry was screaming, it was something bad.

"Well!" Tofty sniffed. "Then why don't you take him to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm not going... I don't need the hospital wing... I don't want..." Harry was gibbering as he tried to pull away from me. "I'm - I'm fine, sir," Harry stammered, wiping the sweat from his face. "Really... I just fell asleep... had a nightmare…"

"Pressure of examinations!" said the old wizard sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. "It happens, young man, it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to return to your test? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to round off your last answer nicely?"

"Yes," said Harry wildly, his eyes fixed on me instead of the old man. "I mean... no... I've done – done as much as I can, I think..."

"Very well, very well," said the old wizard gently. "I shall go and collect your examination paper and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down."

"I'll do that," said Harry, nodding vigorously. I gripped him under the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Harry sagged against me wearily, obviously exhausted and shaken by what he'd just seen. His face was milk-white and his eyes stood out starkly, glimmering, fearful emerald glinting behind his glasses. "Thanks very much."

I grabbed Harry by the shoulder and started hauling him out of the Great Hall towards the Entrance Hall. People watched us curiously as we passed, but Tofty's call of "Ten minutes!" made them all look back to their own tests. I saw Draco look at me in concern from across the room and gave him a weak smile of assurance as I guided Harry from the room.

"What happened?" I demanded she moment the door swung shut. "What did you see?"

"Voldemort," Harry panted, his eyes wild. He swayed out of my grasp and grabbed my shoulder, gripping tightly. "Lorena, he's got Sirius!"

The thought sent a wave of horror sweeping through me and I gasped despite myself. But a moment later my brain caught up with my emotions and I recalled how unlikely that was. Voldemort would have had to have breached Grimmauld Place for that to happen. It was possible Sirius had left, but I didn't see that happening. He wanted out, sure, but he wasn't stupid. Gryffindor or not, he still had the sense of self-preservation that had been bred into him after centuries of Slytherins.

The very idea made my heart beat fast as I said slowly, "Harry, that's not possible…"

"I know what I saw!" Harry snapped at me, eyes flashing. "It was in the Department of Mysteries! Voldemort wanted something, something he couldn't get, and Sirius wouldn't get it for him. He… he used… used Crucio."

I blanched. Harry looked unnerved but I had felt the pain of that spell myself and it brought a lurch to my stomach and a flash of memories behind my eyelids. I blinked firmly, knocking the recollections away. I reached up and grabbed Harry's wrists.

"We can't just go running off half-cocked," I said firmly, knowing that was exactly what Harry wanted to do. After a moment I had the answer. "McGonagall's a no-go, she's been transferred to St. Mungo's."

Harry looked at me in surprise. "how do you know that?"

"I chat with Madam Pomfrey sometimes," I said simply. "And Dumbledore's gone. The only other Order member is Snape and-"

"Snape's not part of the Order!" Harry snarled, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yes he is, but fine, you don't want to talk to Snape. All of the correspondence in and out of Hogwarts is being monitored by Umbridge. How do you suggest we find out about Sirius, if not Snape?"

"Snape would be happy to see him die," Harry said bitterly, and I nodded in agreement, unable to deny the simple truth of it.

"Probably," I agreed mildly. "Look, I know that my owl isn't searched like the others because Umbridge trusts me – Inquisitorial Squad mail gets out no problem. We can't Floo, so if you won't talk to Snape them owls are our only option. I'll go to the Owlery now and send a letter to Grimmauld Place," I offered. "It's slow but it's the best option we've got right now."

Harry sucked in a deep breath and something behind his eyes shuttered. "Okay," he said slowly. "Okay, you send a letter."

Something about the way he said it made me narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Harry, what are you planning?" I demanded, gripping his wrists tighter. He pulled his hands back and dropped them.

"Nothing," he said simply. "You're probably right, I'm probably just dreaming it, I think I'll go have that lie down Tofty mentioned."

"You're a shite liar, Harry Potter."

"Not lying," Harry said, turning sharply and striding away. He was heading for the Gryffindor Common room, judging by the tapestry he ducked behind that let out one floor below the portrait hole. I watched him go with my eyes narrowed. He was planning something, something stupid, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was.

I honestly didn't think that Sirius was in danger but I still found myself running through the castle as I headed for the Owlery, digging in my pockets as I went for a parchment and quill. I found a crumpled up call of parchment and half a broken quill with dried ink on the end.

I paused and flattened the parchment against the wall, tapping the end of the quill on my tongue to wet the ink. The words were faded and messy but they were clear.

 _Are you okay? LP_

Hardly a novel, but it would do in a pinch. I shoved the message back into my pocket and headed for the owlery. Artemisia seemed to sense my urgency because she swooped down the moment she saw me and presented her leg. With shaking hands – why was I scared, Sirius had to be fine? - I tied the message to the owl's leg and urged her out the window.

"Go!" I whispered, and turned away.

* * *

I went through the rest of the day reciting a mantra in my head of all the reasons why Sirius had to be okay. I tried to figure in my head whether Artemisia would have gotten to Grimmauld Place, pulling number out of nowhere and putting them in for speed and wind and coming up with answers I knew were wrong that didn't make me feel any better about the situation.

"Why start listening to him now?" I muttered to myself, and scowled as I rounded a corner.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked me, looking at me sideways as we patrolled. We, along with several other members of the Inquisitorial Squad, were tasked with doing rounds and making sure the hallways were clear. The others got to go to bed once curfew hit but those of us who were prefect had to keep looking for anyone who crept back out of their Common Room or who were missed in the first pass.

"Harry," I said simply. Draco nodded, like I'd just confirmed what he'd expected.

"WE all saw him collapse and yell. Is he alright?"

I smiled faintly. "Do you actually care?" I asked a little more sharply than I intended to. Draco gave me a look that said he knew I didn't mean it like that but he still didn't appreciate my tone.

"You care, so I do too."

I sighed and reached up, rubbing my temples. "Sorry, I just… I can't tell you," I said miserably. "I wish I could tell you everything but I reallycan't."

Draco sighed and cast a glance up and down the hallway before sliding his hand into mine and squeezing supportively. "I understand. There's things I wish I could tell you." I looked up at him and saw the undisguised fear in his eyes. The knot in my stomach got even tighter as worry for Draco piled on top of worry for Sirius.

"Someone's in danger," I said, knowing that was about as much as I could say. "Or they might be. That's the problem, we don't know."

"Dumbledore?" Draco guessed, but I scoffed and shook my head.

"I'd be skipping laps if Dumbledore was in danger," I said derisively. "Worse."

"Worse?" Draco asked blankly, and then his face fell as comprehension hit him. "It's not… not your godfather, is it?"

I nodded miserably. Draco swore softly and squeezed my hand tighter. "I'm sorry," he murmured, leaning down and pressing his lips to the top of my head. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling for a moment.

"He wouldn't have left the safe house," I said reasonably, trying to convince myself as much as him. "He knows the danger."

"But you're still worried," Draco said sympathetically. "And you're right to be, I mean-"

"Something bothering you, Miss Potter?"


	72. Basilisks Strike

"Something bothering you, Miss Potter?"

Draco and I slid apart, whipping around. Umbridge stepped out of a classroom, a wide smile on her toad-like face as she stared at me.

"N-No, just… just exams," I said, quickly calming myself and gathering a lie. I smiled weakly. "I know I did well, but the nerves, you know?"

"Oh indeed!" Umbridge simpered. "I remember how concerned I was about my own OWLs. Of course, _I_ made seven OWLs, but still…" She tilted her nose in the air smugly. "Come with me, please, I'd like a word, actually."

Draco and I exchanged annoyed looks behind her back but nevertheless followed her down the hall in the direction of her office as she continued to talk.

"-of course dear Cornelius…" She tittered. "Oh, I mean the Minister wants me back at work, so I'll be hiring a new Headmaster and Head of the Inquisitorial Squad, as well as a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But I was hoping that I would be able to rely on you both to help maintain the Inquisitorial Squad after I go-"

"Professor Umbridge!"

Crabbe was panting and huffing as he made his way down the hall. Nott was on his heels, looking highly annoyed. I felt my stomach drop as he gave me an apologetic look.

"You're got to come, they're covering your office, Professor!" Crabbe said proudly. "Nott said so."

Again Nott gave me an apologetic look and I knew immediately why. Harry, he'd set guards while he got into Umbridge's office. Why? Because aside from Inquisitorial Squad owls, Umbridge's fire was the only way to communicate with the world outside of Hogwarts secretly. I knew that, but I hadn't realized that Harry knew, that he was mad enough to try.

"Who, who Crabbe?" Umbridge snapped, eyes lighting with ugly fire.

"Weasleys!" Crabbe said triumphantly, and Umbridge was off as fast as her short little legs could carry her. Draco and I exchanged worried looks as Crabbe followed after her. Nott looked at us both and we took off after the puffing pair.

It was chaos when we reached the corridor leading to Umbridge's office. Ginny Weasley was being held at wand-point by a smug-looking Parkinson while Daphne stood by, her wand pointing unwillingly at a dreamy-faced Luna Lovegood. Bulstrode was also there, looking like Christmas had come, her wandpointed at Neville, who was held in a headlock by Goyle.

"My office!" Umbridge cried, and the rest of us hustled on. A spell from her wand made the door fly open. Ron and Hermione's startled faces greeted us, standing on either side of the fireplace where Harry's head rested in the green flames.

Parkinson raised her wand and took out the startled Hermione and Daphne seemed a little too pleased to nearly slam Ron into the wall with a spell as Umbridge dove on my brother. Her nails scraped his scalp as she seized him by the hair and dragged him from the fireplace.

"You think," she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even further, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, "that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," she barked at Draco, who carefully didn't look at me as he moved forwards to snatch Harry's wand from his chest pocket. "Hers, too."

There was a scuffle over by the door as Parkinson gleefully wrested Hermione's wand from her hands, taking special care to drag her nails over Hermione's skin painfully. Behind us, the others were shuttled into the room. Draco and I moved out of the way, standing by a window as Ginny, Luna, and Neville were trundled inside and pressed against the walls at wand point or held in strangleholds.

I took stock. Neville, held in Goyle's arms. Daphne covering Ron, Crabbe having taken over Luna. Ginny was being covered by Bulstrode and Parkinson was on Hermione. That left Nott, Draco, and I on Harry and Umbridge.

"I want to know why you are in my office," said Umbridge, yanking Harry by his hair so that he staggered and toppled into one of the chintzy armchairs sitting opposite Umbridge's desk. He hastily righted himself, forcing up his glasses, which had slipped lower on his nose.

"I was - trying to get my Firebolt!" Harry croaked. It was a decent lie, but the panicked, trapped look on his face gave it away.

"Liar," she snapped. "Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one-" said Harry quickly. Umbridge bent down in front of him, that simpering smile on her face.

"You were going to Dumbledore, weren't you?" she asked, piggy little eyes gleaming triumphantly.

"No!"

"Liar!" shouted Umbridge. Her hand flew out and cracked across Harry's cheek, snapping his head to the side. Crabbe and Goyle laughed dumbly and Parkinson tittered but there was a shift around the room as the faces of my Basilisks turned to me. My eyes flicked up and I made eye contact with all of them quickly, eyes narrowed.

 _Hold._

 _Wait._

 _Not yet._

But still, rage pounded through me and I knew that tonight would be the night I got my revenge on Umbridge for everything she'd done to Harry and to other students. I could feel the power of my magic buzzing under my skin, waiting to be called on. But not yet, the time wasn't quite right yet… Oh, but she'd pay for that slap, she really would.

Umbridge watched Ginny's increased struggles and tittered, "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?" She settled herself in the large, pink-cushioned chair behind her desk and steepled her fingers, trying her damnedest to look intimidating, I guessed. She resembled nothing so much as a particularly ugly toad squatting among flowers.

"Let's try this again!" she chirped at Harry. "Who were you talking to? Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone."

Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle laughed at that, and the rest of us forced chuckles. Harry's eyes narrowed and he shook with rage at the memory of who, precisely, was the reason McGonagall was so injured. Injured, not ill, as Umbridge had said. Ill implied an unfortunate accident, and I had no doubt that Umbridge had taken particular delight in doing what she'd done to McGonagall.

"It's none of your business who I talk to," he snarled.

Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten.

"Very well," she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. "Very well, Mr. Potter... I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco - fetch Professor Snape."

Draco smirked. "With pleasure," he said, and stowed his hand, heading for the door. He passed closed to me, our robes brushing, and I felt his hand slide into my pocket. I smirked as the weight of Harry's wand settled.

There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resulting from the Slytherins' efforts to keep Harry's cavalry under control. Ron's lip was bleeding on to Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Daphne's spell; she rolled her eyes and strengthened it. Ginny was trying to stamp on Bulstrode's feet or kick her in the shin. Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while lunging at Goyle's arms. Hermione was attempting, in vain, to throw Parkinson off her. Luna, however, stood limply at Crabbe's side, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings.

Harry looked back at Umbridge, who was watching him closely. I could tell he was keeping his face deliberately smooth and blank as footsteps were heard in the corridor outside and Draco Malfoy entered the room, closely followed by Snape. Draco returned to my side, drew his wand, and got ready.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference.

"Ah, Professor Snape," said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please. The time has come for answers, whether he wants to give them to me or not!"

"You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he said, surveying her coolly through his curtains of black hair. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."

Umbridge flushed. "You can make some more, can't you?" she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.

"Certainly," said Snape, his lip curling. I snorted. "It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."

"A month?" squawked Umbridge, swelling toadishly. "A month! But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" asked Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked round at Harry. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules."

Harry's face was intent, eyes locked on Snape, willing him desperately to understand something. I frowned slightly and then realized. Occlumency. I cursed. Harry really hadn't been paying attention if he thought Snape could just casually skip into his thoughts.

"I wish to interrogate him!" repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering face. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

"I have already told you," said Snape smoothly, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter - and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did - I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much lime for truth-telling."

"You are on probation!" shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!"

Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Harry snapped in desperation.

"He's got Padfoot!" he shouted. "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"

Snape stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle.

"Padfoot?" cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"

Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable.

"I have no idea," said Snape coldly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Goyle, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job."

He closed the door behind him with a snap, and Harry looked at Umbridge. Her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.

"Very well," she said, and she pulled out her wand. "Very well... I am left with no alternative... this is more than a matter of school discipline... this is an issue of Ministry security... yes... yes..."

She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily.

"You are forcing me, Potter... I do not want to," said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, "but sometimes circumstances justify the use... I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice…"

The others were looking at me. I narrowed my eyes. Wait. A moment more. Wait until she said what she intended to do.

"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," said Umbridge quietly.

My eyes blazed and my anger burned.

"No!" shrieked Hermione. "Professor Umbridge - it's illegal."

But Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty eager, excited look on her face that I had never seen before. She raised her wand.

"The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!" cried Hermione.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide where it would hurt most. "He never knew I ordered Dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same."

"It was you?" gasped Harry. "You sent the Dementors after me?"

My eyes widened and then narrowed into a death glare. So Umbridge had been the one to send the Dementors. She was incredibly lucky that I was standing in a room with the few people I cared about how they saw me, otherwise, Snape's warning be damned, I might genuinely have killed her. It was not just my life she'd put in danger, but Amity's, and come hell or high water I would not let the shite storm that was my life affect Amity Raincrow anymore than it already had.

"Somebody had to act," breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry's forehead. "They were all bleating about silencing you somehow - discrediting you - but I was the one who actually did something about it... only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though, not now-" And taking a deep breath, she cried, "Cruc-"

"No!" shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Parkinson. "No - Harry - we'll have to tell her!"

"No way!" yelled Harry.

"We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway, what's... what's the point?"

I sighed and flicked my wand, letting off a small trail of green sparks, drawing all eyes to me. I raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Whatever lie you're about to tell, Hermione, don't bother. I've got this well in hand."

"Silence, Potter!" Umbridge snapped at me. "I will hear what she had to say!"

I smirked. "No, actually, you won't. D'you know why?" I simpered. "Basilisks-"

"Enough nonsense from you Potters!" Umbridge shrieked.

I scoffed. "I wasn't actually talking to you. _Strike!"_

Four jets of red light streaked from wands and flew across the room. There were yells and shouts of surprise and when the chaos finally settled, a very new scene was revealed. Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson lay Stunned on the ground, and every single Slytherin in the room had their wands pointed at Umbridge, Harry's people freed.

Ron gaped at us "What the bloody hell?"

"Miss Potter!" Umbridge's eyes narrowed at me furiously. "You traitor!"

I glanced at Daphne carelessly. "D'you think she can call me a traitor if I was never on her side to begin with?" I asked her mildly.

"I don't think it counts," Nott put in. "After all, you were a double agent from the start, it's not as if you switched sides."

"Mm, good point," I said. "Nott, search those bits of filth and get their wands passed back," I said, nodding to the Stunned students. "Daphne, if you could do a nice round of healing spells, I think we've got a couple who need it. And Draco, if you could see to these… levitate them into a broom closet and lock it, perhaps?" I suggested.

Draco smirked. "You got it," he said, and flicked his wand. Nott Summoned wands from them. The Stunned students rose into the air and he floated them from the room. I smiled a bit nostalgically as I heard faint bangs coming from him running them into walls and his unapologetic responses. Nott passed Hermione back her wand, and she took it, uncertainly, staring up at him.

"W-Why?" she breathed.

Nott raised an eyebrow. "For someone who considers themselves a champion of the underdog, you're quite prejudiced yourself, Granger," he said, and to his credit there was only a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Don't you talk to her like – umf!" Ron was abruptly cut off as Daphne snapped his nose back into place with a spell.

"Sorry," she apologized insincerely before moving on and grabbing Hermione's scraped hand.

I approached Harry, who was gaping at me like he couldn't quite figure out what to do. I smiled at him fondly and offered him a hand. There was a moment where the offer hung in the air – it was more than a hand up. It was a clean slate, a chance to forget all the hate we'd spit at each other the past few months.

Harry sent me a hundred-watt smile and gripped my hand. I pulled him up and dug his wand out of my pocket, passing it over to him. He took it, shocked.

"But Malfoy-"

"Not as big of an ass as you'd think," I said simply.

"Why Potter, you'll make me blush." I turned to see Draco swagger into the room, a smirk on his face as he kicked the door shut behind him. He looked at me and winked. "I found a convenient broom cupboard."

A sputtering sound made us all turn and look at Umbridge, who was standing in front of her chair and looking utterly loss.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you-"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You may get on with my dad, but personally? I can't stand you," he spat out.

"That goes for all of us," I said, and my wand flicked out. Umbridge squeaked as my spell slammed her down into her chair. Another spell and she was dragged out from behind her desk to sit in the middle of the room. I flicked my wrist a third time and she was bound to the arms with ropes. A final flick, and I held her wand in my hand. Umbridge watched it arc through the air and smack into my palm and, for the first time, fear trickled into her eyes as she understood the situation she was in.

I sneered down at her. "Let's talk, Umbridge."

"That's Professor Umbridge!" she said, struggling to hold onto some dignity as she straightened her back. "I am Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and you cannot-"

"Oh, but I think I can, because you see, you were about to use and illegal curse on my brother," I countered coldly. "A torture curse. The Cruciatus… you've never experienced it, you can't possibly know what it feels like," I growled at the remembered pain. "But you would have used it on him. I wonder," I said innocently, and raised my wand, power coursing through me. "Would you feel the same if you knew what it felt like?"

"No!" Umbridge shrieked in fear as Draco said lowly, "Lorena!"

I paused, my wand raised. I licked my lips. The desire to hurt the woman who had hurt my brother still ran riot through my veins, but it was so painfully close to what I had felt coursing through Tom Riddle in my dreams. I forced that desire to hurt down. There were scores of things I could do to her, more painful things… things that, unfortunately, I'd learned from Voldemort as well.

"Sorry," I murmured. "Forgot myself for a moment." I smiled and dropped into the chair Harry had just vacated, spinning Umbridge around to face me. "So let's chat," I said coolly.

"You will not get away with this!" Umbridge snapped at me furiously, her eyes bugging. I rolled my eyes.

" _Silencio_ ," I cast carelessly, and her face tightened in rage. "This'll be easier if I don't have to listen to you," I added to her conspiratorially. I gestured with my want to the others in the room. "After all, you imagine anyone here is going to help you?" I scoffed. "As if.

"You see, while you've been so concerned about Harry and his dueling club… I've been running one of my own." I wrinkled my nose and grinned at Umbridge's furious expression and frantic mouthing. I chuckled. "And you had no idea. Say hello to my Basilisks," I said.

Daphne waved and Nott inclined his head carelessly. Draco winked at me and smirked.

"A group of carefully-curated students who don't share their parents' beliefs… or rather, the beliefs many think their parents hold," I said, shooting a less-than-pleased look to my brother, who had the good grave to look sheepish. "And there are more of us than these three, don't worry," I assured Umbridge. "And some you'd never expect.

"But that's not all. You noticed, didn't you, that the Veritaserum wasn't getting you anywhere. That's why you were using such large doses," I guessed, and Umbridge's annoyed expression convinced me that I was right. "Well, that'd be because I've been brewing mass amount of Veritaserum antidote and Essence of Murtlap and distributing them in secret to students before you can interview them."

Umbridge gave a wordless shriek of fury. I laughed. "Oh, and you know how when you went after Harry's club they were scattering? That was me as well, I sent them a warning."

"Wait, you sent Dobby to us?" Ron asked in disbelief. I turned to him, narrowing my eyes.

"I told you from the beginning, Ron, that I wasn't on her side. You just refused to believe me. Quiet please," I added, turning back to Umbridge. "I'm not finished with this toad yet."

"What else have I done?" I mused aloud. I chuckled and gave Umbridge a sympathetic look. "It's been so much I've almost forgotten."

"I'd say you avoided a lot of people getting marks on the back of their hands, all the detentions you didn't give," Draco pointed out.

"Now that was partly you, you always patrol with me after all," I countered.

"We can split credit?" he offered. "Seventy thirty?"

I snorted. "We'll discuss the breakdown later," I said, giving him a teasing look. "Oh!" I feigned surprise, like I'd just remembered. "And Cutler Barnes, the ingredient importer you put me in contact with for all of my – mostly false – information? He's delighted with me, in spite of you efforts to then turn him against me for not delivering good information, so you've failed there as well." I patted Umbridge's knee mockingly. "You're really not doing well are you? Fireworks, dishes, and now this.

"I should own up to the dishes as well," I admitted. "Those were me, and all that I gave you about who might have done it was designed to point you away from me."

I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes. "You're starting to understand, aren't you?" I asked, my voice going dark. "How thoroughly fooled you were? I ran you in circles this whole damn year and you never even suspected. It's been a delight, honestly, it was hilarious watching you think you're in control. But, as you like to say, you deserve to be punished."

I felt Harry stiffen behind me and Draco's eyes narrowed. "Lorena…" Harry said uncertainly, and I could feel the tenseness in the Gryffindors. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to explain something to Umbridge about scars," I said, and twisted in my chair to extend a hand to Harry. He uncertainly offered me the hand Umbridge had made him carve into.

"I must not tell lies," I read out sorrowfully. I looked up at Harry. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop this," I said earnestly, and pressed the back of his hand to my mouth. Harry smiled at me sheepishly.

"If I'd kept my mouth shut like you said," he admitted. I smiled and used his hand to guide him around the chair. Harry sat down on the arm and let me offer his hand for Umbridge to see.

"Look at it!" I snapped, when she refused to, and her eyes hastily looked down. I was sickened by the surge of pride in her eyes at the sight of the marks. I scowled and dropped Harry's hand.

"That's the thing about scars," I said slowly. "Especially magical ones. They never go away. Fade, maybe, but they're never gone, and they are a constant reminder etched in your flesh. You see it when you change in the morning and at night, when you shower, when you brush your hair or your teeth. It's always there in the back of your head, the knowledge that this mark is on your body. Should you cover it? A long-sleeved shirt, perhaps? A scarf?" A wild urge ripped through me and I reached up, seized the patch on my left cheek, and ripped it away, tossing it to the floor. There was a surge of horrified gasps from around the room.

"A patch?" I whispered as Umbridge's eyes fixed on my face. "You must understand that I can't let you remember this. It'd be too much trouble, and though I'm fairly sure I could handle it…" I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't want to have to bother. So I'm going to Obliviate you, but first, I need you to remember something for me."

I raised my wand and, slowly and carefully, pronounced a word. "Aiónios," I whispered, and Umbridge sucked in a breath in fear as the tip of my wand glowed. I smiled wickedly at the fear on her face. "Did you think I was telling you about scars for the sake of hearing myself talk?"

"Lorena, no!" Harry hissed. "You can't!"

"Can't I?" I challenged. "An eye for an eye, a scar for a scar… if anyone here has the right to use this spell, it's me, Harry, and I choose to."

But in spite of my determination to do this no matter what Harry said, I found myself looking to Draco. His eyes were fixed on me as well and he knew what I wanted as I looked at him questioningly. He could stop this now, could close his eyes or shake his head and I would stop, not for Harry, but for him, because of how he would see me. But this was just, at least in a Slytherin way, and he understood that.

Draco looked from Harry's hand to my cheek and I saw the anger in his eyes as he nodded to me.

I leaned forwards over Umbridge's hand and placed my wand against her skin. Her voice was still silence, but there was no mistaking the pain on her face as I worked, etching letters into her skin.

But Umbridge was, it seemed, surprising clever even in her pain. Her eyes darted to the side, to the patch on the floor. I smirked. "I don't need that anymore, I don't think," I whispered. "But I can't have you having it, so…" I flicked my wand and the patch went up in flames. My wand whipped towards Umbridge's face. " _Obliviate!"_ Her eyes went blurred, then unfocused and, finally, she collapsed in her chair. I kicked it and sent her sprawling on the floor.

Silence rang as we all stared down at our downed enemy. As a final insult I raised my knee and brought Umbridge's wand down across it. The thing snapped with a faint sputter of sparks and I tossed the pieces down by Umbridge's hand, the bleeding word dripping next to it. Then, finally, there was a low whistle from Nott that broke the tension.

"You're bloody scary sometimes," Ron muttered. I turned and looked at him, smiling a little wearily.

"I'm a Slytherin, Ron, it's in our nature."

Ron glanced at Daphne, who smiled at him saccharinely. "Right," he said slowly.

"Sirius," Harry said, and drew my eyes back to him.

"You got through?" I asked, and Harry nodded, but I could tell by his stressed face that it wasn't good news.

"He wasn't there," Harry said grimly, and I closed my eyes as adrenaline began to bubble with the worry boiling in my stomach. "I saw where he had him in…" He paused and looked around at all the Slytherins. Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Really Potter?" She stuck her nose in the air. "Fine, we know where we're not wanted. Nott, let's go," she said, and Nott nodded, following her from the room. Harry's eyes flicked to Draco and narrowed angrily.

"I don't know what you're playing at, acting like you're on our side…"

Draco's eyes narrowed right back. "It ever occur to you, Potter, that I'm not actually my father?"

"No," Ron snapped, and I glared at him.

"We can settle this later!" I snapped. "Right now, we need to find Sirius. You saw where he was?" I asked Harry for confirmation.

"Ministry," Harry said simply, eyes still on Draco, who rolled his in turn.

"Lorena, are you going with them?" he asked, pushing off the wall where he'd been leaning and approaching me.

We were Slytherins. We could have a whole conversation and say something completely different, or never say a thing.

 _I don't want you to risk it._

"He's my godfather," I said with a shrug. _I have to._

"Well, try and stay in one piece. I'd hate to have to tell the others you went and got yourself mauled." _Be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt._

"You think anyone could hurt me? I thought you knew better." _I will._

"See you when you get back." _I love you._

"I suppose so." _I know._

Draco turned and walked from the room as I looked back at Harry and asked, "So? How are we getting to London?" I asked calmly.

Luna, who had been absolutely silent up until that point, surprised us all by smiling and saying, "We fly, of course…"

()()())(()()()

We split and reformed down at the Quidditch Pitch. Harry and Hermione went to break his broom out from the dungeon while Ginny and Ron fetched theirs from the locker rooms. I sent them to grab mine as well. Neville had his own broom, despite not being a fan of flying, and he ran to the Common Room to get it.

Meanwhile, I headed down to the apprentice's lab and grabbed the robes that I hadn't been able to bring myself to touch since the graveyard last year. I snatched the robe up and pulled it on over my clothes, fastening it at my neck and shoving the gloves into my waistband before reaching for a couple bottles of phoenix tears that I'd collected for my experiments. They weren't the real thing, but they were better than anything else I had access to. I tucked them into my pocket, and sprinted.

It was cold outside and the wind sung my eyes as I ran for the Quidditch field. I saw other dark figures moving in front of me and sped up, falling into step by Luna and Neville.

"Hm, that's a lovely color on you, Lorena," Luna commented, smiling dreamily as she glanced at my robes. I chuckled breathlessly. Only Luna…

"Thanks, Luna."

Neville looked at me with an uncertain smile, like he wasn't quite sure how he'd be received.

"Don't suppose you've got any more of those?" he asked faintly. I smirked.

"Sorry Neville, you'll have to wait for my fall collection," I said, and he gave a cheerful, nervous laugh as we approached the knot of lit wands and broomsticks.

"Really?" Harry's eyebrow was raised as he looked over my robes. I shrugged.

"Just taking a few precautions," I said, reaching over and grabbing my Firebolt from Ginny.

Harry looked around at all of us, and I saw the flicker of uncertainty run across his face.

I huffed. "At the risk of stealing the thunder from your 'I don't want you risking yourselves for my sake' speech… save it," I advised.

"This isn't on them!" Harry snapped at me, pointing at Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

"Yes, but in a year or two it may very well be," I countered swiftly. "Besides, I think they're old enough to make their own decisions."

"We were all in the DA together," said Neville quietly. "It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn't it? And this is the first chance we've had to do something real - or was that all just a game or something?"

"No - of course it wasn't-" said Harry impatiently.

"Then we should come too," said Neville simply. "We want to help."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," I muttered.

"That's right," said Luna, smiling happily.

Harry looked annoyed. He narrowed his eyes suddenly and his hand came up to rub roughly at his scar. I knew that sign – his scar was hurting him. I narrowed my eyes. We were running out of time.

"Fine," Harry relented. "Those of you that don't have a broom, double up with someone that does, and let's get going."

Luna turned and smiled at Neville. "Do you mind if I ride with you?"

Neville seemed startled as Ron and Ginny threw legs over their own brooms. "Oh, er, sure?" he said uncomfortably, and Luna clambered on the broom behind him, coiling her arms around his middle without a second thought as Neville's ears went red.

"May I ride with you?" Hermione asked, looking at me uncertainly. I nodded to the rear of my broom and watched as Hermione climbed on. The amusement of watching her act like she was mounting a bucking bronco almost drove the concern for Sirius from me.

Almost.

Hermione shrieked and clutched me tightly around the middle as I kicked off and out brooms all rose into the air.

"Anyone know the direction to London?" Harry called suddenly.

I rolled my eyes and dug in my pocket for a compass to clip to the handle of my broom, something that had come in a Christmas gift a year or two before.

"Honestly, you'd be helpless without me," I said tartly. "Follow me, all!"

We were over the Hogwarts grounds, we had passed Hogsmeade. I could see mountains and gullies below them. As the daylight began to fail, I saw small collections of lights as we passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills...

"Malfoy," Hermione said just loud enough to be heard over the roaring wind and she clung to me tighter. "He listened to you. The way he looked at you…" It was like she couldn't understand it.

"Do you and Harry share that pair of scarlet glasses or do you have your own pairs?" I asked mildly. "Malfoy is none of your business… I thought I told you never to mention it?"

Hermione swallowed and continued. "I just wanted to say… I'm surprised, but… I just want to know if he's good enough for you?"

I scoffed. "Good enough for me? Hermione, I keep trying to be good enough for him!"

Hermione shook her head and I felt her bury her nose in my shoulder to try and keep it warm. "All those things you've been doing to protect people… I think you're really a Gryffindor at heart."

I rolled my eyes. "Did you miss the part where I scarred Umbridge and Obliviated her?"

Hermione twitched at the reminder and I knew she wasn't at all enthused about how I'd handled things.

"I can see… why you though it was okay," she said, and I knew that was the best I was going to get from her.

Twilight fell, the sky was turning to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon only the lights of Muggle towns gave them any clue of how far from the ground they were, or how very fast they were travelling.

With Hermione quiet, my thoughts turned to Sirius. How much time had elapsed since Harry had seen Sirius lying on the Department of Mysteries floor? How much longer would Sirius be able to resist Voldemort? All I knew for sure was that his godfather would never do as Voldemort wanted.

On we flew through the gathering darkness. Hermione gave a nervous squeak as I raised a hand from the handle of the broom to cast a warming charm around us. My face felt stiff and cold and I was deaf from the thundering rush of air in my ears, my mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night wind. The warming charm was a blessing as we began to descend towards the ground, and I glanced back to see the others start to follow after me.

Bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides. We could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows. Quite suddenly, it seemed, we were hurtling towards the pavement, but I brought us in for a controlled landing. Immediately Hermione slid off the broom and I followed her, looking around at the street where the overflowing skip still stood a short way from the vandalized telephone box, both drained of color in the flat orange glare of the streetlights.

"Everybody, shrink your brooms and put them in your pockets," I said, and there was a mutter as we all shrunk our brooms down and secreted them away.

"Where do we go from here, then?" Luna asked Harry in a politely interested voice, as though this was all a rather interesting day-trip.

"Over here," he said. He led the way quickly to the battered telephone box and opened the door. "Come on!" he urged the others, as they hesitated. I followed him inside. Ron and Ginny marched in obediently. Hermione, Neville and Luna squashed themselves in after them. Harry forced himself into the box after Luna.

"Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!" he called.

Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial. As it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry and Lorena Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," Harry said very quickly, "Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood... we're here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!"

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

Half a dozen badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins normally appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny's head. He passed them out as the voice spoke again and we clipped them to our robes, feeling a little silly.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Fine!" Harry said loudly, as his eyes fluttered again with the sign of another throb in his scar. He got all squinty when it hurt. "Now can we _move?"_

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past its glass windows. Blackness closed over our heads and with a dull grinding noise we sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. Harry bent his knees and held his wand as ready as he could in such cramped conditions as he peered through the glass to see whether anybody was waiting for them in the Atrium, but it seemed, to be completely empty. The light was dimmer than it had been by day; there were no fires burning under the mantelpieces set into the walls, but as the lift slid smoothly to a halt he saw that golden symbols continued to twist sinuously in the dark blue ceiling.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening."


	73. Department of Mysteries

**Thank ZabuzasGirl and her pleading for the double update everybody!**

* * *

The door of the telephone box burst open. Harry toppled out of it, closely followed by Neville, Luna and I. The only sound in the Atrium was the steady rush of water from the golden fountain, where jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and the house-elf's ears continued to gush into the surrounding pool.

"Come on," said Harry quietly and the seven of us sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain towards the desk where the watchwizard who had weighed our wands had sat, and which was now deserted.

I was sure there ought to be a security person there, sure their absence was an ominous sign, and my feeling of foreboding increased as we passed through the golden gates to the lifts. I pressed the nearest 'down' button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately. The golden grills slid apart with a great, echoing clanking and we dashed inside. Harry stabbed the number nine button, the same floor where we'd gone for our trial.

The grills closed with a bang and the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling. I winced. The lifts certainly weren't doing much for the element of surprise. I was sure the din would raise every security person within the building, but when the lift halted, the cool female voice said, "Department of Mysteries," and the grills slid open. We stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving out but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

"Something's wrong," I said softly, and Harry nodded in agreement. Warily I reached for my waistband and tugged on my basilisk gloves, covering my hands and preventing anyone from catching me off guard with a Disarming spell. "Everybody, put up a Shield and hold it if you can. We're not alone."

Murmurs of " _Protego_ " sounded as Harry turned towards the plain black door.

"Let's go," he whispered, and he led the way down the corridor, Luna and I right behind him. She was gazing around with her mouth slightly open.

"Alright, listen," said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. "Maybe... maybe a couple of people should stay here as a - as a lookout, and-"

"And how're we going to let you know something's coming?" countered Ginny, her eyebrows raised. "You could be miles away."

"We're coming with you, Harry," said Neville simply.

"Let's get on with it," said Ron firmly.

Harry was visibly hesitant, but it seemed he had no choice. He turned to face the door and walked forwards. It swung open at his approach and he marched over the threshold, the rest of us at his heels.

We were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling. Identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue. Their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor made it look as though there was dark water underfoot. In a way, it reminded me of the Slytherin Common Room, and I found it oddly calming.

"Someone shut the door," Harry muttered.

I could have smacked him for giving the order the moment Neville had obeyed it. Without the long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind them, the place became so dark that for a moment the only things we could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and our ghostly reflections in the floor.

Harry looked around, trying to decide which door was the right one. There was a great rumbling noise and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall was rotating. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm as though frightened the floor might move too and I crouched to brace, but it stayed still. For a few seconds the blue flames around them were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped around. As suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again.

Blue streaks crossed my vision as I looked around.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron fearfully.

"I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in through," said Ginny in a hushed voice.

"Department of Mysteries is right," I muttered, cursing whoever had designed the place to a hell of rotating torches. I could no sooner identify the exit door than locate an ant on the jet-black floor. The door through which they needed to proceed could be any one of the dozen surrounding them.

"How're we going to get back out?" said Neville uncomfortably.

"Well, that doesn't matter now," said Harry forcefully. He didn't know any better than the rest of us but he was trying to keep it together and be a leader. "We won't need to get out till we've found Sirius-"

"Don't go calling for him, though!" Hermione said urgently.

"Where do we go, then, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I don't-" Harry began. He swallowed, obviously not thrilled to have to talk about this. "In the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room - that's this one - and then I went through another door into a room that kind of... glitters. We should try a few doors," he said hastily, "I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon."

He marched straight at the door now facing him, the rest of us following close behind him, set his left hand against its cool, shining surface. He raised his wand, ready to strike the moment it opened, and pushed.

It swung open easily.

After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains from this ceiling gave the impression that this long rectangular room was much brighter, though there were no glittering, shimmering lights as Harry had described seeing in his dreams. The place was quite empty except for a few desks and, in the very middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep green liquid, big enough for all of them to swim in. A number of pearly-white objects were drifting around lazily in it.

"What're those things?" whispered Ron.

"Dunno," said Harry.

"Are they fish?" breathed Ginny.

"Aquavirius Maggots!" said Luna excitedly. "Dad said the Ministry were breeding-"

"No," said Hermione. She sounded odd. She'd seen what I'd see. We moved forward to look through the side of the tank. "They're brains."

"Brains?"

I clapped a hand to my mouth, resisting the urge to vomit. Those weren't rat brains or frog brains like we dealt with in Potions. Those were real, human brains. They had belonged to people. Hopefully, it was rather like Muggle organ donation, and they had given their brains to science after they died, but I couldn't help but feel a little sick either way.

"Yes... I wonder what they're doing with them?"

Harry joined us at the tank. There could be no mistake now he saw them at close quarters. Glimmering eerily, they drifted in and out of sight in the depths of the green liquid, looking something like slimy cauliflowers.

"Memories," I said, the answer coming to me as easily as the brains sliding through the water. "They're experimenting with memory.

"Let's get out of here," said Harry thickly. "This isn't right, we need to try another door."

"There are doors here, too," said Ron a bit hopelessly, pointing around the walls.

"In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one," Harry said, seeming just as eager to get out of there as the rest of us. Those brains floating around in the tanks… I wondered who they belonged to, who they had been. Whose lives were floating in front of me? "I think we should go back and try from there."

None of us wanted to hang around in the brain room any longer, so we hurried back into the dark, circular room.

"Wait!" said Hermione sharply, as Luna made to close the door of the brain room behind them. "Flagrate!"

She drew with her wand in midair and a fiery 'X' appeared on the door. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind them than there was a great rumbling, and once again the wall began to revolve very fast, but now there was a great red-gold blur in amongst the faint blue and, when all became still again, the fiery cross still burned, showing the door they had already tried.

"Well played, Hermione," I congratulated, and Harry nodded in agreement as he approached another door.

"Let's try this one-" Again, he strode directly at the door facing him and pushed it open, his wand still raised, all of us on his heels.

This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the centre of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet deep. We were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre, or the courtroom in which Harry and I had been tried by the Wizengamot. Instead, of a chained chair, however, there was a raised stone dais in the centre of the pit, on which stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked and crumbling that I was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.

"Who's there?" said Harry, jumping down on to the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway.

"Careful!" whispered Hermione.

Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until he reached the stone bottom of the sunken pit. I followed, my brow scrunched in confusion. I couldn't hear any footsteps aside from ours echoing loudly as we walked slowly towards the dais. The pointed archway looked much taller from where I now stood than it had when I'd been looking down on it from above. Still the veil swayed gently, as though somebody had just passed through it.

"Sirius?" Harry spoke again, but more quietly now that he was nearer.

I had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. It was like that prickling sort of feeling you got on the back of your neck when you knew someone was watching you. Harry edged around the dais and I followed but there was nobody there. All that could be seen was the other side of the tattered black veil.

"Let's go," called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. "This isn't right, Harry. Come on, Lorena, let's go."

She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, but I couldn't think why. The archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued me. I felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it. My mind filled with questions. How old was it? Who had built it? Why was it here? Had it always been here or had it been brought here? What did it do? And where was that whispering coming from?

"Let's go, okay?" Hermione insisted forcefully.

"Okay," Harry said, but did not move. "What are you saying?" he said, very loudly, so that his words echoed all around the stone benches.

"Nobody's talking, Harry!" said Hermione, now moving over to us.

"Someone's whispering behind there," Harry said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. "Is that you, Ron?"

"I'm here, mate," said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway.

"Can't anyone else hear it?" Harry demanded. The whispering and murmuring was becoming louder.

"I can," I murmured.

"I can hear them too," breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. "There are people in there!"

"What do you mean, 'in there?'" demanded Hermione, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much angrier than the occasion warranted. "There isn't any 'in there,' it's just an archway, there's no room for anybody to be there. Harry, stop it, come away-" She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he resisted.

"Harry, we are supposed to be here for Sirius!" she said in a high-pitched, strained voice.

"Sirius," Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. "Yeah..."

I snarled and stepped away from the veil, scowling at it. I was a bit more attuned to my mind than Harry was and I could feel the veil, like it had a consciousness of its own that it was sliding into mine. It fluttered against my thoughts invitingly, soothingly, calmingly. I slammed down my Occlumency barriers, greeting the veil with a wall of thought and magic, and its pull faded.

 _Sirius,_ I reminded myself. _He was here, in danger. He was the priority._

"Let's go," Harry said forcefully, taking a few steps back and pulling his eyes from the veil.

"That's what I've been trying to - well, come on, then!' said Hermione in exasperation, and she led the way back around the dais. On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny's arm, Ron grabbed Neville's, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door.

"What d'you reckon that arch was?" Harry asked Hermione as they regained the dark circular room.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous," she said firmly, again inscribing a fiery cross on the door. I had to agree. The lure of it alone was enough to make me wary without even knowing what it did.

Once more, the wall spun and became still again. Harry approached another door at random and pushed. It did not move.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's... locked..." said Harry, throwing his weight at the door, but it didn't budge.

"This is it, then, isn't it?" said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. "Bound to be!"

"Get out of the way!" ordered Hermione sharply. She pointed her wand at the place where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, " _Alohomora!"_

Nothing happened.

"Sirius's knife!" remembered Harry. He pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall. We watched eagerly as he ran it from top to bottom, withdrew it and then flung his shoulder again at the door. It remained as firmly shut as ever. What was more, when I looked down at the knife, he saw the blade had melted.

"Right, we're leaving that room," said Hermione decisively.

"But what if that's the one?" protested Ron, staring at it with a mixture of apprehension and longing.

"It can't be, Harry could get through all the doors in his dream," reasoned Hermione, marking the door with another fiery cross as Harry replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius's knife in his pocket.

"And personally, as messed up as this place is, if even they're keeping this door lock, I'm not keen to go in," I admitted.

"You know what could be in there?" asked Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again.

"Something blibbering, no doubt," muttered Hermione under her breath and Neville gave a nervous little laugh.

The wall slid to a halt and Harry pushed the next door open. "This is it!"

We were greeted by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light Harry had mentioned. As my eyes became accustomed to the brilliant glare, I saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

A thought was occurring to me. This was a room clearly devoted to time. And brain room was devoted to memory. The locked room clearly held something even more powerful and the room with the arch was… honestly, my heart said death, though the arch didn't have a dark feeling to it. Each part of the Department of Mysteries seemed to be devoted to a different branch of magic that was thought to be impossible or, at the very least, deeply dangerous and not something to mess with lightly

"This way!"

Harry led the way down the narrow space between the lines of desks, heading for the source of the light. The crystal bell jar was as tall as I was and it stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind.

"Oh, took!" breathed Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar.

Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar, it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

"Keep going!" said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg's progress back into a bird.

"You dawdled enough by that old arch!" she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.

"This is it," Harry repeated. "It's through here-"

Suddenly my heart was in my throat. What would we find? Nothing? Sirius's body? Him still alive, screaming under Voldemort's wand? Would there be Death Eater's there? Would it just be seven students against the Dark Lord? His servants? I was scared. Once upon a time Harry had thrown in my face that aside from the Shrieking Shack I had always been either left behind or knocked out for his confrontations with Voldemort. He was right – I had never face Voldemort in a real confrontation before, and I was terrified I was about to break that streak.

Harry looked back at the door and pushed. It swung open.

It was high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold.

Harry edged forward and peered down one of the shadowy aisles between two rows of shelves. I couldn't hear anything or see the slightest sign of movement.

"You said it was row ninety-seven," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah," breathed Harry, looking up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure fifty-three.

"We need to go right, I think," whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. "Yes... that's fifty-four..."

"Keep your wands ready," Harry advised softly.

"Oh trust me, I wasn't even thinking about putting mine away," I sang under my breath, my voice slightly strained. The knot of tension that had been building in my stomach was spreading now, out into my shoulders, back, and neck. I was tense for any sort of shadow or sound that was out of place, waiting for a sign that we were under attack… Or, even better, that we'd found Sirius.

We crept forward, glancing behind us as we went on down the long alleys of shelves, the further ends of which were in near-total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelves. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow. Others were as dull and dark within as blown light bulbs.

It struck me as strange, that we heard nothing. Surely Voldemort couldn't know we were here – we'd been quiet since entering and the door hadn't let out any kind of ungodly creak. There was no sound to announce our arrival and there had been no cut-off noise as if someone had heard us and been silenced. That led me to two conclusions, both horrible. Either Sirius had never been here…

Or he was already dead.

We passed row eighty-four... eighty-five... I was listening hard for the slightest sound of movement, almost hoping Sirius might be gagged or unconscious, because then this wouldn't have been for nothing and there was still a chance...

"Ninety-seven!" whispered Hermione.

We stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it.

There was nobody there. My stomach dropped and my arms lowered.

"He's right down at the end," said Harry, whose mouth had become slightly dry. "You can't see properly from here."

He led us between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as we passed...

"He should be near here," whispered Harry. "Anywhere here... really close..."

"Harry?" asked Hermione tentatively. Harry licked his lips, but didn't reply, a crushed look on his face.

"Somewhere about... here..." he said faintly.

We had reached the end of the row and emerged into more dim candlelight. There was nobody there. All was echoing, dusty silence.

"He might be…" Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the next alley. "Or maybe…" He hurried to look down the one beyond that.

"Harry?" said Hermione again. The look on her face was a mix of sympathy, pity, and nerves. It was dawning on her what could happen to us if it was found out we'd broken in here for nothing, particularly with the Ministry attitude towards Harry.

"What?" he snarled.

"I... I don't think Sirius is here."

I aimed my lighted wand at the ground and examined it. It was smooth, dark, with no odd stains or scratches. "I don't think he ever was," I said, forcing myself to speak clinically and forget it was Sirius I'd been worried about finding here. "There's no signs of blood or odd scuffs like there was a struggle."

Nobody spoke. Harry did not seem to want to look at any of us, determined to find Sirius, determined he hadn't wasted a trip. He ran up the space at the end of the rows, staring down them. Empty aisle after empty aisle flickered past. He ran the other way, back past us staring at him. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, nor any hint of a struggle.

"Harry?" Ron called.

"What?"

"Have you seen this?" asked Ron.

"What?" repeated Harry, but eagerly this. His face glowed with hope as he joined us in the aisle. Ron was staring at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelf.

"What?" Harry asked a third time, glumly.

"It's - it's got your name on," said Ron uncertainly, pointing at the sphere.

Harry moved a little closer and I pressed in, interested. Ron was pointing at one of the small glass spheres that glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years.

"My name?" said Harry blankly.

He had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:

 _S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

 _Dark Lord_

 _and (?)Harry Potter_

Harry stared at it.

"What is it?" Ron asked, sounding unnerved. "What's your name doing down here?" He glanced along at the other labels on that stretch of shelf. "I'm not here," he said, sounding perplexed. "None of the rest of us are here."

But that wasn't quite true. I resisted the urge to burst into bitter, mocking laughter as I caught sight of my name on a label, only a few inches off the ground and on the shelf opposite Harry's. So close, but a world away. Shaking my head, I reached down and, under the guise of tightening my shoe lace, scooped the ball off the shelf, cast a quick Strengthening Spell on the spun glass ball, and slid it into my pocket along with a healthy helping of cobwebs. I ripped the label from the shelf and shoved it in my pocket as I stood up in a flourish of robes.

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," said Hermione sharply, as he stretched out his hand.

"Why not?" he countered. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

"Don't, Harry," said Neville suddenly. Harry looked at him. Neville's round face was shining slightly with sweat. He looked as though he could not take much more suspense.

"It's got my name on," Harry replied slowly.

"It should be safe," I said, and nodded to him. The others looked at me like I was crazy and I shifted to hide the distinct ball-shaped bulge in my robes. Harry grinned at me weakly, looking relieved to have me supporting him.

He closed his fingers around the dusty ball's surface. Harry lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it. Nothing whatsoever happened. The others moved in closer around Harry, gazing at the orb as he brushed it free of the clogging dust.

And then, from right behind us, a drawling voice spoke.

"Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

We all whipped around, casting the light of our wands down the aisle. From the darkness emerged a figure in a black robe. At first, I thought wildly that it was a robot, then the person took a step closer. Suddenly, that horribly familiar drawling voice made sense as I saw the silver skull-shaped mask, long lengths of platinum blonde hair hanging over broad shoulders.

"Where's Sirius?" Harry snapped, clutching the ball to his chest and pointing his wand at the advancing figure.

"You know," the figure mused. He raised a snake-headed cane and drew the wand from within with a rasping sound. I sucked in a breath. "You really should learn to tell the difference between dreams…" He raised his wand and drew it across his face, the edge of his mask catching and tearing away in a wisp of smoke. "And reality."

Lucius Malfoy smirked.

I froze. What the hell was I supposed to do? He was the father of the boy I…had strong feelings for. Draco wasn't exactly a daddy's boy but Lucius was his father and I couldn't imagine how he would feel to lose his father or have him wounded. Even worse, I might be the one who had to do it. I didn't want him to hate me… but I didn't want to die. I didn't want any of the people here with me to die.

So that was it then. I was disadvantaged from the out because the Death Eaters didn't give a damn, but I had to shoot to disable and stun, not to kill or wound.

"Damn," I mouthed.

Lucius gave a humorless 'ha' of laughter. "You saw only what the Dark Lord wanted you to see, Potter. Now… hand me the prophecy."

Harry didn't hesitate for a moment to say, "Do anything to us and I'll smash it."

A loud, manic cackle came from the darkness. Lucius looked over his shoulder as a woman in a tightly-corseted black dress steppe from the shadows, her face partially-concealed by a mane of wild black curls.

"He knows how to play!" she sang. "Itty bitty baby Potter."

Neville was white as a sheet as his nightmare stood before him. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he breathed.

"Neville Longbottom is it? How's mom and dad?" Bellatrix bit out mockingly.

Neville raised his hand and took a step forward. "Better, now that they're about to be avenged!"

Harry raised a hand, stopping Neville in his tracks.

"Don't do anything," Harry muttered. "Not yet-"

Bellatrix let out a raucous scream of laughter. "You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!"

"Oh, you don't know Potter as I do, Bellatrix," said Lucius softly. "He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter."

The Slytherin mask dropped in place as I took a subtle step forward, around Ginny, drawing eyes to me.

"It's been a while, Mr. Malfoy," I said mildly. "What is it, almost a year? And Bellatrix, we've never been properly introduced. I forget, where were you last summer?" I paused as if thinking. "Oh right, locked up and worthless." I laughed lightly. "Silly, I forgot…"

Lucius smirked. "Enraging Bella is probably not the best tactic for a distraction, Miss Potter."

"A distraction?" I asked blankly. "Oh, what, like I'm supposed to be surprised about the rest of your friends creeping up the aisle?"

I heard the others whip around and press their backs together, pointing their wands down the aisles. As I'd guessed, more and more Death Eaters were slinking from the shadows, their cloaks and masks providing them with good cover.

"So let me get this straight," I said slowly. "We hand over this… prophecy, was it? Interesting, good to know. And you'll just let us run back to school? Forgive me, I know Luna's the only Ravenclaw here, but are you under the impression you're talking to idiots?"

Bellatrix directed her wand at Harry. " _Accio proph-"_

"Ah!" I spun, the edge of my robe swinging up and covering Harry's hand as he clutched the prophecy tighter. I wiggled my finger at Bellatrix, who glared at me hatefully. "No no no." I flared the edge of my robe pointedly. "Magic-repellant," I said with a wink.

"I told you no!" Lucius Malfoy roared at her. "If you smash it - !"

"You need more persuasion?"she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Very well - take the smallest one," she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. "Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I'll do it."

We closed in around Ginny. Harry stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest.

"You'll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us," he told Bellatrix. "I don't think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?"

She stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth.

"So," said Harry, "what kind of prophecy are we talking about, anyway?"

I could feel one of Ron's quickened breath on the back of my head. Neville was shaking, pressed against my side.

"What kind of prophecy?" repeated Bellatrix, the grin fading from her face. "You jest, Harry Potter."

"Nope, not jesting," said Harry, his eyes flicking from Death Eater to Death Eater, looking for a weak link, a space through which we could escape. There wasn't one, I'd checked. We were going to have to blast our way down an aisle. "How come Voldemort wants it?"

Several of the Death Eaters let out low hisses.

"You dare speak his name?" whispered Bellatrix, and abruptly roared, "You filthy half-blood!"

"Yeah," said Harry rebelliously. "Yeah, I've got no problem with saying Vol-"

"Shut your mouth!" Bellatrix shrieked. "You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood's tongue, you dare-"

"Did you know he's a half-blood too?" said Harry recklessly. Hermione gave a little moan in his ear. "Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle - or has he been telling you lot he's pure-blood?"

" _Stupef-"_

" _No!"_

A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, but Lucius deflected it. His spell caused hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shattered.

Two figures, pearly-white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and each began to speak. Their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they were saying could be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix's shouts.

"... at the solstice will come a new…" said the figure of an old, bearded man.

" _Do not attack! We need the prophecy!"_

"He dared - he dares-" shrieked Bellatrix incoherently, "he stands there - filthy half-blood-"

"Wait until we've got the prophecy!" bellowed Malfoy.

"... and none will come after…" said the figure of a young woman.

The two figures that had burst from the shattered spheres melted into thin air. Nothing remained of them or their erstwhile homes but fragments of glass upon the floor. They had, however, given me an idea. A glance to the side showed that, for once, Harry and I were on exactly the same page.

"You haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over," he said, playing for time. I melted back into the group and murmured to Luna, barely moving my lips.

"Do not play games with us, Potter," said Malfoy.

"I'm not playing games," continued Harry.

"What?" Hermione whispered.

"Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?" Malfoy sneered.

"I - what?" I scowled as Harry quite obviously forgot the plan. "What about my scar?"

"What?" whispered Hermione more urgently behind him.

"Can this be?" said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted. Some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, "Smash shelves-"

"Dumbledore never told you?" Malfoy repeated. 'Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why-"

"-when I say now-"

"-you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording…"

"Did he?" said Harry. "So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why?"

"Why?" Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted. "Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him."

"And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?"

"About both of you, Potter, about both of you... haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?"

I froze. There was a reason we had been targeted, aside from the fact that our parents had opposed Voldemort. Of course, I knew he'd been after them, and I knew Voldemort only killed special people personally, but I'd assumed that only meant that James and Lily Potter were exceptionally large thorns in his side. Apparently it was more than that.

"Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?" he said quietly, gazing at Lucius Malfoy. "And he's made me come and get it for him? Why couldn't he come and get it himself?"

"Get it himself?" shrieked Bellatrix, over a cackle of mad laughter. "The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?"

"So, he's got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?" guessed Harry. "Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it - and Bode?"

"Very good, Potter, very good..." said Malfoy slowly. "But the Dark Lord knows you are not unintell-"

" _Now!"_


	74. Sirus

" _Reducto!"_

Six curses flew in six different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurled into the air and floated there, their voices echoing from who knew what long-dead past amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood now raining down upon the floor –

The shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to fall from above. Harry seized a handful of Hermione's robes and dragged her forwards, holding one arm over his head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thundered down upon them. I grabbed Luna by the elbow and dragged her after me. A Death Eater lunged forwards through the cloud of dust and Harry elbowed him hard in the masked face. Everyone was yelling; there were cries of pain and thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon themselves, weirdly echoing fragments of the Seers unleashed from their spheres .

A Death Eater lunged from the side, grabbing onto Luna's shoulder and yanking her out of my grip. She staggered and he punched her in the nose, dropping her to the ground with blood running from her nose.

"Luna!" I yelled furiously. The Death Eater turned and I recognized the shape of him – Mr. Parkinson. Blood pounded in my ears and with rage in my veins I spat out, _"Ossio Despersimus_!" Mr. Parkinson screamed in pain as the Bone-Breaker Curse hit his arm and shattered his radius and ulna into powder. I reached down and grabbed Luna by the collar of her sweater, heaving her up and shoving her on in front of me.

We were at the end of row ninety-seven. Harry turned right and led the charge as Hermione urged Neville on.

In a burst of smoke Lucius Malfoy appeared in front of us with a hand extended for the prophecy, staring down his nose at us.

"Back, back!" I yelled, seizing Hermione by the shoulder and shoving her behind me. We turned tail and ran, Neville, Luna, and Ginny staggering off down another aisle perpendicular to ours.

"Damn it!" I swore, and gasped as a hand grabbed my shoulder. Instinctively I snapped an elbow back, catching whoever it was in the stomach. _"Confringo!"_ I tossed over my shoulder, and heard a man's voice yell in agony and curse, frantically stamping on his flaming robes.

Ahead I saw Harry punch a man in the nose as he and Hermione and Ron ran. A figure swooped past me, hot on their trail. Hermione looked over her shoulder and began to wave her wand, bringing prophecies from the shelves smashing down onto the man's head. I pointed my wand at his back.

" _Stupefy!"_ I cast, and the spell rebounded off his shield. He spun around and Hermione nailed him in the back. I started sprinting after them, leaping the man's unconscious form and pelting after them. Hermione shrieked in surprise as three more figures shot out of a side passage. It was Ginny, Neville, and Luna, they'd doubled back to find us.

" _Reducto!"_ Ginny shouted as a figure that was only just appearing behind me. The spell sailed over my shoulder, ruffling my hair as it passed. It hit the figure with a loud concussive force and blasted him back. The force rattled the orbs on the shelves and they clinked like wind chimes. Some began to roll, then to fall, and suddenly it was as if all of the shelves gave out at once, the shifting orbs wrecking their balance and dragging them into collapse.

"Run," I said faintly as the shelves began a domino effect, coming closer and closer to us _. "Run!"_

"Back to the door!" Harry yelled. Neville grabbed Luna and we all started running, sprinting for the circular room. Orbs began to fall ahead of us as the vibrations of the shelves rocked the room.

"This way!" Ron yelled, and, to my horror, Luna and Ginny followed after him. I screamed a warning but they were too far gone, the sound of breaking glass too loud, to realize they'd gone the wrong way. We could see the light of the Tome Room in front of us, the door standing open.

We shot out of the prophecy room and dove under desks. We could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly.

"They might've run straight through to the hall," said a rough voice.

"Check under the desks," said another.

Harry poked his wand out from under a desk and roared, _"Stupefy!"_

A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater. He fell backwards into a grandfather clock and knocked it over. A second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry's spell and was pointing his own wand at Hermione, who was crawling out from under the desk to get a better aim.

" _Avada-"_

" _Expelliarmus!"_ I yelled, and his wand arched through the air into my hand. I clenched it tightly and was about to cast something far nastier when I recognized the slightly hunched posture of Nott's dad. _"Stupefy!"_ I cast, and knocked the older man out while tucking his wand into my pocket.

Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed a Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Neville overturned a desk in his anxiety to help. Pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair, he cried, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back towards the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy. B scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front, Harry hot on his heels, and Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck by what he had done.

"Damn it, Neville!" I growled as I scrambled after the lot of them.

"Get out of the way, Harry!" yelled Neville, clearly determined to repair the damage.

Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted, _"Stupefy!"_

The jet of red light flew right over the Death Eaters shoulder and hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hour-glasses. The cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass flying everywhere, sprang back up on to the wall, fully mended, then fell down again, and shattered…

The Death Eater snatched up his wand, which lay on the floor beside the glittering bell jar. Harry ducked down behind another desk as the man turned. His mask had slipped so that he couldn't see. He ripped it off with his free hand and shouted, _"Stup-"_

Hermione came flying out from behind a nearby desk in a flurry of curly hair. _"Stupefy!"_

The jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his chest. He froze, his arm still raised, his wand fell to the floor with a flatter and he collapsed backwards towards the bell jar. I expected to hear a clunk, for the man to hit solid glass and slide off the jar on to the floor, but instead, his head sank through the surface of the bell jar as though it were nothing but a soap bubble and he came to rest, sprawled on his back on the table, with his head lying inside the jar full of glittering wind.

"Nice shot," I praised, panting a bit.

" _Accio wand!"_ cried Hermione. Harry's wand flew from a dark corner into her hand and she threw it to him.

"Thanks," he said. "Right, let's get out of-"

"Look out!" cried Neville, horrified. He was staring at the Death Eater's head in the bell jar.

All three of us raised our wands again, but none of us struck. We were all gazing, open-mouthed, appalled, at what was happening to the man's head. It was shrinking very fast, growing balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull, his cheeks becoming smooth, his skull round and covered with a peach-like fuzz...

A baby's head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again. As we watched, our mouths open, the head began to swell to its previous proportions again, thick black hair was sprouting from the pate and chin...

"It's Time," said Hermione in an awestruck voice. "Time..."

"No shit," I breathed.

The Death Eater shook his ugly head again, trying to clear it, but before he could pull himself together it began to shrink back to babyhood once more...

There was a shout from a room nearby, then a crash and a scream.

"Ron?" Harry yelled, turning quickly from the monstrous transformation taking place before us. "Ginny? Luna?"

"Harry!" Hermione screamed.

The Death Eater had pulled his head out of the bell jar. His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby's head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who had ducked. Harry raised his wand but to his amazement Hermione seized his arm.

"You can't hurt a baby!"

"Bloody watch me," I snapped, and raised my wand. " _Petrificus Totalus!"_

Footsteps were growing louder from the Hall of Prophecy and I knew that Harry had given our position away by shouting, if the noise of the fight hadn't brought them anyway.

"Come on!" he said, and we left the ugly baby-headed Death Eater staggering behind us as we took off for the door that stood open at the other end of the room, leading back into the black hallway.

We had run halfway towards it when I saw through the open door two more Death Eaters running across the black room towards us. Harry veered left and we followed, bursting into a small, dark, cluttered office and slamming the door behind ourselves.

" _Collo-"_ began Hermione, but before she could complete the spell the door had burst open and the two Death Eaters had come hurtling inside.

With a cry of triumph, both yelled, _"Impedimenta!"_

Harry, Hermione and Neville were all knocked backwards off their feet. Neville was thrown over the desk and disappeared from view. Hermione smashed into a bookcase and was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books. The back of Harry's head slammed into the stone wall behind him, tiny lights burst in front of his eyes and for a moment he was too dizzy and bewildered to react.

My robes meant that I merely staggered.

"We've got them!" yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry. "In an off-"

" _Silencio!"_ I cast and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death Eater.

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board and unable to move.

"Well done, Ha-"

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand. A streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny "Oh!" as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless.

"Hermione!" Harry roared and I screamed in wordless rage.

Harry fell to his knees beside her as Neville crawled rapidly towards her from under the desk, his wand held up in front of him. The Death Eater kicked out hard at Neville's head as he emerged - his foot broke Neville's wand in two and connected with his face. Neville gave a howl of pain and recoiled, clutching his mouth and nose. Harry twisted around, his own wand held high, and saw that the Death Eater had ripped off his mask and was pointing his wand directly at Harry. I recognized the long, pale, twisted face from the Daily Prophet Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who had murdered the Prewetts.

Dolohov grinned. With his free hand, he pointed from the prophecy still clutched in Harry's hand, to himself, then at Hermione. Though he could no longer speak, his meaning could not have been clearer. _Give me the prophecy, or you get the same as her..._

"Whaddever you do, Harry," said Neville fiercely from under the desk, lowering his hands to show a clearly broken nose and blood pouring down his mouth and chin, "don'd gib it to him!"

Then there was a crash outside the door and Dolohov looked over his shoulder - the baby-headed Death Eater had appeared in the doorway, his head bawling, his great fists still flailing uncontrollably at everything around him.

" _Deprimo!"_ I yelled, and the Death Eater gave a noiseless shout as the spell gouged deeply into his back. I jerked my wand around. " _Expelliarmus! Incarcerus! Stupefy!"_

The barrage of spells was ruthless. The first hurt Dolohov and distracted him, the second took his hope of defending himself. The third took him down, collapsing onto the baby-headed Death Eater, and the final spell knocked them both out.

"Hermione," Harry said at once, shaking her as the room fell silent. "Hermione…"

"Whaddid he do to her?" asked Neville, crawling out from under the desk to kneel at her other side, blood streaming from his rapidly swelling nose.

"I dunno...

Neville groped for Hermione's wrist.

"Dat's a pulse, Harry, I'b sure id i-"

" _Episkey!"_

"Ow!"

"Sorry," I said unapologetically as Neville's nose snapped back into place and healed. He reached up and rubbed at his face, smearing blood onto his sleeve but getting the worst of it all. He looked from it to me in surprise.

"Thanks."

"She's alive," Harry breathed in relief.

"Yeah, I think so," Neville insisted.

There was a pause as we listened hard for the sound of more footsteps, but all we could hear was silence.

"Neville, we're not far from the exit," Harry whispered. "We're right next to that circular room... if we can just get you across it and find the right door before any more Death Eaters come, I'll bet you can get Hermione up the corridor and into the lift... then you could find someone... raise the alarm..."

"And what are you going to do?" frowned Neville, mopping more blood from his face.

"'I've got to find the others," explained Harry.

"Well, I'm going to find them with you," said Neville firmly.

"But Hermione-"

I dug into my pockets. My fingers brushed the orb still in my pocket and I took a moment to subtly cast yet another Strengthening Charm on it before dragging out the vial of phoenix tears. Hermione didn't seem to be bleeding, so any damage must be internal. These were my tears and I could always cry more, so I didn't think anything about forcing Hermione's mouth open and dumping half the vial down her throat, tilting her head back and massaging her neck to help her get it down.

"We'll take her with us," said Neville firmly. "I'll carry her - you're better at fighting them than I am-"

He stood up and seized one of Hermione's arms, glaring at Harry, who hesitated, then grabbed the other and helped hoist Hermione's limp form over Neville's shoulders.

"Wait," cautioned Harry, snatching up Hermione's wand from the floor and shoving it into Neville's hand, "you'd better take this."

Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly towards the door.

"My gran's going to kill me," said Neville thickly. "That was my dad's old wand."

Harry stuck his head out of the door and looked around cautiously. The glass-fronted cabinet that Inow suspected had contained Time-Turners continued to fall, shatter and repair itself on the wall behind them, but other than that all was quiet.

"C'mon," he whispered. "Keep close behind me…"

We crept out of the office and back towards the door into the black hallway, which now seemed completely deserted. We walked a few steps forwards, Neville tottering slightly due to Hermione's weight. The door of the Time Room swung shut behind them and the walls began to rotate once more. Unfortunately, Hermione was out for the count and that meant that her spell was gone as well. The doors we'd gone through were no longer marked.

"So which way d'you reck-?"

A door to our right sprang open and three people fell out of it.

"Ron!" croaked Harry, dashing towards them. "Ginny - are you all-?"

"Harry!" cried Ron, giggling weakly, lurching forwards, seizing the front of Harry's robes and gazing at him with unfocused eyes. "There you are... ha ha ha... you look funny, Harry... you're all messed up..."

Ron's face was very white and something dark was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Next moment his knees had given way, but he still clutched the front of Harry's robes, so that Harry was pulled into a kind of bow.

"Ginny?" Harry said fearfully, his eyes flicking to her. "What happened?"

Ginny shook her head and slid down the wall into a sitting position, panting and holding her ankle.

"I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack," whispered Luna, who was bending over her and who alone seemed to be unhurt. "Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets; it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark-"

"Harry, we saw Uranus up close!" interrupted Ron, still giggling feebly. "Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus - ha ha ha-" A bubble of blood grew at the corner of Ron's mouth and burst.

"Sweet Salazar, someone Stun him," I growled as I surged towards Ginny and Luna obligingly moved back as I cast, _"Ferula!"_ and Ginny's ankle was splinted.

Luna continued, "Anyway, one of them grabbed Ginny's foot, I used the Reductor Curse and blew up Pluto in his face, but…"

Luna gestured hopelessly at Ginny, who was breathing in a very shallow way, her eyes still closed. I cast a quick Pain-Relief Charm and made a serious mental note to myself to start brewing medical potions like my life depended on it – because it bloody well might.

"And what about Ron?" asked Harry fearfully, as Ron continued to giggle, still hanging off the front of Harry's robes.

"I don't know what they hit him with," admitted Luna sadly, "but he's gone a bit funny, I could hardly get him along at all."

"Harry," said Ron, pulling Harry's ear down to his mouth and still giggling weakly. "You know who this girl is, Harry? She's Loony... Loony Lovegood... ha ha ha..."

"We've got to get out of here," said Harry firmly. "Luna, can you or Rena help Ginny?"

"Yes," said Luna, sticking her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, then putting an arm around Ginny's waist and pulling her up.

"It's only my ankle, I can do it myself!" said Ginny impatiently, but next moment she had collapsed sideways and grabbed Luna for support.

"I'd kill for a dose of Skele-Gro," I muttered as I bent down and splashed some phoenix tears on her ankle. Honestly I didn't know if it would help any but it couldn't hurt. Harry pulled Ron's arm over his shoulder and looked around. We only had a one in twelve chance of getting the exit right first time.

I wasn't a fan of those odds, considering that exactly four of us out of seven were still functional.

Harry heaved Ron towards a door. We were within a few feet of it when another door across the hall burst open and three Death Eaters sped in, led by Bellatrix Lestrange.

"There they are!" she shrieked.

Stunning Spells shot across the room. Harry smashed his way through the door ahead, flung Ron unceremoniously from him and ducked back to help Neville in with Hermione. I grabbed Ginny with Luna and we began to drag her through the door. We were all over the threshold just in time to slam the door against Bellatrix.

" _Colloportus!"_ shouted Harry, and we heard three bodies slam into the door on the other side.

"It doesn't matter!" said a man's voice. "There are other ways in – we've got 'em, they're here!"

I cursed as I realized where we were. We were back in the Brain Room and, sure enough, there were doors all around the walls. We could hear footsteps in the hall behind them as more Death Eaters came running to join the first.

"Luna - Neville – Rena - help me!"

The three of us tore around the room, sealing the doors as they went. Harry crashed into a table and rolled over the top of it in his haste to reach the next door.

" _Colloportus!"_

There were footsteps running along behind the doors. Every now and then another heavy body would launch itself against one, so it creaked and shuddered. Luna and Neville were bewitching the doors along the opposite wall as I ran with Harry. We had reached the very top of the room, we heard Luna yell.

" _Collo- aaaaaaaaargh!"_

We turned in time to see her flying through the air. Five Death Eaters were surging into the room through the door she had not reached in time. Luna hit a desk, slid over its surface and on to the floor on the other side where she lay sprawled, as still as Hermione.

"Get Potter!" shrieked Bellatrix, and she ran at him. He dodged her and sprinted back up the room. He was safe as long as they thought they might hit the prophecy. I, however, didn't have that luxury.

In an act of supreme irony, Ron saved me.

"Hey!" said Ron, who had staggered to his feet and was now tottering drunkenly towards Harry, giggling. "Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Harry?"

"Ron, get out of the way, get down-"

But Ron had already pointed his wand at the tank. "Honest, Harry, they're brains - look - _Accio brain!"_

The scene seemed momentarily frozen. We and each of the Death Eaters turned in spite of ourselves to watch the top of the tank as a brain burst from the green liquid like a leaping fish. For a moment it seemed suspended in midair, then it soared towards Ron, spinning as it came, and what looked like ribbons of moving images flew from it, unravelling like rolls of film…

"Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it-" said Ron, watching it disgorge its gaudy innards. "Harry, come and touch it, bet it's weird-"

In sync, Harry and I roared, "Ron, no!"

Neither of us knew what would happen if Ron touched the tentacles of thought now flying behind the brain, but it would not be anything good. Harry darted forwards but Ron had already caught the brain in his outstretched hands. The moment they made contact with his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around Ron's arms like ropes.

"Harry, look what's happen- No - no - I don't like it - no, stop – stop-"

But the thin ribbons were spinning around Ron's chest now. He tugged and tore at them as the brain was pulled tight against him like an octopus's body.

" _Diffindo!"_ yelled Harry, trying to sever the feelers wrapping themselves tightly around Ron before his eyes, but they would not break. Ron fell over, still thrashing against his bonds.

"Harry, it'll suffocate him!" screamed Ginny, immobilized by her broken ankle on the floor - then a jet of red light flew from one of the Death Eater's wands and hit her squarely in the face. She keeled over sideways and lay there unconscious.

Neville fired off Stunners like a madman, but they were all deflected or just plain missed, and I made a mental note to smack Harry later for never teaching his students how to hit a moving target. One of the Death Eaters shot their own Stunning Spell at Neville. It missed him by inches. Harry, Neville I were now the only three left fighting the five Death Eaters. Two of whom sent off streams of silver light like arrows which missed but left craters in the wall behind us. Harry ran for it as Bellatrix Lestrange raced right at him, holding the prophecy high above his head. I knew what he was doing: reminding the Death Eaters that he had the prophecy, that the others were just distractions. He wanted to draw the Death Eaters away from the others. Honestly, it was our best plan thus far.

Blessedly, it seemed to have worked. They streaked after him, knocking chairs and tables flying but not daring to bewitch him in case they hurt the prophecy, and he dashed through the only door still open, the one through which the Death Eaters themselves had come. I sprinted after him, hoping Neville would have the good sense to stay with the others and get them to safety but honestly rather doubting it.

We flew through the door and the floor vanished. We were falling down steep stone step after steep stone step, bouncing on every tier until at last, with a crash that knocked all the breath out of my body, I landed flat on his back in the sunken pit where the stone archway stood on its dais, Harry slamming down next to me. The whole room was ringing with the Death Eater's laughter. I looked up and saw the five who had been in the Brain Room descending towards us while as many more emerged through other doorways and began leaping from bench to bench towards us. Harry and I climbed to our feet. I glanced to the side and saw the prophecy miraculously still unbroken in his hand and felt the weight of the one in my pocket. Harry backed away, looking around, trying to keep all the Death Eaters within his sight. The back of my legs hit something solid. We had reached the dais where the archway stood. Harry climbed backwards onto it and I followed him up.

The Death Eaters all halted, gazing at us. Some were panting as hard as I was. One was bleeding badly, others were leering.

"Potter, your race is run," drawled Lucius Malfoy, emerging from the crowd and looking hardly winded, hardly ruffled. Doubtless he'd sat back and let the others chase us. "Now hand me the prophecy like a good boy."

"Let - let the others go, and I'll give it to you!" bargained Harry desperately.

A few of the Death Eaters laughed.

"You are not in a position to bargain, Potter," chuckled Lucius Malfoy, his pale face flushed with pleasure. "You see, there are ten of us and only two of you... or hasn't Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?"

"He's not alone!" shouted a voice from above them. "He's still got me!"

Neville was scrambling down the stone benches towards them, Hermione's wand held fast in his trembling hand.

"Bloody fucking Gryffindors!" I hissed furiously, wicked green sparks pouring from my wand. If Neville had been smart, had stayed back, had gotten the others to safety. But no, foolishly, stupidly, he'd charged into a fight he didn't stand a chance in and now we were all going to die and it would be a miracle if the others made it out as well.

"Neville - no - go back to Ron-" Harry begged

" _Stupefy!"_ Neville shouted again, pointing his wand at each Death Eater in turn. " _Stupefy! Stupefy!"_

"Aim, damn it!" I roared at him as the spells missed. One of the largest Death Eaters seized Neville from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides. He struggled and kicked. Several of the Death Eaters laughed.

"It's Longbottom, isn't it?" sneered Lucius Malfoy. "Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause... your death will not come as a great shock."

Neville fought so hard against his captor's encircling grip that the Death Eater shouted, "Someone Stun him!"

"No, no, no," cooed Bellatrix. She looked transported, alive with excitement as she glanced at Harry, then back at Neville. "No, let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents... unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy."

"Don't give it to him!" roared Neville, who seemed beside himself, kicking and writhing as Bellatrix drew nearer to him and his captor, her wand raised. "Don't give it to them, Harry!"

Bellatrix raised her wand _. "Crucio!"_

Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony.

"That was just a taster!" said Bellatrix, raising her wand so that Neville's screams stopped and he lay sobbing at her feet. I was panting, my mind back in the dim hall of Hogwarts with Parkinson looming over me. Bellatrix turned and gazed up at us. "Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!"

To Harry, there was no choice. He held it out. Lucius jumped forwards to take it.

Overhead, a door banged open and a sweep of light surged down behind Lucius Malfoy. The man turned, startled, and his eyes widened as the light resolved into Sirius.

"Get away from my god-kids," Sirius said simply, his grey eyes alight, before he hauled off and slugged Lucius. More lights swept down and Order members stepped from them: Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley.

"Harry!" I grabbed him and dove off the dais out of the way as spells began to fly. The Death Eaters were completely distracted by the appearance of the members of the Order, who were now raining spells down upon them as they jumped from step to step towards the sunken floor. Through the darting bodies, the flashes of light, I could see Neville crawling along.

Sirius flung himself off the dais and landed in a crouch next to us, looking at us in a mix of exasperation and delight. A Death Eater began to circle, firing spells at us, and a spell hit between Harry and I's heads, blasting a crater in the stone. I hissed as a chunk of it sliced above my left eyebrow. Sirius fired off a spell and the Death Eater lunged out of the way to avoid it, only to get hit by another spell from Moody at a tap of his staff.

Kingsley was fighting two at once. Tonks, still halfway up the tiered seats, was firing spells down at Bellatrix, who I realized with a jolt was both her and Draco's aunt.

"Listen to me," Sirius said, one hand on both of our shoulders. "I want you to take the others and get out of here.

"No, I'm not leaving you!" Harry insisted immediately. Despite the Slytherin in me screaming to run and save my own ass, I was with Harry. Even with the arrival of the Order members we were still outnumbered and I for one wasn't keen on leaving Sirius and Remus here all alone with people like Bellatrix and Macnair.

"You're done beautifully," Sirius said, and I caught his tone leaning a little more towards aggravated. He knew we wouldn't be in this mess if Harry hadn't shot off the Ministry for what was, ostensibly, no reason. I felt guilty for not trying to stop him, even though I knew I wouldn't have been able to. "Let us take it from here."

Sirius made a sound of disgust as the dais next to us exploded under a spell. Lucius Malfoy appeared before us as we shot to our feet. Malfoy fired a spell and Sirius cast a Shield in front of Harry, stopping it before it could connect.

It was Harry and I versus the unknown Death Eater as Lucius and Sirius dueled, Sirius's face alight with amusement and joy at finally, finally being free to do something. It was a life-threatening situation and my godfather was laughing. He wasn't crazy, he was just so happy to finally be doing something. He'd grown up in, been molded by, a war, and then he'd been sidelined in a jail for almost a decade in a half. When he was finally freed, he'd been stuck back in a metaphorical prison without so much as a by your leave. For the first time since he'd been freed from Azkhaban, this must feel like something he could do.

I found myself grinning and laughing wildly as I dueled the Death Eater at Harry's side, finally, finally, at Harry's side! My wand moved in a blur and I chanted spells so fast that they ran into each other. With a wild cry I yanked Nott's father's wand from my pocket and pointed both at the Death Eater.

" _Stupefy!"_ Harry and I cried at the same time, and what was essentially a triple spell shot the Death Eater back and into a wall. There was an alarming crunch and he slid to the floor, unconscious.

"Nice one, James!" Sirius barked out, and hit spell connected with Lucius Malfoy, the spell knocking the case of the can from his hand. A second spell Disarmed him and a third sent him flying backwards. I grinned along with Sirius, who laughed as Lucius smacked into the stone wall.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

The spell came out of nowhere, a jet of green light that illuminated Sirius's smiling face in an eerie greenish glow for just a moment as it connected. For a moment, my brain screeched to a halt as I struggled to process. In that moment, Sirius's face fell slightly as he realized what had happened, but his lips curled up, fondness in his eyes, as he stared at Harry and I. His lips parted and a breath escaped him, like he wanted to say something, but he was already gone, falling backwards through the veil. There was no thump as he hit the ground.

Somehow, that lack of sound was what made my brain slam back into motion. Avada Kedavra. Sirius. Dead. Who cast? _Bellatrix._ The sound of her cackling rang in my ears like church bells and in that moment rage the likes of which even I had never felt slammed through me. Or perhaps it was that the rage was tied so closely with grief that made it feel so much more powerful than anything I'd ever experienced.

The world was still coming to me in fractured thoughts. Scuffling next to me. Who? Harry. Remus. Harry screaming. No just Harry. Me? Remus holding Harry. Someone holding me. Strong arms. Dark. Kingsley. Bellatrix, Bellatrix smiling as she ducked from the room, fleeing the fight, fleeing what she'd done, fleeing the scene of the murder of Sirius Black, her cousin, my godfather, the man I'd only just started to get to know after so many years were cruelly snatched from us. She had just stolen how many more?

My elbow slammed back into Kingsley's face at the same moment Harry succeeded in breaking Remus's grip on him and the pair of us tore from the room, following the sound of Bellatrix's laughter. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and we were back in the room where the brains were swimming.

She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry and I were deluged in the foul-smelling potion within. The brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long colored tentacles, but he shouted, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ and they flew off him up into the air. My sneakers slipped and slid on the greasy potion on the floor as I followed Harry to the door. We leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, "Harry - what - ?" past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. Harry wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room. Beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.

We ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls were already rotating. Once more, we were surrounded by streaks of blue light from the whirling candelabra.

"Where's she gone?" I roared desperately as the wall rumbled to a halt again.

The room seemed to have been waiting for me to ask. The door right behind us flew open and the corridor towards the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. We ran.

I could hear a lift clattering ahead. We sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner and Harry slammed his fist on to the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower. The grilles slid open and Harry dashed inside, now hammering the button marked Atrium. The doors slid shut and he was rising, rising up after Bellatrix, rising up to kill her, end her…

The grills were opening too slow. A cry of " _Bombarda!"_ and the blast from my wand blew them off and sent them spinning across the ground in a heap of twisted metal. Bellatrix was almost at the telephone lift at the other end of the hall, but she looked back at the sound as we sprinted towards her and aimed another spell at us. We dodged behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The spell zoomed past and hit the wrought-gold gates at the other end of the Atrium so that they rang like bells. There were no more footsteps. She had stopped running. We crouched behind the statues, listening.

"Come out, come out, little Potters!" she called in her mock baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. "What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!"

"I am!" shouted Harry, and a score of ghostly Harry's seemed to chorus I am! I am! I am! all around the room.

"Aaaaaah... did you love him, little baby Potters?"

Harry flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed, _"Crucio!"_

Bellatrix screamed .The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had, as I had. She stared up at us, breathless, no longer laughing.

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" she hissed. She had abandoned her baby voice now as her hand crept towards her dropped wand. "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain - to enjoy it - righteous anger won't hurt me for long - I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson-"

Her hand darted for the wand and a flick of mine sent it leaping away as I stepped from behind the fountain. Her eyes narrowed at me hatefully as I came to stand by Harry, my wand raised.

"You're right, he doesn't have it in him." Bellatrix lay on the ground, panting. A strange sort of icy calm washing over me.

" _Crucio,"_ I said simply. The word seemed to roll off my tongue and tickle my lips; I felt every part of it leave my mouth. I watched in fascination as Bellatrix screamed and writhed, muscles spasming uncontrollably and tears streaming down her cheeks.

I suddenly became conscious of the fact that I was speaking.

"Harry can't pull off a spell like this. I don't think he's ever truly hated anyone. I have. I hate. I covet. I revenge myself upon my enemies and I'm ruthless and cruel to those who wrong me. I have the desire to hurt you. You who have taken so much from me.

"I think, as well. I think that if I leave alive, you will continue to torture and kill. You may even harm someone else I care about, kill someone else I love. So I think that the best thing to do… would be to kill you. Right here. Right now."

"R-Rena…"

I could hear Harry's shaky voice and knew without looking that he was staring at me. From the corner of my eye I could see that his wand had been lowered. I could feel his eyes on my face. Wary. Uncertain.

Judgmental.

Voldemort was right. Right now there was no good or evil. Some would say that killing Bellatrix was justified – a life for a life. Others would argue that all life was sacred, even one like hers. There was no right or wrong answer, there was only me standing there with my wand in my hand and a choice hanging over my head.

There was no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. I was not weak.

Harry was.

I felt confident in my choice, proud, even, of my ability to make it, as I gripped my wand tighter, the spell rising in my throat.

" _Avada-"_

" _Enough."_

* * *

 ** _I know, I know it's a bit of a cliffhanger, but I'm sorry, the sadist in me can't resist!_**


	75. Possessed

**I know, I know, I made you all wait, so here it is! And I hope you enjoy Lorena and Voldemort in this chapter!**

* * *

Harry and I both turned, but the rising lump in my throat told me who it was. Only one person had ever brought that sensation on. I panted through my nose as I stared at the snake-like face of Voldemort, red eyes glimmering in the light. Harry and I instinctively raised our wands. There was a spell on my lips, I didn't know which one, but it didn't matter. Voldemort dragged his hand through the air and our wands went clattering away across the ground.

To the right, one of the grates for employees Flooing in blazed with green fire and, from the flames, stepped Dumbledore. He looked far more serious, far more intent, than I had ever seen him, his attention locked on Voldemort.

"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom," Dumbledore rumbled, his hand at his side. "The Aurors are on their way."

Tom, that's right, the monster in front of me used to be my little boy. In desperation I searched Voldemort's face, but I could find nothing of my boy there. His sharp cheeks were now sunken, an aristocratic nose flattened to snake-like slits. He was still tall, still thin, and the wand in his hands was still the same. The wand made from the same wood as mine.

"By which time I shall be gone and you," Voldemort made a sweeping gesture with his wand, "shall be dead."

Dumbledore used a second to knock Harry and I aside, sending us skidding behind the fountain. Voldemort drew back his wand and attacked and Dumbledore swung his around to begin a retaliatory spell. The crackle of flames sounded and I screamed in rage as I saw Bellatrix escape into the Floo network, the green fire sweeping her away to safety.

Dumbledore and Voldemort unleashed spells on each other. The spells hit and collided but neither wizard gave, each trying to make their spell overpower the other. Dumbledore's jet of red light hit Voldemort's green and sparked, throwing off waves of magic and bursts of power. The pair of them fought, will against will, as Harry and I crouched behind the fountain and stared in awe.

Voldemort broke the connection and brought a hand to his mouth. He spread his fingers and revealed a fireball. Blowing on it sent it surging higher and higher into the air, forming into a gigantic snake that bared its fangs. The massive fiery manifest sent a wave of heat through the room and I was suddenly unpleasantly aware of just how sweaty I was.

The snake dove for Dumbledore, who swung his wand as if he were brandishing a sword. The snake recoiled from the lash and flailed its head. Dumbledore drew his wand around and the snake collapsed in on itself. His hands spread and a wave of fire burst outwards at his will, Voldemort's snake gone. Voldemort lashed the flames aside and Dumbledore gave a twirl of his wand.

The water in the fountain rose up and out of the basin at his call and washed over the side, towards Voldemort. Like a conductor, Dumbledore manipulated it, wrapping it up and around the black-robed figure. Voldemort could be seen thrashing inside as the water covered him in an orb. Harry rose from the fountain and took a step towards Dumbledore. The man lashed a hand back and knocked Harry back behind the fountain. I got a firm grip on the sleeve of his shirt and held him there.

"We are not able to fight on this level," I hissed in his ear as I watched in awe.

These were two of the greatest minds the past century had to offer and neither was holding back as they dueled. I watched with awe at the level of skill and power displayed. Neither had yet uttered a spell, and yet they were casting massive works of elemental magic the likes of which I had never even dreamed of using. This was the sort of magic I wanted to use. This was the kind I wanted to master – to knock down opponents with a wave of my hand like Dumbledore had just done to Harry. To breathe fiery beings into life form my palm like Voldemort had done.

In Dumbledore's momentary distraction, the water crashed to the floor and Voldemort straightened from the collapsing orb, bone dry and angry. He pushed his hands together and shadows seemed to pull themselves from the wall, shooting through the air with an almost tangible presence, and gathering in front of his hands. With a cry, Voldemort flung his arms wide. The blast knocked us off our feet and shattered the glass in the windows of the offices above us. It rained down on us. I raised a quick shield to protect us from the falling shards as Voldemort raised his hands above his head and the glittering daggers began to collect.

At his urging they surged forwards, diving for us. Dumbledore sat up and slid in front of us. He waved his wand. A shield that gleamed with white light appeared and the glass connected. Dumbledore held the shield, and the glass sailed through as nothing but harmless sand. We three rose, and Voldemort vanished in a swirl of shattered glass, sand, and smoke.

For a moment, all was silent. A wind whispered through the hall and brushed a strand of my hair back. I narrowed my eyes and braced for a spell to come from somewhere.

Harry sucked in a breath and I glanced at him. His eyes were vacant and glassy as he dropped to his knees, and then onto his side, hissing in breaths and gritting his teeth.

"Harry!" I breathed, and dropped beside him, dragging his shoulders into my lap. I stroked his hair back from his forehead, feeling his scar catch under my fingertips. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry grinned up at me, only it was more of a grimace. The skin around his eyes was dark and reddish, like he hadn't slept in months. "You've lost old man," he said, his eyes flicking to Dumbledore. It wasn't Harry's voice though. It was Voldemort's hissing sibilance coming from my brother's lips and I understood then – Voldemort was possessing him.

I grabbed Harry's head and made him – him and Voldemort – look me in the eye. "You get the hell out of my brother," I growled. "You want to possess someone, you deal with me!" I snarled. I remembered how once upon a time Harry's touch had burned Quirrell and Voldemort. Voldemort may have now carried Harry's blood, but he did not have mine, and I had Lily Potter's protection as well. With that in mind I leaned down and dropped a kiss onto Harry's forehead, right over his scar.

I sucked in a breath. The scars in my cheeks exploded in pain and I was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, unable to move, unable to breathe, every cell in my body was agony. It was the Cruciatus all over again and like with Parkinson I was only barely able to keep my head.

"Such a brave girl," I heard my voice hiss, mutilated by Voldemort's own tones. "So pointlessly brave."

I fought the being, fought the pull of red eyes and pain and then like I'd slipped sideways I was floating in my own mind and I saw Voldemort bending over me. The expression on his face as I picked myself up off of whatever we were standing on was priceless. I stared up at him, tilted my head, and smiled.

"Hello Tom," I greeted mildly. "It's been a while since we've spoken."

Voldemort snarled. "You dare address me by that name?"

"Always," I said with a shrug. "To me, you are Tom." I smiled weakly as the pain began to creep in again. "Harry might see your mind, your present, as you know… but I? I see your past. I watched you grow up, Tom."

There was anger, pure and raging, as well as a tinge of embarrassment and fear in Voldemort's face as he beheld me, standing there and smiling at him.

In later moments I would probably wonder how I made myself smile at the man who murdered my parents, whose men murdered Cedric and Sirius. But for now I didn't see Voldemort. I saw Tom Riddle, the boy who cowered in a corner when older children were mean to him, who desperately sought recognition for his abilities and who, when he was finally recognized, went a bit mad with the power of it.

Something soft brushed my hand and I looked to the side. My eyes widened in surprise. Standing next to me was Tom Riddle, no older than six, as he had been the first time I'd ever seen him. He had that book tucked under one arm and his other hand reached up and held mine, locking our fingers. He looked up at me with big blue eyes and turned to look at the horrified face of his future self.

"I don't like the monster," he said, and I heard my voice echo his as he pressed closer to me. "Lorena, you'll protect me, won't you? I… don't want to get hurt again," he said softly, looking down at his feet, ashamed to admit such a weakness as fear of pain.

I smiled at my boy and crouched down next to him. "Of course Tom, I'll keep you safe like others never did," I said. I pulled my hand free of his and wrapped my arms around Tom's shoulders, pulling him tightly to me.

"Will you be my friend?"

" _Yes."_

"Will you care about me?"

" _Of course."_

"Why?"

" _Because I know who you are."_

Suddenly the world shifted around me and, instead of holding on to a small boy I was tenderly hugging Voldemort himself, who screamed in agony and thrashed under my grip. The pain reached an all time high and I screamed but held on tightly until Voldemort turned to smoke and pulled himself from my body. I dropped to my knees towards whatever ground there was, but before I connected I was back in my body. Now Harry held me tightly, Dumbledore crouching next to us and examining me with blue eyes that lacked that certain twinkle. Leaning over me was Voldemort, and I could see his robes smoking and a burn on the side of his neck that was rapidly healing.

"You are fools," he spat at me, at Harry, and Dumbledore, but I could see him panting, see the pain in his eyes that he tried to hide, the wounds plainly getting to him. "And you will lose. Everything."

Green flames sprang to life in the grates and from them stepped Ministry wizards, Aurors, anyone, it seemed, who'd heard that the Ministry was being invaded. I saw the Minister from the corner of my eye, Percy Wealsey behind him.

I coughed weakly around the lump in my throat and felt it rise higher, straining to get out. "I really rather think not," I breathed as Voldemort looked around in shock at all of the faces who stared back at him with equal surprise. Voldemort vanished in a swirl of sand and smoke but it was useless now. His cover had been blown, his mystery was gone, and the world knew…

Lord Voldemort had returned.

"He's back!" Fudge gasped, sounding like the words had been wrung out of him.

"Rena…"

Harry was holding me as I had been holding him, my head in his lap. I could see bright green eyes looking down at me from behind glasses.

"Rena, what were you thinking?" Harry choked out. "You didn't have to…"

I grinned and reached up, touching his cheek. My own cheeks throbbed and I felt a spill of blood – my scars, they had reopened, it seemed.

"I will make every sacrifice I can for you, Harry," I said, and I meant every word of it. Harry knew it, too, I could see it in his eyes as he stared down at me. "You're my brother, and I love you."

Harry gave a weak, half-heartedly laugh. "I've been a rotten brother lately…"

"I've been a shit sister," I countered. "But that doesn't matter now, not…"

Not now that Voldemort was back. Not now that war was looming on the horizon, closer and more dangerous than before. Not with our friends injured several floors below us, with Sirius…

 _Sirius._

The grief hit me like a wave. I hadn't had time to think about it in the frantic rush after Bellatrix and the arrival of Voldemort but now it sank into me, sadness and sorrow and weariness leeching into my bones. I closed my eyes and tried to fight it off, but I was simply too exhausted. The tears came despite my best efforts and rolled down my temples into my hair. I felt spots fall onto my forehead and I knew Harry was crying too.

"He was there!" shouted a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail. "I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear it was You-Know-Who, he Disapparated!"

"I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!" gibbered Fudge, who was wearing pajamas under his pinstriped cloak and was gasping as though he had just run miles. "Merlin's beard - here - here! - in the Ministry of Magic! - great heavens above - it doesn't seem possible - my word - how can this be - ?"

"If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius," spoke up Dumbledore - apparently satisfied that Harry and I were all right, and walking forwards so that the newcomers realized he was there for the first time. A few of them raised their wands, others simply looked amazed, "you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them."

"Dumbledore!" gasped Fudge, beside himself with amazement. "You - here - I – I-"

He looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, "Seize him!"

"Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men - and win, again!" said Dumbledore in a thunderous voice. "But a few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, you have been chasing the wrong man for twelve months, and it is time you listened to sense!"

"I - don't – well-" blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he said, "Very well - Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see... Dumbledore, you - you will need to tell me exactly - what happened?" he added in a kind of whimper, staring around at the floor, where the remains of the windows of the offices lay strewn about.

"We can discuss that after I have sent Harry and Lorena back to Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

"Harry - the Potters?"

Fudge wheeled around and stared at us, me still lying in Harry's lap. I sat up sharply, my head swimming, and stared back at the Minister damningly.

"They - here?" said Fudge, goggling at us. "Why - what's all this about?"

"I shall explain everything," repeated Dumbledore, "when the students are back at school."

He walked away from the pool to the place where a cracked bit of stone lay on the floor. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, " _Portus_." The rock glowed blue and trembled noisily against the wooden floor for a few seconds, then became still once more.

"Now see here, Dumbledore!" protested Fudge, as Dumbledore picked up the rock and walked back to Harry and I carrying it. "You haven't got authorization for that Portkey! You can't do things like that right in front of the Minister for Magic, you – you-"

His voice faltered as Dumbledore surveyed him magisterially over his half-moon spectacles.

"You will give the order to remove Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "You will tell your Aurors to stop searching for my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he can return to work. I will give you..." Dumbledore pulled a watch with twelve hands from his pocket and surveyed it. "... half an hour of my time tonight, in which I think we shall be more than able to cover the important points of what has happened here. After that, I shall need to return to my school. If you need more help from me you are, of course, more than welcome to contact me at Hogwarts. Letters addressed to the Headmaster will find me."

Fudge goggled worse than ever. His mouth was open and his round face grew pinker under his rumpled grey hair.

"I – you-"

Dumbledore turned his back on him. "Take this Portkey, children."

He held out the chunk of polished marble and Harry placed his hand on it, looking like he was past caring what he did next or where he went. Honestly, I was too. I needed to do… something, I didn't know what. It was like after the graveyard, there was something I needed to do but I had no idea what it was, although my body was screaming at me to drop into a bed.

"I shall see you in half an hour," said Dumbledore quietly "One... two... three…"

I felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked behind my navel. The polished wooden floor was gone from beneath my feet. The Atrium, Fudge and Dumbledore had all disappeared and I was flying forwards in a whirlwind of color and sound...

My feet hit solid ground and the stone fell with a resounding clunk to the floor. We had arrived in Dumbledore's office.

Everything seemed to have repaired itself during the Headmasters absence. The delicate silver instruments stood once more on the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of the picture. A glance out the window showed that dawn was approaching and part of me wanted to go a fetch some Invigoration Draught, but that seemed entirely too far a walk. Were I less tired, I might have even had it in me to be amused by the castle's fondness for Dumbledore.

Harry began to pace, panting heavily. He needed the motion, needed the franticness of it to keep time with his whirling thought. I could see the grief and guilt in his face and knew he must be blaming himself for this, and I could see why. It was his decision to go to the Ministry that had ended with Sirius dead.

Unlike my brother, I preferred calm reflection. I sank into a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk and began to mull through the events of the night, wondering if the others were okay, hoping my spells and tears had worked. I sat and puzzled through the events in the veil room and this time I let the grief wash over me. Tears silently traced down my cheeks as I moved on to the duel in the lobby, holding my breath at the masterful displays of magic, and then the conversation inside my head.

I didn't know what to think about, so I refused to think on it.

A picture gave a particularly loud grunting snore, and a cool voice said, "Ah... the Potters…"

Phineas Nigellus gave a long yawn, stretching his arms as he surveyed us out of shrewd, narrow eyes.

"And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning?" said Phineas eventually. "This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful Headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me…" He gave another shuddering yawn. "Another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?"

Harry looked horrified and I didn't blame him. I felt sick to my stomach. It was so world-shattering. Sirius was gone! – how could everyone not know? A few more of the portraits had stirred now. With a wild look in his eyes Harry strode across the room and seized the doorknob. It would not turn. We were shut in.

"I hope this means," said the corpulent, red-nosed wizard who hung on the wall behind the Headmasters desk, "that Dumbledore will soon be back among us?"

Harry turned. The wizard was surveying him with great interest. Harry nodded. He tugged again on the doorknob behind his back, but it remained immovable.

"We won't be getting out," I said quietly.

"Oh good," beamed the wizard. "It has been very dull without him, very dull indeed." He settled himself on the throne-like chair on which he had been painted and smiled benignly upon Harry. "Dumbledore thinks very highly of you, as I am sure you know," he said comfortably. "Oh yes. Holds you in great esteem." He glanced at me. "You… you infuriate him."

I smiled lifelessly. "The feeling is mutual."

The empty fireplace burst into emerald green flame, making Harry leap away from the door, staring at the man spinning inside the grate. As Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerked awake, many of them giving cries of welcome.

"Thank you," greeted Dumbledore softly.

He did not look at us at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.

"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Harry gave a strangled sound that might have been an attempt to say, "good." Dumbledore eyed him carefully. Apparently, I was going to have to be the speaker for my brother, because he couldn't pull himself from his grief enough to function.

I cleared my throat. "That's good to hear," I said, and tried to force some pleasure into it, but it came out hollow.

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up," continued Dumbledore. "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungos, but it seems she will make a full recovery. She says that your spells were evident on some of the injured, and that you did well," Dumbledore added to me. I nodded thoughtlessly, acknowledging the compliment.

It was silent as the sky began to lighten outside, the portraits shamelessly eavesdropping. If they weren't already dead I might have killed them for daring to intrude upon our private grief. I wasn't even very happy to be sitting before Dumbledore at this point.

"I know how you're feeling, Harry," began Dumbledore very quietly.

"No, you don't," retorted Harry, and anger made his voice loud and strong.

"You see, Dumbledore?" inserted Phineas Nigellus slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own-"

"That's enough, Phineas." Dumbledore shut him down coldly.

Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the window. I, in turn, glared up at Phineas Nigellus.

"You seem awfully unconcerned for a man who's line has just ended," I spat poisonously. Nigellus jerked.

"Am I to understand," said Phineas Nigellus slowly, "that my great-great-grandson - the last of the Blacks - is dead?"

"Yes, Phineas," replied Dumbledore gently.

"I don't believe it," said Phineas brusquely, marching out of his portrait. I knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," continued Dumbledore's voice. "On the contrary... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

"My greatest strength, is it?" repeated Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. "You haven't got a clue... you don't know…"

"What don't I know?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

Harry turned around, shaking with rage. "I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man!" Dumbledore insisted earnestly. "This pain is part of being human-"

" _Then I don't want to be human!"_ Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"

" _I don't care!"_ Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. _"I've had enough, seen enough, I want out, want it to end, I don't care-"_

He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.

"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

" _I don't!"_ Harry screamed.

Dumbledore's words were meant to let Harry vent all of the anger and guilt he felt at someone else and I knew that. I also knew that the reason Dumbledore had yet to spare a word for me was because such tactics wouldn't work on me. I needed to stew in my grief for a time, so I sat patiently in the chair, watching my brother rage, and waiting for the storm to blow out.

"Oh, yes, you do," said Dumbledore, still more calmly. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care."

" _You don't know how I feel!"_ Harry roared. _"You – standing there – you-!"_ He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob again and wrenched at it. The door would not open. Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Let me out," he barked. He was shaking from head to foot.

"No," replied Dumbledore simply.

For a few seconds they stared at each other.

"Let me out," Harry repeated.

"No," Dumbledore repeated.

"If you don't - if you keep me in here - if you don't let me-"

"By all means continue destroying my possessions," offered Dumbledore serenely. "I daresay I have too many."

He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry.

"Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

"Not until I have had my say," Dumbledore quantified.

"Do you - do you think I want to - do you think I give a – _I don't care what you've got to say!"_ Harry roared. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!"

"You will," insisted Dumbledore steadily. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."

"What are you talking-?"

"It is my fault that Sirius died," said Dumbledore clearly. "Or should I say, almost entirely my fault - I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger." And that right there was the only way I could take comfort from this moment – Sirius would have wanted to go out defending us. "Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone."

Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing.

"Please sit down." It was not an order, it was a request.

Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat next to mine facing Dumbledore's desk.

"Harry, I owe you an explanation," began Dumbledore. "An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young... and I seem to have forgotten, lately..."

I looked out the window. This was Harry's time, not mine, and I couldn't even bring myself to be upset about it when there were better things to be upset about. I watched the sky instead, trying to lose myself in the colors. The sun was rising properly now. There was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colorless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his lace.

"I guessed, fifteen years ago," began Dumbledore, "when I saw the scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort."

"You've told me this before, Professor," said Harry bluntly.

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore apologetically. "Yes, but you see - it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion."

"I know," said Harry wearily.

"And this ability of yours - to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused - has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers.

"More recently, I became concerned that Voldemort might realize that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley."

"Yeah, Snape told me," Harry muttered.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected him quietly. "But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Yeah, I wondered."

I cleared my throat. Dumbledore and Harry turned to me, seeming to have quite forgotten I was there. I gave the headmaster a probing gaze. "We now know that Voldemort became aware of Harry's visions of him. If he had known how close you and Harry were, he might have been too tempted to resist using him, possessing him, giving him visions that would manipulate him. You are, after all, one of the major threats to him."

Dumbledore nodded and smiled at me tiredly. "As always, you are correct, Miss Potter. But Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been your's or Harry's. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you. An old man's mistake…"

He sighed. "Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realized he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort s assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape."

He paused. "Professor Snape discovered," Dumbledore resumed, "that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body, and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not know what it meant.

"And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along - that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lilt them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last - or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency."

"But I didn't," muttered Harry. "I didn't practice, I didn't bother, I could've stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he'd never have been able to show me where to go, and - Sirius wouldn't - Sirius wouldn't-" There was a franticness in Harry's words as he tried to explain, "I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!"

"Kreacher lied," said Dumbledore calmly. "You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic."

"He - he sent me on purpose?"

"Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months."

"How?" asked Harry blankly. "He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years."

"Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas," said Dumbledore, "when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to 'get out.' He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy."

"How do you know all this?" Harry asked weakly.

"Kreacher told me last night," said Dumbledore. "You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realized that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.

"When, however, you did not return from Dolores Umbridge's, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once."

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and continued, "Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the castle for you.

"But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me - laughing fit to burst - where Sirius had gone."

"He was laughing?" said Harry in a hollow voice.

"Oh, yes," confirmed Dumbledore. "You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoy's our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable lo Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

"Like the fact that we are Sirius's greatest weakness," I said hollowly. "That he would have rushed to save us at the slightest hint that we were in danger."

Dumbledore nodded. "Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was - but Kreacher's information made him realize that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black."

"So ... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night…"

Part of me wanted to hate Harry for trusting the word of a creature that so obviously hated Sirius but I knew deep down that I would have done the same. It wouldn't have ever occurred to me that Kreacher would do such a thing, even though I knew house elves better than Harry. They served, and when Kreacher wasn't at Grimmauld place, he would have been serving elsewhere – his identity would have compelled him to.

"The Malfoy's - undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions - had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was at home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the Hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him."

I was going to kill the little bastard. My hands clenched on the arms of the chair.

"And Kreacher told you all this... and laughed?" Harry croaked.

"He did not wish to tell me," said Dumbledore. "But I am a sufficiently accomplished Legilimens myself to know when I am being lied to and I - persuaded him - to tell me the full story, before I left for the Department of Mysteries."

"And," whispered Harry, his hands curled in fists on his knees, "and Hermione kept telling us to be nice to him-"

"She was quite right, Harry," agreed Dumbledore. "I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's-"

"Don't you blame - don't you - talk - about Sirius like-" Harry's anger rose again at the insult to Sirius. "Kreacher's a lying - foul - he deserved-"

"Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier-"

" _Don't talk about Sirius like that!"_ Harry yelled. He was on his feet again, furious. "What about Snape?" Harry spat. "You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual-"

"Harry, he was standing in front of Umbridge!" I snapped, annoyance rising – not even Sirius's death would stop him from wanting to blame Snape. "He could hardly say 'oh, well let me just go get Sirius from the Ministry then.' Dumbledore told you, he's the one who alerted the Order!"

Harry wasn't to be bothered with logic like that. "Snape - Snape g-goaded Sirius about staying in the house - he made out Sirius was a coward-"

"Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him," said Dumbledore.

"Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons!" Harry snarled. "He threw me out of his office!"

"I am aware of it," said Dumbledore heavily. "I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure, at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence-"

"Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him. How do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my-"

"I trust Severus Snape," said Dumbledore simply. "But I forgot - another old man's mistake - that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father - I was wrong."

"But that's okay, is it?" yelled Harry, ignoring the scandalized faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits on the walls. "It's okay for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not okay for Sirius to hate Kreacher?"

"Sirius did not hate Kreacher," corrected Dumbledore. "He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike... the fountain you saw tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward."

" _So Sirius deserved what he got, did he?"_ Harry yelled.

"I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it," Dumbledore replied quietly. "Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to houseelves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated."

"Yeah, he did hate it!" said Harry, his voice cracking, turning his back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now and the eyes of all the portraits followed him as he walked. "You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night-"

"I was trying to keep Sirius alive," said Dumbledore quietly.

"People don't like being locked up!" Harry said furiously, rounding on him. "You did it to us all last summer-"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. This uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore proved even to me that he truly did regret how he'd handled the situation. In a way, it made me glad. Dumbledore knew he was not infallible.

He lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses. "It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry, Lorena. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me - to do whatever you like - when I have finished. I will not stop you."

Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, "Five years ago you two arrived at Hogwarts safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well - not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."

He paused. We said nothing.

"You might ask - and with good reason - why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honored and delighted to raise you as a son and daughter.

"My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realized. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters - and many of them are almost as terrible as he - were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed Harry.

"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

"But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated - to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you both to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love us," said Harry at once. "She doesn't give a damn-"

"But she took you," Dumbledore cut across him. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."

"I still don't-"

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years."

"Wait," said Harry. It had just clicked for me as well. "Wait a moment." He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore. "You sent that Howler. You told her to remember - it was your voice-"

"I thought," said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, "that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son and daughter."

"It did," said Harry quietly. "Well - my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she - she said I had to stay." He stared at the floor for a moment, then said, "But what's this got to do with-" He could not say Sirius's name.

"Five years ago, then," continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, "you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

"And then... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner - much sooner - than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was... prouder of you than I can say.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine," admitted Dumbledore. "An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"I don't understand what you're saying," said Harry frustratedly.

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" Harry nodded. "Ought I to have told you then?" Harry said nothing. "You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.

"I should have recognized the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognized that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day... you were too young, much too young.

"And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced. Once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

"Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph…

"Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

Harry shook his head. "I don't-"

"You cared," I said simply. "You cared about Harry."

Dumbledore nodded. "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

"Is there a defense? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have - and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined - not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

"We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel Dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy. I knew the time must come soon...

"But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defense is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another - the greatest one of all."

We waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.

"I still don't understand."

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you."

The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.

"The prophecy's smashed," Harry said blankly. "It broke when Lucius Malfoy… fell." Fell. After Sirius punched him. I smiled faintly. I was quite confident that had been on my godfather's bucket list.

"The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly."

"Who heard it?" asked Harry, though I was confident we knew the answer already.

"I did," said Dumbledore. "On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."

Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones of a true prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished. The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor I nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. "It... did that mean... what did that mean?"

"It meant," said Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry was pale and trembling. "It means - me?"

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.

"The odd thing, Harry," he said softly, "is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

I floundered. Neville? Who couldn't hit the broad side of a Death Eater to save his life?

"But then... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?"

"The official record was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring."

"Then - it might not be me?" asked Harry hopefully.

"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it is you."

"But you said - Neville was born at the end of July, too - and his mum and dad-"

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort . . . Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"What about Lorena?" Harry countered. "He marked her as well!" My hand jumped to my cheek to the first scar, which was now crusted with blood and itching.

"A boy, Harry," I said hoarsely. "I was… the spare."

"But he might have chosen wrong!" insisted Harry. "He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. "And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

"Why did he do it, then?" asked Harry numbly. "Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then-"

"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course," agreed Dumbledore, "except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My - our - one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So he only heard - ?"

"He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not-"

"But I don't!" said Harry in a strangled voice. "I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or - or kill them-"

"Those would be powers he clearly knows," I said simply.

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you."

Harry closed his eyes. He asked, "The end of the prophecy... it was something about... neither can live..."

"... while the other survives," filled Dumbledore.

"So," said Harry thickly, "so does that mean that... that one of us has got to kill the other one... in the end?"

"Yes."

For a long time, none of us spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, I could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone forever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already.

"I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry," said Dumbledore hesitantly. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect while I gave your sister the title? I must confess... that I rather thought... you had enough responsibility to be going on with."

I looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard.


	76. Homework

**So I know a lot of you weren't super pleased with all the old material in the last chapter. I know, I wasn't pleased either. But I did it for a reason - I am terrible at keeping track of who knows what. You should have seen me trying to write Death Note a year or two ago, it didn't go well. I wanted to make sure Lorena knew all about the prophecy and why Dumbledore did what he did. I hope you'll forgive me, and to make sure you do, I'm bribing you with a chapter of entirely new material. LOVE ME PLEASE.**

* * *

I kept to the shadows as I made my way down to the apprentice's lab. I wasn't in the mood to see anyone, to speak with anyone. I followed secret passages down into the dungeons. My legs were shaking from exhaustion and I felt old, with a hunched back and creaking joints. I was limping slightly. I thought I'd twisted my ankle somewhere in all the running and falling. I was covered in bruises and, going by the pain when I breathed, I'd cracked a rib or two.

"Sorcerer's apprentice," I said to the snake, and the wall opposite turned into a door. I wasn't at all surprised when I opened the door and saw Professor Snape sitting on one of the stool by the counter. He was still wearing last night's robes and the dark bags under his eyes proved that he'd stayed up all night. Something told me I should be touched, but I wasn't. I wasn't much of anything right at that moment.

I walked in and unfastened my cloak as I went. I tossed it over the counter and sat down on the empty stool. The familiar scaly weight of Silas wound up my leg and settled in a knot on my lap. I stripped off my gloves and rested them on top of the cloak. Without thought I reached down and began to stroke his back. Silas hissed comfortingly.

Snape sighed and raised his wand. "What sort of foolishness did you partake in this time, Potter?" he asked softly, without heat. I closed my eyes as he ran his wand over my face, healing the cut over my eye and reclosing my scars, siphoning off the dried blood.

"The usual," I said hollowly. "Ran off to the Department of Mysteries, fought some Death Eaters, and Sirius…"

Snape scoffed. "What has Black done now?"

I froze. It occurred to me… he didn't know. He thought that Sirius was still alive. He'd been the one to warn the Order but he hadn't gone along. As our spy, he couldn't. Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley would be caught in the frenzy at the Ministry as Aurors and Remus would have fled to grieve on his own. My stomach clenched. God, Remus, I hadn't even thought of him. Aside from the traitor, he was now the only Marauder left alive.

"Potter?"

I jerked, and hissed as my side throbbed. "Cracked ribs," Snape judged. "You'll need Madam Pomfrey to cast a few spells."

It wasn't entirely appropriate but I didn't give a damn. I didn't feel like heading to the Hospital Wing for treatment. The others would be there. I reached down and stripped off my shirt, leaving myself sitting there in my sports bra and jeans, the shirt hanging on by the neck around my shoulders. Snape blinked in surprise but didn't hesitate to begin to run his wand over me and start running diagnostic spells and healing bruises and cuts I'd accumulated.

"Come on, Potter, what's Black done?" Snape asked sharply. "Had he gotten himself hurt?

I laughed tearfully as a sob wrenched from my chest. "Oh no, sir. He got himself _killed."_ Snape's hands froze. I gave another weak laugh. "I know you hated him, sir, but, for my sake, could you act like it's a loss?"

Snape hissed out a breath. "You are correct, I have never liked Black. But I…" He hesitated. "I didn't think he would die. If any of us came out alive, I always assumed it would be Black, for whom the world seemed to bend to his will."

I shook my head.

"I sort of thought the same," I said softly. "I thought that I'd… I dunno, I'd reached some sort of quota for loss. My parents, Cedric last year… Years with Sirius and Remus… I thought that I was due a break on Sirius. But I guess I underestimated the world's desire to screw me over."

"Another colorful phrase from your boss, I would imagine," Snape said mildly as he finished healing the bruising on my side. He gestured for me, politely turning away as I tugged my shirt back down.

My eyes burned and I reached up, covering my face with my palm, hiding my tears.

"Sir?" I said weakly. "I know you hate it when I do this, but I sort of need to right now, so sorry in advance."

I lunged, not paying attention to my now only mildly sore side as I wrapped my arms around my Potions Master and burrowed my face in his shoulder. He smelled of herbs and spices, as usual. Tears were rolling thick and fast now, dripping onto the black wool. I moaned weakly. He'd be so mad…

I froze. For the first time, Snape was really and truly hugging me back. He wrapped his arms tightly around my back and pressed me close. I could feel his hand spread wide between my shoulder blades and I sagged as the gesture broke me. Sobs rolled out of me unheeded and I wailed and screamed as Snape sat there and held me.

"He's gone!" I wailed. "He's gone!"

"I know, Potter, I know," Snape murmured, and uncertainly rubbed my back. "I _am_ sorry, if only for your sake."

My tears continued to flow, Silas circling nervously in my lap and flicking his tongue at my knee every now and then in a gesture that was weirdly comforting.

"It's so much, too much," I breathed as my sobs finally began to fade. "I don't… I don't want this…"

"None of us do, Potter," Snape said fiercely. "But we do what we must."

The bitterness and hate surged as I spat out a fact that I know knew for certain was true. "It's Harry's fault. If he'd never been born my parents would be alive, Sirius would be alive!"

"You don't mean that," Snape said, and he was right. I felt guilty about the words even as I said them.

"Sirius was helping me with my Animagus transformations," I murmured into Snape's shoulder. "He was always writing me with advice and asking how it was going. I just wish I-I'd…"

I didn't finish. I didn't need to. "You wish he'd been able to see you transform."

I nodded, pulling back and rubbing at my eyes, my cheeks violently red. I lowered my hands and saw Snape look down his nose at the soaked shoulder of his robes. "S-Sorry…"

"In this instance, I believe the sacrifice was for a good cause," Snape said simply, and a flick of his wand dried the fabric like nothing had happened. "So, Potter… what is your plan?"

I stared at him. "My… what?"

"You have a plan, Potter, I know you do," Snape huffed. "You always do, and despite the trauma, I have no doubt that you have a plan for how to deal with the coming storm. What is it?"

I smiled weakly. "Your faith in me gives me strength."

"I doubt it."

I leaned forwards onto the counter, lacing my fingers together and resting my weight on my forearms. I wanted to sleep but I also didn't. I knew I needed sleep but if I did I knew what waited – the image of Sirius falling through the veil, Voldemort, and a soundtrack of Bellatrix's cackles over it all. I couldn't deal with that right now, not when it was all still so wrong. And Snape knew that – he was nice enough to keep me talking, keep me awake.

"Do I get to keep using this room?" I asked softly.

"It's yours as long as you need it."

"Good," I said in relief. "Because that changes things, and I'll need a place to sleep."

"Place to sleep?"

"At least a dozen Death Eaters were captured tonight. Their kids won't be happy about that."

I felt the tension in the air as Snape asked, "Was Lucius Malfoy one of them?"

There is was, the question that could make or break Draco and I. I didn't know if Lucius Malfoy had made it out – I doubted he had. And it was partially my fault that he'd been there in the first place, which made it partially my fault he'd been captured. He'd face Azkhaban, that went without saying. What was still in question was how Draco would react to it.

"I think so," I said softly, and Snape opened his mouth, but closed it again, biting down the question that didn't need to be asked – how would I tell Draco?

Instead he asked, "And this room?"

"Medical potions," I said with a shrug. "Dittany, murtlap, Skele-Gro, phoenix tears, anything else I can come up with. The Order will need it and chances are good Harry will too. Research, of course, and continued attempts to transform."

"You plan to usurp me as the Order's brewer?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

I smirked faintly. "Just give you a run for your money, sir. And there's Amity…" I bit my lip.

"Your eccentric boss? What of her?"

"She'd be the easiest way to manipulate me," I admitted. "I care about her, she's a blind Muggle and therefore easy prey. I wish to Merlin I could set up some protection spells but I'm too young, the Ministry would know, and I'm not dumb enough to think they're feeling guilty enough to give me a pass on that one or that Voldemort doesn't already have spies in the Ministry." I sighed. "She's at risk and it's all my fault. I don't even know if she'll even want me back this summer but it doesn't matter, she'll still have an X on her back."

"The solution, Potter, is so simple I'm surprised you haven't considered it: the Order."

I scoffed. "Right, Mundungus and Mrs. Figg? I'm sure the pair of them could take on Voldemort himself and be back in time for tea. No, they wouldn't treat her as worthy of the time and manpower."

"Then I will."

I blinked and my head jerked up. Snape stared at me, the corners of his mouth turned down. I gaped.

"Sir?"

He rolled his eyes and tsked. "Honestly, if the woman means that much to you, it's a small matter to toss up a few protective charms."

"Thank you!" I cried, and hugged Snape again before quickly withdrawing. He scowled and brushed his robes.

"You are fast reaching your limit of such outbursts, Potter," he said tartly, but I could see the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Besides I find myself curious about this mad boss of yours I've heard so much about."

I grinned. This was exactly what I needed to perk me up – I now had a guarantee that Snape and Amity would be meeting sometime this summer. If that wasn't enough to put a smile on my face nothing would. I couldn't wait for the inevitable explosion of personalities.

"That's enough for now, I believe," Snape said, standing up. "Sleep," he insisted. "You look dead on your feet."

I shook my head. "No sir, not yet," I protested, but Snape glared.

"Sleep, or I'll poison you," he said tartly. I laughed hollowly.

"Fine, but… could you tell Draco to meet me down here at noon?" I requested, looking up at him hopefully. "Tell him how to get in?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

"I need to tell him about his dad," I said confidently. It needed to come from me and not some Ministry notification or a callous article in the Daily Prophet. "That'll give me time to get a quick nap," I relented.

Snape huffed. "If it will get you to sleep like a sensible person…then I suppose I can. Good night, Potter."

I smiled weakly. "It's nine in the morning, sir."

"Shut up and sleep."

I huffed as Snape left and slid off the stool, Silas curling around my arm. He twined up my shoulders and coiled around my neck tightly. "Are you okay, boss?" he hissed, his tongue tickling my neck. I shivered.

"Am I alright?" I repeated aloud as I Transfigured the stool into a bed and my clothes into a night dress. "No, Silas, I'm not. Voldemort… was in my head," I said, my voice strained.

Obviously it wasn't the first time that had happened but this time had been different. It wasn't just him ravaging my mind, he was inside me, wrapped up in my soul. The feeling of it was agony that topped even the Cruciatus and I wondered how Quirrell had been as functional as he was back in first year. I couldn't imagine going about my daily life in such a state.

And what had happened there? In my mind, twined together I… hadn't hated him. I had pitied him. I had even cared about him. A part of him, anyway. I could almost feel the small hand of Tom Riddle in mine and I smiled faintly. There was a difference that others had never seen. Voldemort's murders had shredded his soul, and that was the monster the Wizarding World feared. But the part of him that was still innocent and scared and staring with wide-eyed wonder at the magic of the world around him was mine to keep guard of and protect, even just in my own memory.

Voldemort would be written about in history books. There would be chapters devoted to his rise and fall no matter how this turned out. Students years down the road would write papers on his tactics and influence. One day Binns might be droning on about Voldemort's wars to the children of people I was going to school with now. But never in all of that would Tom Riddle be mentioned, not really.

Tom Riddle, the boy who was beaten and abused and who was so entranced by magic and all that it offered was mine to guard in my heart and keep the memory of alive, even if I was the only one who remembered who he had been before he was consumed by Voldemort.

I understood that and a sense of rightness settled over me as I slid under the sheets and my eyes closed.

 _Sirius was standing there, smiling at me, holding his hands out at me invitingly. I grinned and stepped closer, and Sirius took a step back, grey eyes glittering teasingly. I smiled and laughed, moving forward as he backed away._

" _Sirius!" I called. "Stop playing!"_

 _Sirius's smile faded as another sound picked up where mine left off. Wild cackling, mad, dark, and under it was a high, cold hiss. Sirius's smile vanished as green light flared around him. When it faded he was standing in front of the veil. His body toppled like a puppet with its strings cut and he fell back, vanishing through the veil._

" _Sirius!" I screamed, and ran towards the veil. No matter how many steps I took or how fast I pushed myself, the veil stayed just beyond my reach. The cackling and hissing grew louder and louder until it rang my head. "Sirius, no!"_

"Lorena!"

It seemed like only a moment later that I was woken by a call and a weight on the edge of my bed. My eyes sprang open and I surged upwards, wand flying into my hand. I snarled, and stopped abruptly as I realized I was inches from Draco, the tip of my wand buried into the skin of his throat.

"Draco," I breathed, and collapsed against him, letting my wand fall onto the thin, scratchy sheet of my cot. "It's you." Draco's arms wrapped around me and held me close and I was drowning in the comforting scent of petrichor as peace washed over me.

"Lorena, you're okay," he murmured, dragging a hand through my hair. His fingers hit a tangle and I winced as he inadvertently tugged. I sat back and his hands slid up to cup my cheeks. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. The relief was plain on his face as his eyes roamed over me, looking for any signs of wounds or lasting damage. "You had me up all night worrying."

I reached up and wrapped my hand around his wrist, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. "Sorry," I apologized with a wince. "But this was something I needed to do. Harry needed to know that I was willing to walk into danger with him and Sirius…" I choked on the name. "S-Sirius was in trouble."

"So he's okay now?" Draco asked me on concern, and the answer must have been written on my face because suddenly he was bringing my head to his chest. "Oh, phoenix, I'm so sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

I hiccupped a laugh. "I keep telling myself he'd be okay with it, because he died protecting Harry and I. But I also keep thinking that if we hadn't gone, we wouldn't need protecting." The grief was surging again and Draco held me tighter as tears dripped onto his sleeve. I forced my eyes shut and bit my lip, fighting down the tears. "I didn't call you here to comfort me, I need to tell you something."

"I don't care to comfort you, you know," Draco said, a light tease in his voice as he gently ran a hand down my hair. He kissed my temple. "What is this place, anyway?" he asked, peering around.

"This is the lab for the apprentice to the Potions Master. I'm not formally an apprentice, but I'm the closest Snape's ever going to have. He let me use the place for tournament business last year and since no one else needed it and I'd already pretty much moved in he's let me keep brewing down here."

Draco made a small sound of understanding. "So this is where you'd vanish off to. This is where you brewed all those potions to use against Umbridge." I nodded, unable to resist the urge to bury my nose in his neck and breathe deeply. He chuckled slightly and I felt him turn his head to look at my bookcase. "I see what you mean about moving in. You've even got a bed down here."

"It's a stool," I said weakly. "I just didn't want to go back to the Common Room yet. I… don't know if I'm safe there."

Draco stiffened and I could practically feel protective urges rolling off of him as I pulled back and straightened up to look at him. "Why's that?" he demanded.

I sighed and reached out, taking his hand and dragging it into my lap. I played with his fingers as I spoke. "Voldemort used a vision of Sirius in danger to lure Harry to the Ministry. There was something there he needed, something only Harry could get for him. He sent Death Eaters to get it from Harry. But it all went pear-shaped. Harry brought extra students, and the Order was alerted… Most of the Death Eaters," I said tensely, "were captured and waiting to be sentenced when I left."

Draco pulled his hand back sharply. His face was even paler than usual and his eyes were wide and scared as he looked at me. "Who was there?" he demanded. "Lorena, _was my father there?"_

I nodded miserably and Draco shot off the bed. He tucked his hands behind his back and started pacing frantically, staring at the floor. I turned so that my legs hung off the side of the bed and watched as he walked like a madman.

"Was he hurt?" Draco fired off.

I shook my head. "Not that I saw, I mean, he hit a wall and got punched, but he got off pretty light compared to some of the other ones."

"Hit a wall?" Draco bit out. "Who?"

I winced. "Sirius."

"And who punched him?"

"Also Sirius."

Draco let out a hiss of air and dragged his fingers through his hair, pushing the platinum locks back from his forehead. It just made more flop forwards. It might have been charming if the situation weren't so desperate.

"I can't hate Black," he muttered, "much as I sort of want to. I know what my dad's like and I know that if Black went after him then he must have been going after you or Potter. But I wish he'd escaped. And Merlin, _mum_ … what's she going to do? How's she going to feel? She's never been as devoted as dad but… And the Dark Lord…" Draco stopped and trembled where he stood, staring blankly at the opposite wall in horror. "He'll be so angry," he whispered. He shook his head helplessly and moaned. "He'll go to Azkhaban!"

I stood up and stepped to Draco's side. I was uncertain as I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"He might get off," Draco said, with the fevered sort of desperation of someone who knew they were grasping at straws. "He got off last time, maybe he'll… no, no he was caught with Death Eaters, he won't get off this time, he'll go to Azkhaban. My _father_ ," he choked out, "is going to go to _Azkhaban."_

"If I could do anything, I would," I said, and squeezed Draco's shoulder. He gave a harsh laugh.

"Would you? Really?" He seemed doubtful. It made me mad. I grabbed his shoulders and swung him around so that he faced me. I grabbed his face between my palms and forced him to look down at me.

"Yes, I would," I told him earnestly. "I may not care much for him but I care for you and he's your father, Draco. I'd do…" I licked my lips, the words suddenly sticking in my throat. "I'd do quite a bit for you," I finished lamely.

Draco sighed and lowered his forehead so that it rested on mine. Our breath mingled as he closed his eyes. "I know," he admitted, "that he belongs in Azkhaban. He should have been in with Aunt Bella for what he did last time. But is it wrong to still want him free?"

"You're his son," I said helplessly. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to feel that way."

"I don't agree with it, though," Draco said in frustration. "I mean, when I was a kid, I guess I did. I listened to what my parents said, because that's what kids do." He smiled weakly. "But how can I believe mixed blood or Muggleborns are inferior after spending years of being third to you and Granger?"

I laughed slightly as well. "We grow up, we develop our own beliefs." I stroked Draco's cheek. "Disagreeing with him doesn't make him any less the man who taught you life lessons by playing chess with you."

Draco opened his eyes, smiling at me softly. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do, it's important to you."

Draco sighed miserably. "I don't know what to think. I don't support him, but I won't denounce him either."

I shrugged. "I don't know, I don't have a dad," I admitted. "I've just got a Snape," I said, and we both chuckled. Draco took me by the hand and tugged me back over to the bed. We sat down on the edge and Silas crawled up onto Draco's hand. He stiffened slightly.

"He won't hurt you," I assured him as Silas made his way up Draco and over his shoulder onto mine. Silas curled around my shoulders in a snake version of a hug. I reached up and stroked his head with a fingertip. "Remind me to get you a dozen eggs from the kitchen."

Silas chuckled. "No dice, boss, Sasha wants me to watch my weight."

Draco groaned. "I'm sorry." I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, surprised. He clarified, "I've made this all about me and you just lost your godfather." My face fell at the mention of Sirius. I was functional, the pain a dull background throb of grief until someone mentioned him. It wasn't that I didn't want to mention him, but I also didn't want to face the reality that he was gone.

"My loss doesn't make yours any less significant," I reasoned, but my eyes were downcast and my fingers fiddled in my lap. Draco reached out and put a hand over mine.

"If I was a good boyfriend, I'd offer to write you a letter to cheer you up every day this summer," he said apologetically.

"But you can't."

"But I can't. I won't be able to write you at all," he said sorrowfully.

"I don't blame you," I assured him. "Anything that might put you at risk for my sake, don't do it. We'll see each other again in September."

"What's that saying about absence making the heart grow fonder?" Draco said with a grin. I smiled back, but my smile was ruined by a massive, jaw-stretching yawn. I was sure I looked like Silas trying to down a rabbit all in one go as I blushed and brought a hand up to cover my mouth.

"Sorry," I apologized, embarrassed.

"Don't be." Draco kissed me softly. "Sleep," he urged. "You look like you could use it."

"I could," I admitted. My dream had kept me from getting a decent amount of real, restful sleep. I lay back on the bed and pulled the sheets up over my shoulder, Silas curling up on the pillow next to me.

"You're adorable," Draco informed me, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"You're an ass."

"I think you mean sweetheart."

* * *

The news had broken. The Daily Prophet was splashed with articles about the past war, how to defend yourself if attacked. Umbridge's return to the Ministry was a hushed-up disgrace in the wake of Voldemort. Reports poured in from all over the country as little old ladies swore they'd seen him strolling around the village square.

My little force of Slytherins stood in front of me in the Chamber of Secrets. I was still sore and refusing to down anymore potions, so Daphne had kindly conjured me a wooden chair that was more a throne than a simple piece of furniture. I sat in front of my group and they stood, shifting nervously.

"Nott," I said softly. "Come here."

Nott was grim-faced and pale. He hadn't darkened from sheet white since he got the news via a Daily Prophet article damning the Death Eaters that his father had been arrested. On the heels of that came a hysterical letter from his mother. He was taking a lot of the flack from the other houses. Quiet and non-confrontational, he was an easy target. He and Draco, always willing to toss out a disparaging remark, were taking the worst of it.

Nott stepped out of the crowd and approached my chair. I reached into my pocket and pulled out his father's wand, holding it up. Nott stared at it and recognition flashed in his eyes. Daphne sucked in a breath as Nott's eyes snapped to me.

"Why?" he asked sharply.

I sighed. "He attacked Harry. I thought if I took him out of the fight, he'd be safer." I paused. "No. That's a lie. He threatened my brother and I forgot he was your father, he was just somebody I needed to take out."

Nott's nod was robotic, a sharp jerk up and then down as I extended the wand to him. He reached out and took it, turning it over and over in his fingers at a near frantic face.

"I could hate you, Potter," he said softly. "I could… but my father chose his path long ago and I've… chosen mine." His voice grew stronger. "I'm walking a different path. A better one. I can't blame others for his choices and stay on that path."

I smiled at him weakly. "Thank you, Nott. And… I really am sorry."

Nott shook his head. 'That's what this was supposed to all be about, wasn't it? Defending the people we care about and fighting against people like my father. This was never about Umbridge, no matter what we told ourselves. This was always going to be something bigger."

"Here here," Blaise called out from the back for the crowd. Nott flinched, like he'd forgotten there were more people there. He turned on his heel and strode back to his spot in the crowd. I saw Daphne lean up to whisper something in his ear that made tears sparkle in his eyes before he roughly wiped them away. He shoved his father's wand in his pocket with one hand and caught hers tightly with the other.

"So what now?"

It was Emilia who asked, standing in a knot with Chastity and Molly, Dominic standing just behind them like a protective totem, a stony look on his face that didn't hide the terror in his eyes. They were all so young… My heart broke for them. I wondered if my father and mother, Sirius and Remus, if any of them ever felt like this in the last war, staring at all the young students and knowing that they were too young, they shouldn't be dealing with this mess that the grown-ups had made. But they'd have to, they would probably even be casualties.

My jaw tightened. No. No they wouldn't. With Salazar Slytherin's statue standing over us all I swore than my littlest Basilisks would survive this war.

I gripped the arms of the chair tightly and pushed myself up, the residual throbbing in my ribs picking up. Madam Pomfrey had hunted me down with a vial of Skele-Gro earlier but I turned it down. I needed the physical pain right now, needed it to remind me of why I was fighting, who I was fighting. It was also a distraction from the emotional pain at the loss of Sirius.

If I had been smarter… if I hadn't run off half-cocked with my brother at his slightest beckon like I always did, Sirius might still be alive. I could blame Harry for our parents death, that was a logical jump, but I could blame myself for Sirius. He was on me. Because of me Harry and I would never see his shining grey eyes again, hear his bark-like laugh as he told us about getting all of his tattoos just to piss off his parents in such a typically Sirius move.

"Lorena," Daphne said worriedly as I swayed on my injured ankle. I hadn't done anything about it yet. A healing spell maybe, before I went back to Privet Drive, just so I wouldn't limp… Or maybe I wouldn't bother. Maybe I deserved it.

I flicked my wand at the chair she'd conjured and it Vanished. I wasn't going to sit in front of them like some queen on her throne addressing her subjects. They were mine to protect, not to lord over.

"From now on, this isn't a joke, some kind of childish rebellion," I said softly. "This is war." I took a deep breath. "We are preparing for war. You don't know what that means… hell, I don't know what that means. I know that some of you lost parents in the raid on the Ministry."

I paused and nodded to Nott and Draco. Daphne looked at Nott's tight face in concern and Blaise patted Draco on the shoulder supportively.

"I could give you some speech about how it's better that they're safely in Azkhaban for now instead of in the fighting, how at least you're guaranteed they're alive. But I know better than anyone that the dementors are not a joke, so I won't sit here and spout platitudes.

"You all have talents and skills," I said, looking around at all of them. "Dominic, you could give Neville Longbottom a run for his money in a greenhouse," I said, and Molly grinned up at her brother proudly. His cheeks went red and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, Maeve's better at Divination," he said quickly, trying to get the attention off of him.

"That's true," Quinlan said, smiling as he threw an arm around Maeve's shoulders. She beamed.

"Aw, you're a sweetie," she cooed, and ruffled Dominic's hair. A faint chuckle swept through the Chamber as Dominic glared and straightened his hair.

"You need a Mediwitch, Daphne's a good choice," Nott put in, and Daphne flushed and dipped her head in pleasure at the compliment.

"And I think we know who the best brewer here is," Daphne said, nodding to me.

Suddenly I was in the spotlight once more and I knew what I was doing. "Some of you have access to some very rare books," I said, nodding to the purebloods. "Others have skills that can be useful. Over the summer, I want you all to come up with something in particular. Maeve, try reading the stars, see what you can tell us. Dominic, you already have a greenhouse at home, try and grow us some plants we can use for brewing and defense."

Blaise raised a hand. "My mum's always importing rare stuff for her garden," he said, and nodded at Dominic. "I know people. I'll get you some good stuff to work with."

Dominic glowed at the idea. "That'd be great."

I smiled as people began to call out ideas. Molly was going to research healing potions and send copies of recipes she found to me. Emilia and Chastity were going to try and put together something for our rings… like protection charms or something. Flitwick was in raptures about their work in his class. It wasn't complicated work, but for their age, it was impressive. Nott would be looking into defensive spells for us to learn.

"This is good," I called, quieting the ruckus after several minutes of letting them run wild with their ideas and confer with others asking if they had any suggestions. Their eyes were all alight with the idea of a challenge, of being recognized for their abilities, and for being able to share their talents with the rest of us.

"All of this is good stuff," I praised them. "I know that what you can do over the summer is limited for some of us by the law, but whatever you can do would be a help. This will be our last meeting for the year, but when we come back, this place will be a little different." I looked around the Chamber, already seeing possibilities.

A greenhouse with sunlight lanterns where Dominic could tend to our own personal arsenal or magical and mundane plants sitting off to the side. With the rest of the water cleared out we would have a lot more room to work. Shelves upon shelves of books covering every topic I could think of, pilfered from the Room of Requirement and the Restricted Section at our discretion. A place for Slytherins to come and learn whatever they wanted and share that knowledge with others who wanted to learn. It was perhaps a rather Ravenclaw idea to want to share knowledge among us, but the more we knew, the better chance we had.

"What about you?" Quinlan asked, and I jerked at the sudden address. "What will you be coming up with?"

I blinked. "I… well, what do you want to learn?" I asked in bemusement. "There's a couple of things I could teach you." I thought of my lessons with Draco. "I would do teach you to Occlude or-"

"Parseltongue." We all looked at Quinlan in surprise. "We should learn Parseltongue. I'd like to learn Occlumency too," he added quickly. "But Parseltongue is good."

"You can't… teach Parseltongue," I said slowly, but honestly I wasn't so sure about that. It could be imitated if you'd heard it before. For a Parselmouth it was like… like an automatic translation from snake to human, or the other way around, depending on who was speaking. That didn't negate the fact that it was an actual language though, with hisses and snarls that had individual meanings just like any other. It could, in theory, be taught. A dictionary could be compiled, grammar and sentence structure would have to be worked out, but it could be done. The amount of work required was mind-boggling, and suddenly I knew how the people trying to translate the Rosetta Stone must have felt, but the challenge, the idea of being the first to ever document Parseltongue, made me sort of tingly.

"You're rethinking that statement," Daphne mused, looking at me knowingly.

"Think about it, the only person who'd be able to understand us is Potter and The Dark Lord," Quinlan said reasonably. "Potter isn't exactly on our side, but he's not an enemy. And if we're up against Voldemort, well, talking in code probably isn't going to save us," he said a bit grimly. "But we could communicate in front of someone and they'd have no idea what we were saying. It's not like Mermish or Gobbledegook, you can't teach yourself, because no one's ever gone about trying to transcribe it. Have they?" he asked curiously, looking around for anyone who knew of a case, but the others all shook their heads.

The idea had potential. A code that no one but the Basilisks and a natural-born Parselmouth could speak… with Slytherin's line ending with Voldemort, who I didn't see getting a girlfriend any time soon, and perhaps a couple of Muggles in America, the chances of coming across someone who understood us were slim. It would take longer than we had for any of the Basilisks to learn to speak it fluently, not even counting the time it would take me to get it all down on paper, but even a few key phrases and ideas could give us an edge in a sticky situation.

I smiled and hissed in response. "I can do that."

"I'm going to assume that was a yes," Quinlan said, grinning. "I may not be around to learn it, but I hope it helps you lot out." He nodded to the others and I was reminded that Maeve and Quinlan were graduating this year. They'd be gone. I wondered what would happen to them. They were planning to marry this summer, but after that? The world was uncertain. They had relatively old wizarding blood, but it wasn't pure. They were skilled, though, and Slytherin. Would Voldemort target them as recruits? As threats?

"Communicate with each other this summer only if it won't raise suspicion. Feel free to confer with each other about your projects, but don't rely on each other. We've all got our own missions."

Suddenly Blaise groaned. I looked at him questioningly. "Zabini?"

"You're not even a proper teacher and you're giving us _homework!"_


	77. Prophecies and Introductions

**NOTICE:**

 **There is a poll now up on my profile for what the official ship name for Severus and Amity should be, because from the reviews I'm getting that ship has apparently set sail for a lot of you! I've had a lot of great options, so go check it out!**

 **Also I've posted the first chapter of my new Captain America story. I know a lot of you are disappointed I won't be continuing Only Forever, but I hope you'll take a chance with You Can't Take That Away From Me. Unfortunately for that story, To Be a Slytherin is my priority and given that the semester is winding down and I've got more papers and tests than I can say grace over, it will only be updated every OTHER week. Still on Wednesday though, and hopefully I'll be able to speeed it up after this semester ends.**

* * *

I sat in the apprentice's lab on the stool that occasionally pulled double duty as a bed. In my hand was the delicate spun-glass sphere. Miraculously it had survived the Department of Mysteries unharmed. The mist spinning inside was hypnotic, putting me in a trace as I absently worked the smooth glass in circles under my fingers. It was still warm, like it had been lying in the sun. It some something about the magical record inside it warming the glass, had to be. Part of me wondered exactly how the words had been saved. It looked almost like a memory, but not quite.

A problem for another time. A Dictaguill was starting to droop against the parchment sitting next to me. It had been standing there for a while now, waiting for me to break the orb and hear the prophecy, but I hadn't done it yet. Harry's prophecy predicted that he would either die or become a murderer- neither was something to celebrate. Would mine be the same? Worse? And, perhaps even more unnerving, would it be better?

The idea that I had a brighter future than Harry alarmed me in a deep way when it should have been encouraging after all the shite I'd gone through. Objectively I was smarter, more ambitious, I could be said to have a bright future ahead of me in a lucrative career. But surely this prophecy contained more that my job aspirations, it had to be grander than that, and the idea of anything grand enough to warrant a prophecy being good for me was deeply unnerving.

Did I deserve it? Despite Snape's reassurances that since I still cared and I was still a good person, I wondered. I had tortured Bellatrix, knowing intimately the sort of pain she was feeling, and I hadn't even blinked to do it. Even now, I didn't feel any guilt for it. The only reason I regretted trying to kill her was because of the damage it would have done to my soul to do it, not the actual act itself.

The thought actually made me feel a bit better. I didn't have high hopes for karma deciding to give me a pass for sins like that, so the prophecy was probably going to be less than spectacular. Which was good, I knew how to handle bad situations. So I could handle this. Forewarned was forearmed, right?

With that in mind, I let the orb slip from my fingers. It struck the counter, rolled towards the edge, and dropped. The glass shattered and the smoke uncoiled, revealing the figure of an old man with a hang-dog sort of expression, a pipe held contemplatively in one hand, the smoke spiraling up. The other arm was tucked behind his back. He wore a dressing gown, and for all the world he reminded me of a slightly older Sherlock Holmes.

He opened his mouth and began to speak in a deep Scottish brogue.

" _Decked in laurel and bearing yew, she who cannot break will come._

 _Born as one with another, she will become one with all in her heart._

 _Twin to her enemy, the enemy of her twin, tangled in light and dark._

 _Guiding those in the shadows to the light while remaining in the shade._

 _Decked in laurel and bearing yew, she who cannot break will come."_

I stared as his voice began to fade and mist began to disperse, floating upwards like so much cauldron steam as his words trailed to silence. Blood pounded in my ears as I looked at the words the quill had etched on the page.

 _Decked in laurel and bearing yew…_ I suspected that this prophecy had been relabeled once I got my wand. I wasn't an idiot – my name meant laurel and I had a yew wand, there was no chance that this wasn't me. Unfortunately, I didn't get the pass Harry did, where I was just one option.

 _Born as one with another…_ well I was a twin, that was obvious. _Becoming one with all my heart_ though, that was unnerving. Draco swore that I cared more about others than I let on, and that was true. Snape insisted that my caring was worth more than I realized. Was that what this meant? That I would care deeply for the people who I let into my heart, so deeply that they were as dear to me as my own flesh?

 _Twin to her enemy, enemy to her twin_. Long had I known that I was a lot more like Voldemort than I should really be comfortable with being. This wasn't news. It was unnerving to know that it was set in stone. Dumbledore could talk all he wanted about some prophecies not coming true, but thus far this one was spot on and it made me feel relieved of the burden on guilt for feeling sorry, for pitying Tom to know that it was all planned out possibly before I was even born.

 _Tangled in light and dark_ , did that ever sum me up.

" _Guiding those in the shadows to the light while remaining in the shade,"_ I recited.

That part was at the same time horrifying and stomach-lurchingly vindicating. I had a destiny and not one of darkness like I had so long feared, like I'd been terrified to hear come out of the little glass orb. I was supposed to guide people to the light, and what could ever be a more noble cause than that? Perhaps that was a Gryffindor thought, but it actually made me sob and clutch a hand to my mouth to hear that while I would apparently never stand by my brother in the light, I at least would never stand by Voldemort in the darkness. The shade, that was my area, my domain. I was like Charon in reverse, ferrying people across and out of the darkness.

Ever since finding out that my Patronus was a phoenix, a creature so firmly good and wholesome and caring that it's tears healed all and it's song struck fear into the heart of the evil with emboldening the righteous, I had felt undeserving. How could someone like me have something so wonderful as a guardian, become something so wonderful through Animagus transformations? But this was why – I had a duty to perform and it was a _good one._

I was… _good._

I doubled over on the counter, laughing helplessly into my arms, and it was only after a couple of minutes that I realized that I was sobbing as well.

* * *

It happened on the train. I'd avoided the Slytherin Common Room like the plague, having the house elves bring my trunk and belongings into the lab for me to use, one of my stools now permanently a bed crammed in the corner. There had been hisses and curses in the halls, of course, but I stayed mostly to populated areas and my Basilisks stayed with me a lot of the time. Draco, Daphne, Quinlan and Maeve, Chastity and Molly and Emilia. Nott was still a little cool to me, but I couldn't blame him for that. Daphne acted as a mediator and the best thing I could think would be to let it rest and let him mellow.

But on the train home, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson took it upon themselves to set upon Luna and Ginny, thinking them easy targets because they were younger. They cornered them in an empty compartment.

"You shouldn't have gotten our parents locked up!" Parkinson hissed viciously. "You stupid little blood traitor bitch!"

I shoved the door open. "Still need two muscleheads to back you up, Parkinson?" I asked coldly. "You don't change, you coward."

Parkinson smirked and twitched her wand pointedly. "Back for more?"

My face hardened. "Oh yes, Parkinson, remind me of that incident, we all know it worked out so well for you, after all."

"Potter!" Crabbe raised his wand, but he went flying and ended up tied in ropes, slumped on one of the seats and flailing. Standing behind me were Quinlan and Maeve. Maeve smirked and flicked her wand and Crabbe was gagged as well as bound.

"Shall we pick the petals off the pansy, Potter?" Maeve asked sweetly, pointing her wand at Parkinson, who quaked in fear at the older, ever-so-slightly-mad girl.

"Goyle is always an option as well, dear," Quinlan mused, his wand pointed at the other boy, who scowled dumbly at it like he was trying to figure out how it got there.

"No need, Quinlan," I said. There was a bang as Goyle was tied and gagged as well and suddenly Parkinson was looking very small indeed, standing there alone surrounded by the five of us. I grinned. "Maeve, Quinlan, final test. Best spells."

Jets of light shot from the ends of their wands, and from Ginny's, and from Luna's. Only I stayed still, watching as the four spells collided with Parkinson. She shrieked and dropped. Quinlan stepped forwards and crouched beside her, poking at one of the yellow, crusty boils that were rapidly rising on her face. He looked up at Ginny.

"Did you try and do Bat-Bogey?" he asked curiously.

Ginny seemed shocked that the older Slytherin was speaking with her. "I – er – yeah…"

"I used Furnunculus," Quinlan said, nodding thoughtfully. "Seems to have had a rather interesting effect, wouldn't you say?" he asked mildly, grabbing a handful of Pansy's hair and using it to turn her head to that Ginny could see better.

"She rather resembles a sea cucumber," Luna mused, whose spell had turned Pansy's skin greenish and rubbery.

"Indeed she does!" Maeve agreed cheerfully. "Lorena, we stopped by to tell you something."

"Oh?" I asked, still grinning and savoring the image of Parkinson as a sea cucumber. "What's that?"

"We were going to invite you to the wedding," Quinlan explained, straightening up. "But considering who'll be in attendance…" He shrugged.

"If I feel like dying, I'll turn up, yeah?"

"Just send a nice gift and we'll consider you forgiven," Maeve said, wrinkling her nose and grinning wickedly. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, sod off Maeve," I said in amusement.

"Come along, darling, let's find a compartment and savor our last train ride," Quinlan said, offering her his arm.

"Ooh, sounds lovely," Maeve purred, and took his arm.

"Call on us if you ever need your Basilisks," Quinlan tossed over his shoulder. Together they left the compartment and Ginny gaped after them blankly.

"Who were _they?"_ she demanded.

"Oh, that's Maeve and Quinlan, they've just graduated," I said carelessly as I toed Parkinson. "They were members of my defense group. Still are technically. They've been engaged since the beginning of the year, grew up together, very sweet story."

Ginny still seemed dizzied. "They… didn't call me a blood traitor." She seemed stunned. I huffed and rolled my eyes.

"Probably because they're not terribly concerned with blood purity?" I suggested, and rolled my eyes. "Come on you two, let's go find my brother."

* * *

Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched. I sat curled in the corner with a book of potions in my lap.

Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet. It was now full of articles about how to repel Dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning...

"It hasn't really started yet," sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. "But it won't be long now."

"Hey, Harry," whispered Ron softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.

Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Ron's knight.

"What's - er - going on with you and her, anyway?" Ron asked quietly.

"Nothing," said Harry baldly.

"Good, you're far too good for her," I sniffed, and turned the page. Harry looked up at me in amusement and I grinned.

Our relationship had been far better than it had ever been. It took the loss of Sirius but suddenly all of the things we'd hurled at each other over the past year seemed meaningless in the face of new knowledge on Harry's role. Harry saw me now not as his untrustworthy sister, but as his loyal twin. And my brother, for all that he was an idiot, was a leader in ways I'd never be, as he'd shown in the Ministry. We respected each other again.

"I - er - heard she's going out with someone else now," offered Hermione tentatively.

"You're well out of it, mate," said Ron forcefully. "I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful."

"She's probably cheerful enough with someone else," said Harry, shrugging.

"Who's she with now, anyway?" Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered.

"Michael Corner."

"Michael – but-" said Ron, craning around in his seat to state at her. "But you were going out with him!"

"Not any more," said Ginny resolutely. "He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead." She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.

"Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot," he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. "Good for you. Just choose someone - better - next time."

He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.

"Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?" asked Ginny vaguely.

" _What?"_ shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.

I was both dreading and glad to step off the train. I wished I could just remain at Hogwarts instead of staying with the Dursleys but knowing now that there was a reason we stayed made it only slightly more bearable. I was also eager to see Amity. I planned to stop by her shop to see her tomorrow, but I was terrified by how I'd be received. After all, last she'd heard from me I'd poisoned a girl.

When the ticket inspector signalled to us that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, we found a surprise awaiting on the other side. A group of people were standing there to greet us who I had not expected at all.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend _The Weird Sisters_. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.

"Ron, Ginny!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forwards and hugging her children tightly. "Oh, and Harry and Lorena dears - how are you?"

"Fine," lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Behind her I saw Ron goggling at the twins' new clothes.

"What are they supposed to be?" he asked, pointing at the jackets.

"Finest dragonskin, little bro," announced Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. "Business is booming and we thought we'd treat ourselves."

"Hello, Lorena," said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione.

"Hi," I smiled, hugging Lupin tightly. He gripped me back just as tightly. "I didn't expect you all."

"Well," said Lupin with a slight smile, "we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home."

"I dunno if that's a good idea," interjected Harry as he approached. Lupin and I broke apart and he embraced Harry in a manly hug with much back-thumping.

"Oh, I think it is," growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. "That'll be them, will it, Potter?"

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. His magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. I leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see our reception committee.

"Ah, Potters!" cried Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione's parents, who he had just greeted enthusiastically, and who were now taking it in turns to hug Hermione. "Well - shall we do it, then?"

"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur," grumbled Moody.

He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station towards the Dursleys, who were apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group.

"Good afternoon," greeted Mr. Weasley pleasantly as he came to a halt right in front of him. "You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley."

As Mr. Weasley had single-handedly demolished most of the Dursleys' living room two years previously, I would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly.

"We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry," explained Mr. Weasley, still smiling.

"Yeah," growled Moody. "About how he's treated when he's at your place."

Uncle Vernon's moustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody.

"I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house-"

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley," growled Moody.

"Anyway, that's not the point," interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. "The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry-"

"-And make no mistake, we'll hear about it," added Lupin pleasantly.

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley, "even if you won't let Harry use the felly-tone-"

"Telephone," whispered Hermione.

"- Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to," warned Moody.

Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. "Are you threatening me, sir?" he demanded so loudly that passers-by actually turned to stare.

"Yes, I am," said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.

"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?" barked Uncle Vernon.

"Well…" mused Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backwards in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. "Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley."

He turned away from Uncle Vernon to survey Harry and I. "So, Potter... give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along..."

Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbors would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path.

"Bye, then, Potter," said Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. He glanced at me. "And don't poison any of them, Potter, no matter how you're tempted."

I smirked. "It was only the one time, Alastor, don't worry," I purred, letting my eyes linger on the horrified expressions on the Dursley's faces.

"Take care, children," said Lupin quietly. "Keep in touch."

"We'll have you away from there as soon as we can," Mrs. Weasley promised, hugging us again.

"We'll see you soon, mate," said Ron anxiously, shaking Harry's hand.

"Really soon," agreed Hermione earnestly. "We promise."

"Potter!"

Harry and I both whipped around, but the shout was undoubtedly for me. Quinlan and Maeve had just strolled from the brick wall, Maeve leaning on Quinlan's arm. The pair of them looked quite the posh couple in their expensive coats and with her on his arm.

"You forget something else?" I asked them curiously.

"Move it along, kids," Moody growled at the two Slytherins.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "No, I think not. Potter, we'd like you to vouch for us to your fine feathered friends."

I smirked. I knew exactly what Quinlan and Maeve were doing. They wanted in to the Order. They wanted to fight, really fight, and not just sit on the sidelines. Maeve in particular possessed an almost manic sort of energy that wouldn't be contained.

"If you need a wand, you want Maeve," I told Lupin. "If you need a brain, you want Quinlan. Trust me, they're on our side."

"They're Slytherins," Moody growled.

"But they have Lorena's backing," Lupin said reasonably. His eyes lingered curiously on Quinlan and Maeve. "I think we can spare a few minutes to speak with them."

"Good," Maeve purred. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Professor Lupin. Lorena, expensive gift, remember!"

"I might just show up at your bloody wedding to save myself some cash," I smirked. "Death Eaters be damned."

* * *

The first full day we were back at Privet Drive, I woke up, showered, dressed, and headed to Amity's. The Dursleys were even less thrilled to have Harry and I around that usual after the threats Moody had delivered so they seemed glad to see the back of me as I walked out the front door and started the trek to Amity's.

As I walked, I worried. Last time I'd been in contact with Amity had been before Christmas when I sent the Howler telling her about Draco and poisoning Parkinson. I had no way of knowing how she was going to react. I had been tortured and my life threatened, and in the Muggle world such things were horrifying and unheard of. But not so much in the Wizarding World. Would Amity see the difference, or would she see me as a cold-blooded killer?

The bell chimed as I swung open the door to Raincrow Crafts. I glanced around. No one else was in, which wasn't surprising considering it was early on a Tuesday. I couldn't even see Amity, so I guessed she was busy in the back. I took a deep breath, swallowed, and called, "Osiyo?"

I heard hurried footsteps and the beads covering the door to behind the counter rattled wildly as Amity came darting out of the office. She stood behind the counter, sightless eyes wide. I smiled at the sight of her. Black hair up in a bun with a pencil thrust through, jeans, and a blousy shirt. There were only the barest hints of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes despite the fact that she was closer to forty than thirty.

And, to my delight, she was grinning.

"Rena!" she called, and came hurrying out from behind the counter. Her arms opened and I didn't think twice about launching myself into her arms and squeezing her tightly to me. Her arms were so tight it hurt but I didn't care. I realized as I inhaled that Amity carried a particular scent of sage and roses that brought back memories of summers past.

"You're not mad at me," I muttered as I hugged her tightly. Amity sighed. She knew what I was referring to.

"Turn the sign," she ordered, and I knew what she meant. I locked the door and flipped around the closed sign. Amity led the way back into the office. She'd been expecting me, I realized with a jolt. There was a glass of lemonade and some cookies sitting out and waiting for me. I sat down and took a sip of lemonade as Amity dropped into her rolling office chair and kicked her feet up on the desk.

"I poisoned a girl," I said slowly, eyes roaming over Amity. She had her hands folded across her stomach, the chair leaned back as far as it would go, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

"Yeah, got that. Your letter almost gave me a heart attack, by the way. My mail doesn't usually talk to me. Imagine getting bills." I snorted and Amity's mouth quirked at her own joke. "But from what you said… sounds like the bitch deserved it."

"The Order of the Phoenix weren't amused. Dumbledore tried to use the event to get the others to start keeping a close eye on me."

"I can imagine they weren't. From what you've said they're all glued to the straight and narrow," Amity mused. I examined her, still unable to believe quite how well she was taking the fact that she had what was ostensibly an attempted murderer sitting across from her at the desk.

"You're taking this… remarkably well," I said slowly.

Amity nodded. "From what you told me last summer, I figured out pretty easily that your world is a little different from this one. You're all in a war, for god's sake! And if that girl was going to go after you – torture you – then she deserved it." Amity's voice was haunted. "Frankly, if she was willing to torture you, I think you should have gone all the way and killed her. Sadists like that don't just stop hurting people."

I looked at her questioningly. I'd long known that Amity's upbringing had been a little bit similar to mine. She spoke fondly of her mother as the ideal model of a submissive housewife, who cooked and cleaned the tiny house she'd grown up in. I also knew she grew up poor. And I'd guessed that her father was physically abusive from small aside comments she'd made over the years.

So when I looked at her and asked, "Amity?" I wasn't surprised when she started telling a story.

"You're smart enough to have guessed my dad was a bastard. Drunk, angry, momma and I liked him best when he was away in the fields. When he wasn't, we couldn't do anything right. Dinner wasn't what he'd wanted, clothes hadn't been washed. God forbid I got in his way. According to him I was lazy, sloppy, worthless, a burden."

Amity's voice was hard but I was experienced enough to hear the bitter anger and sadness under it all as she talked, still keeping her eyes trained up on the ceiling and her chair cocked back. But her toe was tapping now, a quick, nervous beat.

"Whenever he found something he thought we'd done wrong, he'd teach us better with his fists. Momma tried to take it all and keep me safe but I have enough of a mouth on me that I pissed him off more than she could cover for me." She smiled humorlessly. "So one night I lost it and lit into him, and he lit into me. Threw me down the stairs, and was comin' after me with the razor strap." As she grew more emotional, caught in the memory, Amity's accent got thicker. "He yanked my shirt off and started whipping me right in the front yard, which would have been a problem if we hadn't lived in the middle of nowhere. I'm screamin' and cryin' and all of a sudden I hear this bang and daddy's on the ground and he ain't movin', and momma's standing over him with the revolver.

"So you see," Amity finished simply. "I understand a hell of a lot better that sometimes you've gotta take your own back from a person like that, somebody who's mean for sport."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Amity yanked her feet off the desk and sat up straight, looking at me across the desk. She was grinning but her eyes were sad. "So, to answer your question, no, I ain't mad at you, and no, I don't hate you."

I breathed a sigh of relief and grinned wider than I had in days. "Then I've got my job back?"

Amity rolled her eyes. "Yes, brat, you've got your job back. Now, what ever happened with that Umbridge woman you were telling me about?"

So I sat there in Amity's office for nearly four hours, telling her all about my year. For once I didn't have to edit anything. Amity knew it all. She knew about Draco and she smirked as I blushed my way telling her about some of our conversations and liaisons in empty classrooms. She was suitably impressed when I told her about the founding of the Basilisks and eagerly felt my ring when I passed it over.

"Is it silly of me to think I can almost feel a sort of spark?" Amity asked wistfully as she passed the ring back. I shook my head and continued my story.

Amity howled with laughter as I told her about Fred and George's fireworks and we sang a rousing round of 'Be Our Guest' before dissolving into hysterics. She listened with an intent sort of frown on her face as I told her about my dreams of Tom Riddle and the times Harry and I had fought. When I gave her all the details about Pansy's attack on me in the halls and her attempt on Ginny and Luna on the train she dubbed Parkinson a 'grade A witch with a capital B' and I didn't disagree.

Finally I got to the part I hadn't wanted to talk about. My voice was thick as I told her about the encounter between Harry's forces and mine in Umbridge's office because I knew what was coming. I told her about infiltrating the Ministry. The tank of brains made her as ill as it had made me, and she was fascinated by the idea of Time-Turners. I started crying when I spoke about Sirius falling through the veil and Amity had come around the desk as I stammered through it, and she'd only held me tighter when I described the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort and my subsequent possession.

"Damn," she whispered when I finally ended my story. "Your school is way more interesting than mine was. Biggest news we ever had was a teenage pregnancy, and you get 'massive Dark asshole resurrected, Ministry screwed. Be on lookout for magical KKK.'"

I snorted into the tissue Amity had shoved at me and wiped my nose. "Trust me, I'd take someone getting pregnant over Voldemort in a heartbeat. And," I bit my lip, "I need to talk to you about something."

Amity blinked and drew back. She rolled her eyes. "If that's not a scary way to start a conversation…"

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "There's a chance… considering I like you… that Voldemort could possibly… send some of his Death Eaters… to attack you?"

Amity raised an eyebrow and looked at me incredulously. "Seriously? He'd go after your boss?"

"You're a Muggle," I struggled to explained. "You're worthless to him. He wouldn't think twice about killing you and stringing your organs around just to send a message."

Amity paled slightly. "I would prefer if my insides stayed inside."

"I assumed," I agreed. "Now, I'm under seventeen, so I can't do any magic outside of school?"

Amity smirked slightly. "And you've got to be off the streets by midnight and accompanied by a qualified adult."

I looked at her blankly. "What?"

"Nothing." Amity coughed. "Learner's permit. Continue. You can't do magic, but…?"

"But," I stressed. "Snape has offered to put up some protective spells on the house and shop that should keep you safe from any wizards. Obviously you wouldn't be safe outside the building," I admitted. "But that's not really Voldemort's MO. He likes to get people in their homes, where they should feel safe."

"That's sweet of him," Amity quipped, though with a bit less humor than she normally would have. "Snape… your potions professor?"

I nodded and smiled slightly. "Yeah. We can do it like I did before I left back summer, fly up to your window. You'd just need to give me a day, preferably soon, for me to owl to him."

Amity giggled. I looked at her, questioning. "Owl," she repeated, and giggled again. "You own an owl. It still gets me."

I smiled. "I felt the same way at first, don't worry."

"Your professor can drop by on Thursday," Amity invited. "I'll close down the shop early. I'm interested to meet this guy anyway." Her eyes glittered. "Gotta know who's watching your back when I'm not around to take care of you."

I looked around Amity's office, particularly at the drawer that was standing half-open and quite clearly stuffed full of candy.

"Right," I drawled. "Because you're clearly the more mature one here."

Amity smirked. "You bet your ass I am."

* * *

On the appointed day I left Privet Drive with the Invisibility Cloak and my broom, the Invisibility cloak snuck away from Harry as he sulked. I preferred to channel my grief into something productive but Harry seemed content to brood in a dark room, and I left him to it. Snape was supposed to meet me at a corner of Privet Drive and when I landed it wasn't terribly hard to pick out the heat wave that was him under a Disillusionment Charm.

"Climb on," I whispered, and the heat wave stepped away from the sign and fumbled onto the broomstick behind me. Once I felt the solid weight behind me I leaned forward and took off, going skyward and heading for Amity's place. It was a lot faster when I didn't have to bother with roads and I could just skim over the tops of buildings.

"So we are going to put spells on the building?" Snape confirmed as we flew. "Will your mad boss notice us?"

I blinked. "Uh, sir? We're going to meet her."

I felt Snape tense on the broom behind me. "Excuse me, Potter?"

I winced. "So, uh… I may have stomped all over the Statute of Secrecy when it comes to Amity."

Snape groaned. "How much does she know?"

"What doesn't she know would be a smaller list at this point."

I got the feeling that if he wasn't Snape and we weren't on a broomstick he might have thrown up his hands. "Your lack of concern for laws is unsettling, Potter."

I grinned weakly. "Thanks sir. But yes, Amity knows all about magic, the Order, the war, the Death Eaters, and Voldemort's return."

"Don't say the name!" Snape hissed darkly and I winced again.

"Sorry, sir."

"Might as well induct the woman into the Order," Snape muttered as we started to descend.

"She probably wouldn't join, wouldn't be able to help much," I replied glibly as I stopped to hover next to Amity's window. It was open and Danse Macabre could be heard blaring from inside. I had known him for so long I could practically sense Snape raising an eyebrow.

"Saint-Saëns?" he asked.

"It's one of her favorites," I explained. "She's weird."

"And I'm blind, not deaf, now get in here and quit hovering by my window before I lock you out!" I heard Amity yell from inside and smirked.

"You first sir."

Snape clambered off the back of the broom and through the window, landing with surprising grace. I climbed in behind him and shut the window and drew the curtains. I whipped off the cloak and tossed it over the rocking chair in the corner, leaning my Firebolt against the wall.

Amity could be seen moving around the kitchen, giving a little prance or skip every now and then in time with the music. There was something bubbling on the stove and the smell of rolls was in the air.

"Oh Lord…" I groaned.

"What?" Snape demanded, peering around the room like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He certainly looked out of place in his sweeping black robes compared to the broken star quilt tossed over the back of the couch and the assorted knick-knacks scattered around. He gave the cowboy boots standing by the door an incredulous look, along with the bridle Amity hung artfully draped on the wall over the fireplace.

"She's made lunch," I said in a strained voice, not quite sure what to do about that.

"Of course I did," Amity said, giving whatever was in the pot a stir before turning down the heat. She grinned crookedly as she strode into the room. "I'm Southern, honey, we feed people, it's what we do. Momma used to feed the insurance salesmen who came around and it was because of her cooking that daddy never had to look for help in the fields." She dried her hands on a towel before tossing it over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips.

"Now, where is he?"

I gestured to Snape, who seemed to have forgotten that Amity was blind. He was staring at her inscrutably as he said slowly, "I'm over here."

Amity's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I wasn't expecting that!"

Snape's nose wrinkled. "And what, precisely, is so surprising?"

Amity's face was positively wicked as she smirked and said coyly, "Lorena never told me that you sound like sex on a stick."

It was hard to say whose face would have been most hilarious at that moment. I choked on my tongue and made a sound like a strangled parrot. Snape seemed caught between going red with embarrassment or pale with annoyance, and his face was caught somewhere in the middle in unhealthy-looking splotches. Amity stood in front of us, looking like the cat that got the cream.

"Amity!" I hissed.

"What?" she asked shamelessly. "I see why you listen in his class; you could lecture me any time." She tossed a wink in Snape's general direction and turned to walk back into the kitchen. "Foods on, kids, come and get it!"

I stared at Snape and it would be hard to tell which one of us was more startled. I was more used to Amity's comments though, so I recovered first and followed her into the kitchen. A few seconds later I heard Snape start to follow me. I was used to Amity's house so I sat down at the table easily and she deposited a bowl of thick, reddish brown liquid in front of me, filled with beef, potatoes, carrots, corn, and tomatoes. Flakes of pepper could be seen dotted here and there and the sharp scent mixed with the salty, savory odor. It was Amity's mother's stew, and I adored it.

"You gonna stand there like a decoration or are you gonna eat?" Amity demanded as she deposited a plate of rolls into the middle of the table, along with a dish with a few pats of butter on it. Snape was lingering in the doorway like he didn't quite know what to do with himself and at Amity's question he narrowed his eyes at her. Like he was defying her somehow, he strode over to the table and sat down sharply, his robes managing to be even more swishy and dramatic than usual by some miracle.

"Good choice," Amity said, fumbling in the air for a second before finding his shoulder and patting it. She sat down with her own bowl and pushed a second towards Snape. He raised his eyebrows at it.

"It's not poisoned, I haven't let little miss near it at all," Amity said mildly, taking a sip of her own soup. Snape jerked and looked at her incredulously, then narrowed his eyes at me. I winced and grabbed a roll.

"She knows?" he hissed at me.

"Like I said sir, it's a shorter list what she doesn't know," I reminded him, and took a bite of the deliciously flaky rolls. It escaped me how she did it, something involving Braille and dumb luck was my best guess, but Amity was a wonderful cook.

"I'm not going to act like I understand all your weirdness – why in _hell_ you still use quills when pens exist is beyond me – but I do know quite a bit about current events… And will you _please_ take a bite of the stew so I didn't burn my fingers making the damn stuff for nothing?" Amity snapped at him, scowling thunderously.

Snape raised an eyebrow and picked up his spoon, dipping it in the stew. He pulled out a helping of meat and carrots and broth and popped it in his mouth. He seemed prepared to hate it, but if the quickly-shielded look of pleasure on his face was anything to go by, he liked it far more than he expected.

Amity was smug. "Take that, you sourpuss," she said, and happily tucked into her own stew.

"I didn't come here to lunch, I came here because Potter wants you kept safe and she can't cast protective spells without the Ministry knowing about it." Nevertheless, Snape took another bite of stew and tried to surreptitiously take a roll, but the way Amity's smirk widened made me sure she knew.

"Right, learner's permit, off the streets by midnight, I got that bit," Amity recalled. Snape rolled his eyes.

"She's not driving a car."

It was intensely odd to hear my potions master talk about things like cars while sitting in Amity's brightly-lit kitchen, but I knew he was half-blood, so it shouldn't have really surprised me that he knew about things like that. Still, he was so firmly in the magical world it was a surprise to hear him talk about Muggle things. I tried to imagine him in jeans and a jumper, but the image was just too weird and I hastily discarded it.

"Right, she's wielding potentially lethal magic, much safer," Amity said sarcastically. "Hand her and a bunch of other minors submachine guns and toss them into battle, great plan."

"If it were up to me she would never see combat but because of who she is it's unavoidable that she will!" Snape snapped back at her. "So I decided to give her one less thing to worry about by protecting your helpless Muggle self."

Amity raised her eyebrow and, to my surprise, she grinned. People cowered before Snape's wrath, yet she sat there grinning like a loon. "Nope, you still sound yummy even when you're angry."

Snape's mouth dropped open. I had yet to see him so wrong-footed and I grinned into my half-empty bowl of stew. I had known it would be a show to put him and Amity in a room together and I was not disappointed.

"You are a ridiculous woman," he concluded.

"Thanks for noticing," Amity quipped. "Sourpuss."

"Potter, if you need me I'll be in the shop, casting protective spells while you deal with this imbecile." Snape rose sharply from the table, abandoning his stew and striding from the kitchen with a scowl on his face.

"You say the sweetest things, hon. Really, I'm gonna swoon!" Amity called after him. "He is _too_ much fun," she said cheerfully as the front door shut and Snape's footsteps could be faintly heard descending into the shop. She reached over and grabbed his bowl, dumping it up into her own and digging in happily.

"You're _flirting,"_ I said slowly, not quite sure how to feel about it. "With _Snape."_

"Well yeah," Amity said with a shrug. "Have you heard him? You'd flirt to if that voice was all you had to go on."

"I've got the big nose and greasy hair and bad teeth," I countered her.

"Details," she said dismissively, waving her hands. "Besides, I'm only giving him a hard time because I like him. You don't tease people you don't like."

"Snape's not someone to tease," I warned her.

"Why? Too proud?" she asked, and chuckled.

"No, because he's got a bad history," I admitted. "My dad and my g-godfather, they were absolute bastards to him in school, and he's still bitter about it. Nasty stuff, nearly killed him once, choked him on soap in front of the whole school."

Amity looked at me, nonplussed. "Well ain't gonna kill the guy. Like I said, I like him. He's taking care of you." She patted my hand fondly. "Did you hear how angry he got when I mentioned you fighting? He'll keep you safe," she said confidently, and her jaw tightened, her face hardening. "Or I'll kick his ass."

I grinned faintly. "That's something I'd pay to see."

"Hey, me too."

The front door opened as Amity and I dissolved into chuckles and Snape swooped into the kitchen, looking down at us as we giggled into our stew.

"Potter, it's time to leave. I have business back at Hogwarts to attend to."

"Sure you do," Amity sniggered. "You just want to get out of here. Hurting my _feelings."_ She pouted.

"I am a professor," Snape said pointedly. "I have papers to grade."

"Poor thing, you oughta stay, I'm _way_ more fun than essays. Then again, so is a poke in the eye," Amity commented mildly, gesturing in my direction so I knew that last comment was directed at me. I chuckled.

"As much as I would like to take you up on that offer… I _wouldn't_ ," Snape said shortly. "Potter."

"Coming, sir," I said and stood up. I followed him back into the living room and picked up my broom from the wall.

"Well, good to meet you, Severus," Amity said, offering Snape her hand. He blinked at being addressed by name, but seemed to brush it off as Amity being from the US. He took her hand and shook. "You're supposed to say it was nice to meet me as well," she stage-whispered to him. Snape snorted.

"Nice is not the word I'd use to describe this encounter," he said drily, dropping her hand.

"Fabulous, wonderful, the highlight of your life, those'll work to," Amity offered as she shoved her hands in her pocket and tilted her head, grinning.

"You think quite a bit of yourself, don't you?"

"Of course I do, have you met me? I'm awesome." I stepped forwards and hugged Amity tightly, ignoring Snape's skeptical face. She kissed my forehead and dragged her fingers through my hair fondly.

"Now, just because you've got a cartoon bad guy after your ass doesn't mean you're off the hook. I still expect you in by seven tomorrow," she told me sternly. "Or you ain't getting' paid."

"Wouldn't want that," I agreed, and released her. I slid out the window and hovered beside it on my broom. "Coming, sir?" I grinned, unable to resist as I asked, "Or do you wanna stay with Amity?"

"I can still give you detention."


	78. Summer Conversations

**Terribly sorry it took so long to get this posted today. I slept in and had errands and chores and it was basically a mess this morning.**

 **Also... more Amity and Snape because I can't resist. They are officially Severity! I'm thinking about posting a side story of letters or interactions between them because apparently the people need more of them.**

* * *

Amity raised her head at the knock on her front door. She smirked and walked over, pulling it open. She couldn't see him, but she knew it was the black-cloaked figure of Severus Snape lingering there. She could smell the scent of herbs and citrus on him. She blamed his work, but it was rather appealing no matter where it came from.

"You came," she observed.

"I would ask how a blind woman managed to write a note, but I'm more impressed that you hid it from Potter in that handshake. She's normally almost annoyingly observant."

"She relaxes around me, it's good for her," Amity said with a shrug. "And I _know_ what numbers look like, it's not like it's hard to write out eight o'clock. It's three numbers and a couple of dots."

"That begs the question why you asked me here," Snape pressed. "Do you have questions about your new security?"

"Nah, I trust you because Lorena trusts you," Amity said, waving a hand dismissively. She held the door wider. "Come in."

"I'd rather not," was the unenthused response. Amity rolled her eyes and reached out. By luck she caught a bit of black robes in her blind swipe and grabbed a hold, dragging the man across her door and into her home.

"You really need to get that stick out of your ass," Amity advised as she walked over to the couch and dropped down, kicking her feet up onto the cushion of a carved wooden footstool.

Snape observed her carefully. Were he a lesser man, he probably would have been drooling over all the smooth, russet skin on display. She was clearly ready for bed, wearing just shorts and a tank top, and she was undoubtedly an attractive woman, looking quite a bit younger than how old Lorena had told him she was. But he was far more interested in the small, round, silvery scars that dotted her shoulders and upper arms. He knew how those scars came about. He had a few himself. He looked at the woman with new respect as she lounged on the couch.

"Noticed, huh?" she said softly. "Being blind doesn't mean I don't feel people's eyes on me. And more precisely, where they're looking."

Snape observed her carefully. "You're not the fool you pretend to be," he guessed.

"Oh, I'm occasionally an idiot," Amity assured him. "But it's mostly for show. You get snarky, I get silly. Defense mechanisms are a riot, ain't they?" she grinned, but it was more a bearing of teeth. She patted the worn couch next to her. "You gonna put down your broom and sit or what? This is gonna take a sec."

"I didn't bring a broom," Snape corrected absently as he sat down next to her, keeping a good foot of distance between them.

"What, you walked from Scotland?" Amity asked drily. "Or did you not have 'urgent business' back at the school after all?" she asked knowingly.

"I flew," Snape said shortly.

"What, on your magic carpet?"

"Those are illegal in Britain."

Amity's jaw dropped open and Snape took a moment to look vindicated at her startled expression – apparently Potter had left out a few details in her spilling of the Wizarding World's secrets. But then Amity doubled over laughing, her mouth stretching wide and her eyes screwing up. She slapped one hand on her thigh and grabbed his shoulder with the other, turning into him as she laughed.

"Dear lord, _why?"_ she asked, still chuckling. "Please, explain to me the logic!"

"They are dangerous," Snape said icily, jerking his shoulder out of her grasp. Amity pulled it back obligingly and wiped her hand across her eyes, her shoulder still shaking.

"So you rode in on an illegal magic carpet then?" she asked, and purred, " _Bad_ boy."

Snape sniffed and leaned away from her. "Unlike the average wizard, I am capable of unsupported flight."

Amity's eyes widened slightly. She tucked her feet under her rear and rotated on the couch. Like a child begging her father for a bedtime story she looked over his shoulder with big, pleading eyes. "Can you really?" she breathed. "Oh, that must be beyond words… And you say not everyone can do it? So you're… what, a magical genius?"

Snape blinked. He wasn't used to having someone so childishly fascinated by him. Suddenly he understood Potter's motivations. He was a teacher, yes, but only a very few ever hung on his words the way Amity hung from them now, and it pleased him to be the subject of such rapt attention when he had spent so much of his life overlooked by his peers because of his looks, by his housemates because of his blood, by the woman he loved…

He shut that thought down harshly. Now was not the time to think of her. The last time he had been won over by the attention and recognition for his mind that he'd craved as an ignorant, foolish teenager he'd become a Death Eater, and while he highly doubted this ridiculous Muggle woman wanted him to join a cult, he was still wary of anyone who didn't recoil. He'd spent careful years constructing his image, and the part that made it easy was that most of it was true. He really was an unpleasant bastard. She didn't seem to care though. On the contrary, it seemed to vastly amuse her.

"You called me here for a reason," he said sharply, taking a hold of the conversation and wrenching it firmly back onto track. "As it happens, I _do_ have papers to grade, boring as it may seem to you."

"Oh, like it's the highlight of your day either." Amity rolled her eyes, but her expression did lose its teasing edge. She tilted her head back, displaying the long column of her throat, and explained contemplatively, "I asked you here because you'll tell me the truth."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Legally speaking, I should Obliviate you right now," he warned her.

"Yeah, but that'd piss Lorena off and she's a scary SOB," Amity dismissed the threat. "She's what I wanted to ask you about."

"Specifically?"

"Specifically, how much danger is she in?" Amity asked bluntly. "She tells me a lot but I'm blind, not stupid. I know some things are left out. I can tell by the way she hesitates and pauses. It doesn't take her long to decide whether or not to tell me something, but it's long enough for me to tell she's holding back."

"What concern is it of yours? Worried about losing your employee?" Snape said, his words purposefully aimed to hurt. He expected her to shrink back and become defensive. On the contrary, she went on the offensive. Her answering scowl was thunderous as she snarled,

"Don't you dare act like I don't care about that little girl!"

"Lorena Potter is hardly a little girl," Snape corrected, sneering at the very idea.

"Really?" Amity challenged. "Because I could have sworn she was a fifteen year old girl, and I don't know about your world, but where I'm from, that's still a kid. And I think you people tend to forget that no matter how mature she is or how clever she might be, she's still got a lot of life to experience."

"And what do you know about our war?" Snape countered. "You're a Muggle. You cannot possibly know what it's like to live in our world right now, surrounded by the fear that your friends and neighbors might turn on you and sell you out, for Muggleborns to fear every knock on their door."

Amity tilted her head back and smiled smugly. Snape recalled Potter mentioning once that she thought Amity Raincrow would have been a Slytherin. Seeing the look he had seen on the face of so many of the young snakes he'd helped mentor, he couldn't help but agree.

"Oh, you wanna play poor pitiful me?" she scoffed. "Lorena didn't just give me the bare minimum, you know. She told me quite a bit about people. You more than most. She _adores_ you."

Snape shifted uncomfortably, reminded of the night in his office after he'd caught the Potter's face down in his memories. Lorena Potter had enraged him, stunned him, and broken him in the space of only a few minutes. He felt the color drain from his face as he recalled her claiming him as the closest thing to a father she'd ever had, an honor he most certainly did _not_ deserve.

"So I know you're a fucked up son of a bitch," Amity said bluntly. "But here's the thing – she's not. Not yet, but she could be pretty easily. It's people like you and me keeping her normal, keeping her sane."

Snape stood up sharply and turned on the woman. His robes swirled around him in a way that intimidated many a shrinking student, but he realized that it was lost on the woman in front of him. He suddenly felt rather foolish as she simply shifted to face him, letting her legs rest crossed on the foot stool once more and spreading her arms across the back of the couch.

"You overestimate your importance," he hissed at her.

He didn't appreciate this woman who spent only a few scant months of the year with Potter trying to tell him how the girl should be handled. He'd known her since she was eleven years old, watched her grow up from a sweet and smiling little girl, a scarred mirror of her mother, into a fierce-eyed genius of a warrior who didn't shirk from difficulty or danger. And this ridiculous Muggle woman was going to try to tell him something he didn't know about Lorena Potter? How dare she.

"Do I?" she asked mildly, tilting her head and surprised him by nodding and saying, "Yeah, probably. What do I know? I'm just a silly Muggle. Yeah, I might not know all about your fancy medieval world of frog spawn and whatever else, but I think I know a bit more than you about teenaged girls, being as I used to be one. And I'm here to tell you that no matter how mature they are, no matter how fast they've had to go up and how much they want to be adults… they're insecure little bundles of hormones and drama and they can't be trusted to make their own calls."

"Have you even met Potter?" he demanded. "Insecure? The girl defines confidence most days, and I would trust her judgment more than I would trust the judgment of half of the Order."

Amity huffed a laugh. "You know, you're fun to fight with."

Snape blinked, started once again by the abrupt subject change. Here we was hurling vitriol at the woman and systematically ripping into every word out of her mouth and she laughed at him? Said she was having fun?

"Ridiculous Muggle," he said, because he really couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh come on, don't act like you don't enjoy a little healthy debate, Mr. I-Fly-Around-By-Myself-Cuz-I'm-Magical-Einstein," Amity chuckled. She seemed to know that his expression was somewhere between gob-smacked and furious because she chuckled once more and continued, "Sit down and have an adult conversation with me, Severus."

Her use of his first name, like they'd known each other for years and not a matter of hours, distracted him from his annoyance enough for him to sit himself calmly next to her.

"I want you to answer a question, and I'd like you to try and do it without getting snippy with me, m'kay?" He gave her a dark look and she sighed. "Okay, and I'll stop picking at you. Ruining my fun…" She shook her head. "My question is this: if it comes down to keeping Lorena sane and safe or sending her out onto some kind of battlefield, no matter if it could end your war in one fell swoop… what would you do?"

Snape looked her over, and for once there wasn't even a trace of amusement on her face. Amity was dead serious, and it was that more than anything that convinced him that this woman did genuinely care for Lorena Potter intensely. There was a protective gleam in her eye, like she was fully preparing to come at him with her fists if he gave the wrong answer, and possibly her words too. He had to admit, she was able to stoke his anger as easily as she banked it and it was an unnerving skill for her to possess.

"If I were speaking to Albus Dumbledore, I would of course say I would choose to end the war. And since you care for the girl, I should say I would keep her safe."

Her gaze sharpened. "That doesn't answer my question."

"You haven't yet earned that answer."

To his surprise, Amity didn't seem all that surprised by his refusal to answer her. She blinked and in a flash the seriousness was gone, replaced by a whimsical, dainty smile.

"Probably right," she hummed, and stood up. She raised her arms over her head and rose up on her toes, arching her back. A slash of smooth stomach was displayed as her shirt rode up. "It's late and I'm tired," she announced, acting for all the world like he had intruded on her evening instead of being invited. The mischievous smile he was becoming quickly sick of made an appearance and she cooed at him, "Plus, it's getting dark. Wouldn't want you face-planting into a phone pole by mistake. Now wouldn't _that_ do wonders for your reputation as a sourpuss?" She laughed lightly.

He couldn't restrain himself from muttering, "How would _you_ know it's getting dark?" He thought he'd offended her as she stiffened suddenly, her face showing surprise. He even considered apologizing just so she wouldn't whine about his behavior to Potter next time the two saw each other, but disregarded the notion as she began to laugh once more. Sweet _Merlin_ , she _never stopped laughing…_

Had he ever found the world that amusing?

"It usually takes people _years_ to work up to making blind jokes!" Amity cackled. "You know, I usually act all offended the first time just to screw with them, but I'm gonna let you slide because that takes _balls._ You know what, I wasn't sure at first, but I've decided." She reached down and patted his knee. "I approve."

"Approve _what_?" he asked waspishly, pushing her hand off his knee.

"You're good enough to mentor Lorena," Amity elaborated. Snape stood up and rolled his eyes, deigning to treat himself to the gesture seeing as Amity wouldn't know anyway.

"I'm leaving. I'd say it's been a pleasure, but it hasn't."

Amity chuckled. "Ah, come on, admit it, you know you're already falling for my charms."

He sniffed. " _Don't_ flatter yourself."

Amity's response was an exaggerated shudder. "Seriously, that voice just does me _in_ ," she all but moaned, and Snape found his cheeks toasting against his will as she bobbed her eyebrows at him and fanned herself teasingly.

"Good _night_ ," he said firmly, striding for the door and yanking it open without so much as a goodbye. " _Ridiculous_ Muggle," he cursed her quietly as he stepped through the door. He shut it sharply, but not so loudly as to cover up Amity's voice calling after him,

"I had fun, sourpuss, we should do this again!"

* * *

As it turned out, trying to be the first to transcribe a language was not actually easy.

I couldn't work on translating Parseltongue at Number 4 for two reasons. Harry would hear and question, and while he knew all about the Basilisks, I had no way of knowing whether he'd be okay with what I was doing, trying to teach the language to them and that was a fight I didn't need. For another, though I would have dearly loved to see the look on Aunt Petunia's face if snakes started crawling into her kitchen and using it as their personal playground at my beckoning, it was again not worth the explosion that would occur.

That left me with the park, which meant that I did in fact get the occasional serpentine visitor who was curious about the human muttering random words in their language while scowling heatedly at a notebook.

This notebook was one of a few that I'd bought in bulk from the stationary shop in Hogsmeade. Leather bound in rich, creamy material, they looked the part of a witch's secret spell books, and something about that appealed to the little eleven-year-old girl who'd just discovered the world of magic inside of me. All of them had been treated to a battery of protective spells and spells for the sake of ease. They never ran out of paper, yet never became thicker, and each new entry was list automatically in the table of contents, a handy spell I'd picked up from a book on wizarding publishing practices for the author too lazy to bother with formatting. These books also had spells so that they would only open at a touch of my wand and anyone who tried to magically force it open would get a nasty shock.

One of these books had become the spell books that I had filled with the spells I had learned over the years, divided up by year and subdivided by difficulty and category of spell. The second one was my potions book which Snape had dubbed my grimoire. It held all of the potions we'd learned in class with my own adjustments, as well as potions I'd researched for essays, for fun, or for the tournament. The potions from Hogwarts' resident ghostly mediwitch were also written in. The third held my note on Animagus transformations and contained entries documenting my progress and anything I'd learned, peppered with excerpts of advice from McGonagall or Sirius. The fourth documented my research and progress with Occlumency, and was structured in much the same way. The fifth in my personal little library of accrued knowledge would be the one containing the Parseltongue dictionary and sentence structure guide.

It was difficult going. For one, though I'd always been able to speak Parseltongue with a little more ease than Harry – probably because I used it a lot more – I still needed to focus on the image of a snake, and that occasionally slipped away on me. Here I was able to see what some of my Occlumency training had done for me, because now holding an image in my mind for extended periods of time and not letting my concentration slip while simultaneously pondering on another subject came far easier than it would have a year ago.

Second was the syllabary. Parseltongue was a language made up not of letters, but of sounds. There were guttural rasps and high-pitched hisses that all had to be standardized to some degree and transcribed in some ways. Hiss wouldn't cut it by a long shot, because the words were made up of rises and falls in pitch. The first challenge was figuring out relatively easy 'letters' to go with the sounds and remembering which one matched which.

Actually getting the 'words' down was the next challenge. It was a matter of simply spitting out words and then puzzling out how best to transcribe them with my new symbols and occasionally going back and making up new ones when I came across a sound I hadn't heard in the language before. Then I had to write them all down with the dictionary definition next to them. This took me a full two weeks of every spare second spent in the park with a dusty dictionary that I dug up somewhere in number 4. Occasionally my snaky friends would offer their advice on how to spell a certain word and their expertise was welcomed.

Because of them I also began to notice a sort of 'accent' across species. I received visits from all three of the snakes native to the area: the grass snake, adder, and smooth snake. I noticed that the grass snakes, the largest of the species, tended to speak in a longer, smoother sort of way, with elongated sounds. The adders spoke with the short, clipped hisses that Silas used, and the way I was used to hearing Parseltongue. The smooth snake sounded a bit lilting, with the hisses rising and falling a bit more extremely than I was used to. I made notes about these accents on one page of the journal, but it was hardly the time to explore, although I did want to eventually get my hands on different snakes and study their speech patterns more extensively.

Once I had the words down, then came the most difficult part – constructing sentences. Because snakes, apparently, conjugated their verbs. The bastards. I had to write out to rules for conjugating verbs and for how to structure sentences. I spoke basic sentences at first, writing them out and then figuring out where in the sentence the verb was placed, the noun was placed, adjectives and subjects and direct objects. From there I moved onto more complex sentences.

Needless to say, I quickly filled up the book's original number of pages and it was forced to make more. If not for the compression charms on it, it would have been roughly twice as thick as a dictionary and I spent quite a bit of my summer with my hand cramping in the extreme. Calluses that I hadn't had in years formed on my fingers as for the first time in a while I used a pen almost exclusively to save me from having to dip my quill constantly.

* * *

My fingers were trembling as I opened the letter. I had honestly no idea what it would say. There was no way of knowing how he would have responded. We had agreed to stay in touch but I had fallen to the wayside on that. In my defense, he had too, but I could have easily started up correspondence again. The fact was that I'd been busy running an underground organization and trying to cram more information than was physically possible into my brain.

My worries were assuaged when I dug into the envelope and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchment all bearing the heading of Hristo Iecheben Institut, the Bulgarian equivalent of St. Mungo's, where Iliya was being trained as a mediwizard. When I saw pages copied from spell books and the ingredient lists for potions I wanted to dive straight into the material but I owed Iliya to read his letter first. It was with great regret that I set all but the first page of paper aside and began to read.

 _My dear champion,_

 _It was an unexpected delight to get your letter. You are right, it has been too long since we've spoken. You are not entirely at fault though. I can hold a quill as easily as you, as I hope has been demonstrated by the amount of material I've written down for you. We can agree to equally share the blame for the lack of contact. You say you have been busy but cannot be more specific. I will assume you have been busy with things that would get you in trouble, and leave it at that._

 _I understand your concern. Rumors and stories of the actions of your Lord Voldemort have been felt even here. They were rumors and whispers only until he was formally revealed at the end of last term. Even now there is not much concern on the continent, from what I can tell. He never really gained a foothold here in the last war and so people here don't understand what he might be capable of. Some remember Grindelwald, and cannot comprehend anyone being as bad, or even worse._

 _Your request was heard and cheerfully obeyed. I can understand why you would want to stock up on healing potions and learn more healing spells. Now be warned – this is all just basic stuff. The trickier things should not be attempted in anywhere but a carefully-monitored setting by amateurs. While I'm sure you would of course be able to repair a heart valve with a snap of your fingers, your vague 'students' might not be so capable._

 _Most of what I've included is from a rather outdated field of mediwizardry known was 'battlefield medicwizardry.' I'm certain you've heard of it. The goal of it is to patch a person up enough to get them back on their feet to keep fighting or to keep them alive long enough to get them to a proper hospital for a real healing. These are band-aids, not stitches, and I trust you know the difference. They should be enough for you to be getting on with though. Most mediwizards these days don't use these spells anymore because it's far easier to get to a hospital now._

 _Also, there are a staggering lack of battlefields for medicwizards to practice on these days._

 _I would give you advice on the potions, but frankly you'll probably brew them better than I will, so I'll just say good luck._

 _It amazes me. So many people would fail to see the advantage in preparation or simply not think to. And yet you are reaching out to me for information to pass along. And I know you well enough that I can easily predict that you will begin brewing and stockpiling these potions as soon as you are physically capable. I knew it when I first met you Lorena, and you proved me correct in the tournament, and now you continue to prove yourself._

 _You are truly one of the most brilliant, talented witches I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. It may not have worked between us – our ages and different countries of residence being only the most obvious reasons – but I count myself lucky to call you a friend and I am eagerly awaiting to hear your name become a household term even here on the continent._

 _Yours_

 _Iliya_

I grinned to myself. Even over a letter, Iliya was still a flirt. I wasn't surprised to see that the people on the continent weren't overly-concerned by Lord Voldemort – they'd never needed to be. It was the last bit of the letter that made me flush with warmth and bite my lip in pride at the compliment. Iliya was making me blush and he wasn't even in the country – that scoundrel.

I glanced over at the bed where Harry was sleeping. He was dead to the world, I could tell by the way his eyes fluttered behind his eyelids, so I gathered the spell book and potions book from my trunk along with a pen and a palm-sized Muggle notebook. I slipped from the room and ventured down to the living room. I flicked the lamp on and settled into the floral-patterned chair by the fireplace. I tucked the spells to the side for the moment and opened the potions book. With eager eyes I began to transcribe the potions, my mind tracking the reactions and interactions of the ingredients instinctively after so many years brewing, and they all came together to make a perfect sort of sense. Of course those ingredients treated this way would do this.

I knew myself well, and I knew that after some time I would probably begin to play with the ingredients and directions to try and improve the potion, but for now my concern was quantity. Quality could come later. Stasis bottles would need to be purchased by the crate load and that wouldn't come cheap. Thank Merlin I was wealthy. At that thought, I grabbed the spiral notebook and scribbled down Stasis bottles at the top, along with the ingredients I knew I was out of and the new ones Iliya's potions required.

I set the potions recipes and the book aside and picked up the spells and spell book. I opened the book and was just starting to write, absorbing the information as I went, when a floorboard creaked.

My head snapped up. Aunt Petunia stood in the hallway. Her hair was up in pink curlers and her bony hands clutched the neck of her dressing gown to her throat like she was freezing, even though it was actually rather warm these days. She eyed me warily as I sat in the floral-patterned chair and I merely stared back and arched an eyebrow in reply.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

There was no point in lying, so I told the truth. "I'm transcribing medical spells and potions into my personal potion and spell books that a Bulgarian friend of mine sent me."

Aunt Petunia's eyebrows bobbed up and down in disbelief. "When did you meet a Bulgarian girl?"

I scoffed and settled my pen in the spine of the book, steepling my fingers with my elbows propped on the arms of the chair. I felt rather like Dumbledore in that pose as I replied, "It was during the Triwizard Tournament last year, when students came from Bulgarian and French wizarding schools to compete. He was the one I went to the Yule Ball with."

Aunt Petunia's face clouded. "You went to a ball?"

I smirked. "That a problem."

"N-No." She seemed more confused than anything now. "Just… what did you wear?"

I blinked. That was her question? It felt intensely strange to be sitting in the living room, the street dark outside, having a chat about the magical world with Aunt Petunia in our pajamas. I wondered if this was what it might have been like if she and Uncle Vernon hadn't hated magic so much. If they had really been an aunt and uncle to us, and not just our unwilling suppliers of food and board.

I smiled faintly. "I got a dress. It was emerald green and lovely. My dorm mates did my makeup and hair. I wore black gloves and black stilettos. I got out some of the Potter diamonds for the occasion."

"Potter… diamonds?" Aunt Petunia's expression was blank. Harry had once muttered to me that we should never tell the Dursleys that we had so much money or they'd try and get it away from us, but there was no way that could possibly happen, not the least of which because Wizarding Courts would turn up their noses at the very idea of dealing with Muggles.

"The Potter family is one of the wealthiest in the Wizarding World," I said simply. "The Potters developed the basis for several medical potions that are still in use today, and we receive income from that. The family funds are a bit smaller now seeing as they're split between Harry and I, but it's still a fortune for each of us."

Aunt Petunia seemed dizzied. She sat down on the arm of the couch like her legs couldn't support her. For a moment I thought she was trying to imagine what she would do with that kind of money, but then she said, "He didn't work. I always assumed… he was a wastrel… I never knew he just… didn't need to."

I opened my mouth to say something nasty about how she would have known if she'd ever bothered to get to know him but I paused. Aunt Petunia looked… genuinely _guilty_. Like she actually felt bad for underestimating my father and his ability to take care of my mother. It was always an unpleasant jolt to remember that Aunt Petunia was actually my mother's sister and it hit me just then. She'd never spoken of their years growing up but I knew there must have been happy times before my mum found out that she was a witch. It was so strange to think that my mother and Aunt Petunia might once have been as close as… sisters.

She shook herself and peered at the book in my lap. "Why are you writing them down?" she asked. "Why not just keep them parchment?"

I blinked. She'd said parchment, not paper. She was correct, but it was a distinction most Muggles didn't bother to make. I knew Hermione's parents still mostly referred to parchment as paper because it was what they were familiar with and again I was forcefully reminded that Aunt Petunia knew things about the wizarding world. I'd had to hem and haw about my decision to tell Amity about my life for the sake of having someone to talk about it with, but these were conversations I could have been having with Petunia if things had been different.

"People can read the parchment," I said slowly. "They'd know what I was up to. These books," I said, running my hands over the pages vaguely, "are enchanted. I put spells on them so that I'm the only one who can open and read them. They're also enchanted to never run out of paper but never get any thicker," I was unable to resist saying smugly.

Petunia stared at me curiously. "You never did well in school," she said abruptly. "Your grades were wretched, your attitude was worse. I always thought that… that you weren't very bright. But you're actually… quite clever, aren't you? Like Li- like your mother was."

I was again unable to resist saying proudly, "Many people say I'm cleverer than my parents were."

Aunt Petunia stared at me like she'd never quite seen me before. "I'm… noticing."

I tilted my head. "You want to ask something," I guessed. It wasn't a stretch. The likelihood that we'd ever have a conversation like this in a house where Uncle Vernon lived seemed nonexistent and she had to have questions that were a bit deeper than 'what did you wear to a party' and 'why are you writing down spells?' "Ask it," I commanded.

Aunt Petunia sat up straighter, clutched her rob tighter. "Why would it be a problem for people to know you're learning healing sp-spells?" She stuttered over the word and made a face like she'd just bitten a lemon but she got out a word that was usually taboo in this house. "Is it because you're a Slytherin?"

Again she surprised me with how much she knew. I nodded slowly, staring at her with narrowed eyes and a new respect. "Yes," I said slowly. "Many of my housemates are the children of people who serve Voldemort and a lot of them aren't happy considering that Harry at I got some of their parents arrested at the end of last term. I don't doubt they'll be watching for information about me that might be useful to make up their parents failure to his."

Aunt Petunia looked vaguely sickened. "They would… do that? They would need to do that? For something their parents did?"

"Parents, children, to him it doesn't matter." I shrugged. "Lord Voldemort is a person who kills people for the sake of making a point." But not Tom Riddle. The distinction was one I made without thought, even in front of a woman who wouldn't understand the difference in the slightest. "He doesn't forgive failure."

Aunt Petunia's face was ashen and instead of clutching the neck of her robe, her hands had gone limp, resting in her lap. "It's not… safe anymore, is it? Your school?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Anymore?"

There was no reason Aunt Petunia would have ever seen my scars. I covered up a lot of skin most of the time as much for the purpose of keeping my skin my preferred shade of pale as to hide the scars. These days it's not like I was ashamed of them, but they sparked questions that I didn't necessarily feel like answering. It was just easier not to leave the opening there for someone to latch onto.

I turned in the chair so that she could see my side and back and hitched up the overlarge shirt of Dudley's that I wore over a pair of boxers. Aunt Petunia's gaze caught and held on the scars from Fluffy that raked around my side and her hands jumped to her mouth, eyes flying wide with horror.

"When…?" she whispered.

"First year," I said simply, and shoved the shirt back down. "Hogwarts was never safe."

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat in a chair in Malfoy Manor before the fireplace. The blazing logs burned high, casting flickering lights around the immediate area. He sat in one of two wing-backed armchairs covered with soft, expensive leather. At his feet was a Persian rug. He trailed his long, white fingers contemplatively over the soft leather, tracing the tip of one spidery digit around a bronze accent on the front.

His thoughts drifted, as they had more than once since he was forcibly revealed to the general public, not to Harry Potter or the prophecy his worthless servants had failed to bring him, but to the little girl that the prophecy had never mentioned. The… spare, the extra, the girl who would be his trophy when all the world lay at his feet.

He remembered her as an infant. She had seemed curiously aware to him that night. Her brother's stare had still held a slight vacantness of youth but she? She had stared at him intently, and he remembered thinking she looked as if she might at any moment open her mouth and greet him cordially, as if they'd arranged their meeting weeks before. She had stretched out her tiny hand and laid it against his cheek as if she were fond of him, and all the while she had simply _stared._

Then came the graveyard. He had been reborn from the shade he had once been and he had laid real, physical eyes on the Potter twins for the first time since that faithful night. Harry, pinned to the grace of his father, and Lorena, bound in ropes and magic slumped on the ground next to him. There had been fear in her eyes then as she was finally old enough to know who she looked at and what she had done, but she had still never broken his gaze, never averted her eyes. He could almost applaud her for that…

Bestowing a matching scar on her other cheek had been entirely too tempting to resist. It was his mark laid upon her that showed all the world that no matter what she accomplished on her own it was only through Lord Voldemort's mercy that she was alive to succeed in anything. There was a nice sort of symmetry to it. An S on both cheeks, one from each of their meetings. The initials of his famed ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, etched on her face for all to see and know that she belonged to the Heir.

He had brushed her off them as, not unimportant, but an afterthought. When he had dealt with her brother and the Order, then he would turn to her, bring her to his side, break her mind, bend her will, and turn her into something shiny and new, made in his image and to his liking. She should be grateful that he had decided to let her live, not just that first time, not just in the graveyard, but to live through the coming war to see the glorious world he would create.

He had known, of course, from reports given by Severus, by Lucius Malfoy, by others of his faithful who had children in Slytherin house, that Lorena Potter was perhaps the greatest genius Hogwarts had seen since he himself had passed through the halls. The Gryffindors could cling to their Mudblood of course, but he knew that theory and practice were two entirely different things. The Mudblood had knowledge for the sake of knowledge, but Lorena accrued knowledge for the sake of use, exactly as he had. He could even admit to admiring that quality in her. So few had it that it was something to be noted.

He had known, of course, that Severus was teaching her and her brother Occlumency on the old fool's orders. He had reported that the boy remained helpless, but that the girl progressed well. He had expected some sort of wall, a resistance to his attempted possession, but he had been completely confident that he would break through just as he had with the defenses of dozens of other, more skilled, more experienced witches and wizards.

And he had. He had wrapped himself around her and possessed her after only a few seconds fighting her, those few seconds being a testament to her skill. All had been as it should be, and then she had slipped from his hold like smoke and he felt himself slide sideways across her mind. He knew enough of the Mind Arts to be able to immediately identify the 'room' where they'd stood as one created through a branch of Occlumency, but such things should have been well beyond her years. Many studied for decades and never achieved it, yet she seemed to have done It instinctively, seemed more at ease with it that constructing the simplest of walls.

She had surprised him then. Standing across from him, and still staring. She did not flinch to see him standing before her, did not make a move to draw her wand not that her magic would have worked within a place in her mind that didn't truly exist. She had stood there and that little girl had the audacity to smile at him, to greet him once more like it was a meeting they had arranged beforehand instead of what it was – him assaulting her person.

She had greeted him by name, the loathed inheritance from his filthy Muggle father. His anger had been hard to contain at the sound of that name uttered in conjunction with that smile that was almost… kind? He could never recall seeing that sort of smile directed at him before. He had been smiled at, of course. The mocking bearings of teeth by the children at the orphanage, the platitude greetings exchanged in the halls of Hogwarts, the encouraging grins of teachers, the triumphant beams of his servants when he rewarded them. He had always known that his actions would affect the girl mentally- how could they not? – but had her perhaps driven her mad? What sane person could stand before the murderer of their parents and smile like they were staring at family?

And then she had explained. He had known, of course, that the Potter boy could occasionally slide into his thoughts. He had felt him there, though at first he hadn't known what it was. It wasn't until the night he slid his soul into Nagini and had found himself with Potter that he had realized it was the boy who had nearly ended him over a decade before. But he hadn't realized the Potter girl had a similar window to his mind.

But it wasn't his mind really, no, far worse, she could see his past. He had locked those memories away long ago, using them now only as fuel to the fire of his hatred for those magical folk who had abandoned him to the horror of Wool's, to the Muggles who had tormented him as a boy.

Now he pulled them out and turned them over in his mind the way a person might turn over and examine a rather interesting rock picked up by the side of the river. What might she have seen? Not much of what she could have seen of his early life were things he would want anyone to know. He had been so weak as a child, letting the older children bully him, steal his books, trip him. It had been ecstasy to discover his power and realize that not only could he fight back, but he was guaranteed the win, so why shouldn't he make them pay?

And then he had seen himself as he had been then step from the blackness behind the girl. He had been horrified and disgusted by the figure. He was bitterly reminded of the days at Wool's as he beheld himself in those god-awful threadbare pants that were forever too short, scuffed shoes, sagging socks, and the tunic. He had been too skinny for his age, looking almost like a skeleton when that thinness was combined to his height. And worse, the big blue eyes that he had long ago lost were so frightened as they stared into his new red eyes. His younger self had been terrified of his future and, in that fear, he had turned to Lorena Potter.

What had he asked her? For protection, for friendship, for caring, the things he had dreamed of when he was that age, before he realized that living only for those things made you dependent entirely on others, made you weak. And Lorena Potter, damn the girl, had knelt by his younger self and sworn to give it all without even a second's hesitation, like it was nothing to give. If it was so easy, why had it never been given to him when he had craved it so desperately?

What had she said then? About why she would do such things unreservedly? Because I know who you are. The words themselves were not overly threatening, but nonetheless it sent a shiver down his spine to think of them. No one had ever known who he was, he had seen to it with endless masks tailored to specific people and situations, keeping all of his thoughts, all of his past, hidden from prying eyes. No one he'd ever encountered aside from Dumbledore had ever been intelligent enough to see behind all of the stagecraft. And yet she claimed to know who he was?

She was undoubtedly intelligent and the prospect that she could, perhaps, know all that she said she did was enough to unbalance him in the extreme. Not only for the strategic reason that it was never good to be understood by an enemy, but for personal reasons. He was not blind, he could see similarities. Children raised by those who loathed them, ignorant to their magic until Hogwarts. Each a person with a notable heritage Sorted into Slytherin, where they'd been forced to learn the complicated world of favors and doubletalk and backstabbing or be eaten alive in the snake pit. They shared a voracious appetite for knowledge and the skill to practice what they had learned. They performed magic well above their age, unflinching and determined. They both shared the gift of Parselmouth and, if he recalled correctly, both of their wands were made of yew.

The stacked similarities and shared experience made the possibility that she could indeed understand him more alarmingly possible and Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the flames. Perhaps the Potter girl could not be relegated to the realm of an afterthought as he'd assumed. She was too talented, too powerful, too clever by half - which, oddly enough, have been the exact words many of his servants had used to describe her. 'Too clever by half.' They meant it as an insult but he had always taken it as a compliment, that she had a mind so bright that it could unnerve people when it shone.

So no, she would no longer be an afterthought. Her brother was the most pressing and urgent threat to his rise. The boy was prophecied to either kill him or die by his hand. Absolutes. No other options. One or the other would die. He was no fool, he knew that the loss of their dear Boy Who Lived would be perhaps the most staggering blow he could deal against the Wizarding World.

Next came Albus Dumbledore. The man had known him too long and was too knowledgeable and too powerful to be taken as anything but a threat. The most powerful man alive, aside from Voldemort himself, Dumbledore was nearly even with Potter on his list of threats, but for a different reason. In terms of outright support and power, Dumbledore was the greater threat.

But Lorena Potter had just earned herself a place on that list just below them. Her pursuit of knowledge was admirable, but dangerous. Already an accomplished Occlumens, able to produce a Patronus, a master brewer, and supposedly learning to be an Animagus. Things that should be beyond a school girl and yet she was making steady progress. She could no longer be set aside to be dealt with later. She had earned herself a place on the chess board.

Something about that appealed to the magpie he had been as a child. Scavenging a piece from the chessboard after he delivered his opponent a crushing defeat to tuck into his pocket. It left the pieces for the game incomplete. No one would ever be able to play again, no one would ever be able to challenge him. And he could take that piece out of his pocket at his leisure and examine it and think of what a delight it had been to win this particular game.


	79. Errands

**CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! I know, I know, I'm an absolute failure. honestly, I woke up this morning and have been convinced it was Tuesday all day today guys. I partook in severe amounts of stupidity and I'm sorry. Going by the reviews and PMS I've gotten asking, you guys noticed the chapter was late and I'm SOOOOO sorry. To make it up to you - and because I just got back from Fantastic Beasts - have a double update. And don't hurt me!**

* * *

As far as Harry knew, I was working at Amity's that day, but Amity was under the impression that it was my day off. I wasn't thrilled to be lying to either of them, but there was nothing else for it. It wouldn't be bad if Harry knew where I was going – though I suspected he'd try and stop one of my errands – but frankly I figured he'd want to come along and I couldn't have that.

My broomstick and the Invisibility Cloak had been stashed down in the front hall closet the night before, and I glanced at where Harry sat on the bed, flicking absently through a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages with a blank look on his face. His eyes were tracking, so he was actually reading, but I could tell by where the book was open to that he was reading about early broom construction, a section he'd read a hundred times before.

Harry had developed a habit this summer that was very similar to his pattern after last year. There was very little cleaning getting done in our room – I was the only reason the bed sheets had been introduced to the washer and the owls weren't up to their eyes in their own pellets. Instead he would sit on the bed and page aimlessly through books or take long, meandering walks around town. He'd finished our summer work in the first week of break, as much for something to do to distract him as to get it done.

I hesitated in my path towards the door, one hand clutching the strap of a cheap, tiny purse, and glanced at him worriedly. Not much had been said on the subject of Sirius. Not much could be said. We grieved so differently that neither of us could really guess at what the other was going through, and therefore couldn't really tell what to do. I didn't doubt that getting out and doing something would do him good, but not just the pointless wandering he'd taken up. I didn't quite know how to present the idea without seeming like a worry wart.

"I'm fine."

I blinked. Harry was still staring at the book but his eyes were frozen now. He was speaking to me though, and I swallowed and shook my head.

"You're not."

Harry shrugged. "No, I'm not," he agreed. He looked up at me. "You're not either." I shook my head. "How do you do it?"

I stared at him blankly. "Do… what?"

"You're going about business like nothing's happened, like it's just another summer, and I can't do that,' Harry said in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair.

I narrowed my eyes. "I care about Sirius, if that's what you're implying."

Harry jerked and his eyes were horrified. He frantically shook his head. "That's not what I meant at all! Merlin…" He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes firmly like he was trying to drive away the visions before them. I knew how that felt. Sometimes I would swear I saw Sirius out of the corner of my eye or the flutter of the veil he'd fallen through, but it was just my grief and edginess making me twitchy.

"I don't know," I admitted, and I moved to sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. "I'm not okay," I repeated. "But I'm… Things need to be done, and I need to do them. I want to do them."

Harry's eyes returned to the book open on the sheets in front of him and he absently fiddled with the edge of one page. "I keep thinking about that veil," he said softly. "About how he just fell right through it, and his body was gone. I keep trying to come up with situations where he's okay. He just… fell through to some other place he can't get back from."

I shook my head. "Even if he did fall through to somewhere else, Bellatrix hit him with a Killing Curse. He's dead." The way it could be summed up so easily in two words struck me. A life was cut short. Sirius, who had been larger than life, had an ending that was barely two words.

He's. Dead.

"And I know that," Harry insisted. "But I can't stop those thoughts. And then there's worse things, like what if… what if going through that veil made it impossible for him to move on. He didn't come back as a ghost, I know he didn't, but maybe he can't go on to… to whatever's next either."

I tilted my head and considered that. Truthfully, the nature of the veil was something I had forced myself not to think about it. It scared me, that thing, because of how intensely powerful it had felt, humming in the air, the whispering voices that I now thought belonged to the dead.

"I don't believe that's possible," I said slowly. "That veil, whatever it is, isn't evil or cruel. It's not moral or immoral. It's amoral. It simply is. I don't know that, powerful as it is, that's really what it's there for. I don't think its purpose is a… prison of some kind. I mean, think about it. Did that thing feel threatening to you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. It was…." He struggled for a word.

"Beautiful," I supplied simply, and he nodded. He looked at me and grinned. It was tired and sad, but his eyes had the mischievous spark back in them and I delighted to see it, to see a sign that he was coming out of his slump. I beamed back. My brother sat before me again. Even better, it was a brother who didn't hate me, who didn't turn up his nose and walk past me in the halls. Harry and I were twins again, acting as twins should be, and I couldn't be happier.

* * *

My first errand for the day was undoubtedly the easiest. The optometrist where Aunt Petunia grudgingly took Harry and I when it was clear we needed glasses was not far away, and I was able to walk there with Muggle money stuffed in my pocket. The bell rang as I pushed open the door and the receptionist looked up at me and smiled.

"Lorena Potter?"

I nodded, my hair sliding back over my shoulder, and I saw her expression falter at the scars on my cheeks, both now proudly worn, but it was gamely recovered.

"If you'll go back there, first room on your left, Dr. Whittaker is ready for you."

I nodded my thanks and traipsed down the hallway she'd pointed me towards back room. The room was dimmed and a projector had cast an eye chart on the wall. The optometrist's chair, with all the different arms bearing different eye tests, looked outright unnerving, and Whittaker in his lab coat wasn't made any less disturbing by the half-light.

"Lorena!" he greeted cheerfully. I noticed him glance at my file to get my name. Like the receptionist, his smile faltered at my scars. I didn't blame him. They tended to make an impression, and I hadn't been here since I was a child. I was now only a little under a year away from adulthood, at least in the Wizarding World.

"Dr. Whittaker," I greeted coolly. "I had some questions about contact lenses…."

An hour later, after Whittaker had made me put in and take out the lenses three times and stressed to me the importance of keeping the lenses clean, he'd sent me off with a supply of extended-wear contact, saline solution, and a tiny plastic case to keep them in overnight. The weight of them in my bag made me grin.

Glasses were a liability. If they were broken, it disrupted my vision at best, and at worst, ended with me having to pick glass shards out of my eyes. They could be knocked off in a fight or easily summoned by an opponent who was clever enough to think to do so, and unfortunately, Death Eaters weren't all stupid. Because of the strength of my prescription, the edge of the lens was incredibly thick, and that distorted my vision there. If I looked directly sideways, I might as well not be wearing glasses.

Contacts presented a good solution. They could not be summoned – because wizards didn't know they existed – and they wouldn't break or damage my eyes. It may have seemed like a little thing to be concerned about, but I'd watched too many episodes of Scooby Doo to take the possibility of losing my glasses lightly.

I paused outside of a chemist and ducked inside. It was fairly empty, and I made a bee-line for the personal grooming section, where there was sure to be a hand mirror. Sure enough, there was a whole rack of them. I grabbed one, took a deep breath, and held it up.

I froze. The last time I'd seen my face without glasses it had been round-cheeked with childishness. I of course had seen my face without glasses recently, but that had been through blurry eyes, when I'd had to get so close to the mirror to make out details that I could only focus on one part of my face at a time, and now the whole of it and how it looked.

Most of the time my glasses hid the dark grey eye shadow and slick of mascara that were my usual eye makeup, but now they could be seen. I stared in awe at how large and clever my eyes suddenly seemed to be without a pane of glass blocking them. It was fascinating to see my face clearly for the first time in so long.

I… didn't look like I thought I did. I supposed some part of me had been clinging to younger years of malnutrition when I thought of myself, but my cheeks had gone from gaunt to structured. The roundness had faded from my jaw and chin. The scars stood out starkly, but I could see a shade of how I'd looked on the night of the Yule Ball – fierce beauty instead of unhealthy skinniness.

I grinned to myself and set the mirror back down. I was still smiling as I left the shop.

I snuck back into Privet Drive, being careful not to let anyone know I had opened the door. I went to the cupboard and pulled out my broom, the Invisibility Cloak, and a flask. I traded my small purse for a larger basket and tossed the cloak over all of it before creeping back out into the street. It was hard work, but I managed to get the basket handle looped over the handles of the broomstick while only flashing my feet once. The flask was tucked into my shirt and I mounted the broomstick. I kicked off, and then I was flying.

The fact was that I could get to Diagon Alley by myself if I wanted. Flying would take nearly an hour both ways, but thankfully the weather was warm, so I didn't end up frozen to my broomstick. It had occurred to me to make the trip before, but I had always been hesitant to go alone. Probably because I'd never been to Diagon Alley alone. Harry and I went there to get our supplies, always together. I felt strangely… guilty to go without him.

I touched down in an alleyway by the Leaky Cauldron that was kept under Notice-Me-Not charms for safe Apparation. I stayed huddled under the cloak for a moment, digging in my pocket for the flask. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of it, but down a hearty gulp of the Polyjuice Potion I'd brewed before school let out. The hair inside of it belonged to a teacher who came into Amity's shop to get craft supplies for her students. She was about my size, so I didn't have to worry about changing clothes. Muggle clothes were not uncommon in Diagon alley, but they were definitely the exception rather than the rules, so I dug out the robes I'd stuffed into the basket and shrugged them on over my clothes, fastening them up. Ready, I ducked in through the side door and was swept up in the hustle and bustle immediately.

Or at least, I had expected to be. The Leaky Cauldron was famous world-wide, and during the summer it was a popular destination for tourists visiting Wizarding Britain. More experienced travelers usually knew to clear out by the end of the summer to avoid the crowds of shopping students, but the Leaky Cauldron always stayed packed. At any given time there could be conversations held in half a dozen languages, and by more than one species.

Now, fear had infected the Wizarding World like a plague, and it turned my stomach. The Leaky Cauldron was still boisterous, but there was a wariness to it. I saw people's eyes dart and dive around, looking for threats. Firewhiskey, mead, and elf wine had been replaced by lighter butterbeer as people sought to keep their wits about them. The roar would dull whenever a door opened as all eyes turned to see if the new arrival was a threat.

Eyes fixed on me for a moment as I stepped inside, but a quick, acknowledging nod to the room at large as I shook out my robes made everyone turn back to their own conversations. With my windswept hair, rather plain face, and the broom and basket, I looked the very picture of a young country witch coming in for a day of shopping.

My scars had been the biggest problem. For a while as I'd been planning this expedition I had fretted about how to cover them. Enchantments didn't work and neither did potions, the Reminder was too strong for even Polyjuice to remove. Madam Pomfrey had proved the saving grace, and, when I asked her, she had sent along a small package with several off the flesh-colored magical patches she'd given me. Not to hide my scars, but to hide my identity if need be, I'd explained in my letter, and she'd understood and obliged.

I reached a hand up to my face self-consciously to make sure the patches were still in place from where I'd slapped them on my cheeks mid-flight, and they were, the scars hidden. Assured that I was safe, I patted my pocket for the comforting presence of my wand and headed for the bar, wending my way through the crowd.

"Hello," I greeted Tom the barman. "Would you mind if I left my broom behind the bar? I've got quite a bit to get and I don't want it damaged?"

Tom nodded obligingly. This request was made often for people in the exact same situation I was in. Apparation or Flooing were popular choices, but some witches and wizards simply preferred flying as a method of travel. He hauled my broom over and tucked it under the counter, passing me a small slip of parchment to hand him to get my broom. I nodded thankfully and went out to the back.

Thankfully, this wasn't really magic, or I would have had the Ministry down around my ears as I tapped my wand against the bricks over the dustbin. They began to spiral back until the archway was revealed, and beyond it was the familiar street of Diagon Alley.

Or was it familiar? It hardly seemed the same bustling street I'd seen in years past. Vendors selling little magical trinkets like dancing dolls for children or random bits and bobs had been replaced by crafty-eyed people behind tables displaying amulets and talismans that were supposed to protect the wearer from Dark magic, but did nothing but make the wearer look like an idiot. The brightly-colored window displays were plastered over with posters offering advice for how to keep yourself safe, selling Dark detectors, and how to get in contact with the Ministry if you suspected someone of being on Voldemort's side.

Even the people were different. They didn't stop to chat. The bustled from place to place and went about their business as fast as possible. People no longer hung on the street's edge, shooting the breeze with friends or debating the latest Quidditch games. Heads down, feet moving quickly, single shoppers would linger in doorways until someone else passed and then dart out, so as to not be alone on the street, and they were welcomed into the folds because everyone knew exactly why they were so jumpy.

Perhaps the biggest shock of all was that not far down the street I could see Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. Fortescue's was practically a Diagon Alley Institution. It was part of nearly every student's summer shopping spree to stop in and get a cone or a dish and chat with the friendly owner. I remembered taking shelter in the Leaky Cauldron after Harry blew up Aunt Marge and coming here to do our homework. Florean had always given us free ice cream and, a Ravenclaw, had been perfectly content to supply information and books that would help our essays. He and I had even gotten into a rousing debate on vampire rights.

It was clear that the place hadn't been abandoned voluntarily. One of the windows was cracked and I could see the slight shimmer of a warding to prevent looters hanging over the doors, probably put there by a Ministry official. Most obvious was the sorrowful look in people's eyes when they saw the place. I understood then – Florean must have been taken. Why was anyone's guess. He was knowledgeable about magical history, but he was hardly an expert. I really doubted Voldemort just had a craving for one of Fortescue's signature sundaes, and I stared grimly at the name over the door, confident that no matter how the war ended, this place would never be Florean Fortescue's again.

The reminder of what was going on in the world was enough to jolt me out of my thoughts and make me pick up the pace. I had only a few stops here and hopefully they could all be taken care of quickly.

At this point in my life, even if you put me on an unfamiliar street, I could probably find the nearest apothecary in under half an hour. I could have found Slug and Jiggers blindfolded. I pushed open the door and was greeted by the familiar sound of the bell ringing. The bleary-eyed old man who ran the place was calmly measuring out a measure of beetle eyes for a twitchy-looking woman with grey ringlets. He nodded to me in acknowledgement and I waved him off, preferring to do my own shopping. I dug around into my basket and pulled out the notebook tucked inside. It held the list of everything I needed.

I began to make my way around the walls, checking the ingredients for the freshest, most perfect specimens. To keep ingredients from touching and possibly contaminating each other, there were stacks of small, slim paper bags scattered around, soft pouches by barrels of organs and eyes, and spools of twine for tying bundles of herbs together. I was an expert in all of this, and the owner could tell even though he didn't recognize me, so he obligingly left me to my perusing.

I steadily added more and more to my basket. The entire bottom was lined in two rows of Stasis bottles laid flat. Over top of that I divided the basket into thirds. In one third I stacked bundles of herbs that I pulled from clumps hanging from the ceiling. In the middle were random ingredients like standard powder, boomslang skin, lacewing flies, and fairy wings. In the last third were organs. Rat liver, frog spleen, newt eyes, all carefully measure out into the soft pouches that would prevent any unsavory juices from leaking.

The proprietor's eyes practically shone with golden Galleons as I set my heavy basket down on the counter. I took advantage of my free hands to down another shot of Polyjuice Potion to keep my disguise up. He began to weigh everything and note it down in a little ticket book, doing up totals on an abacus as he went. He wrote the names of the herbs on the outside of the bags and carefully counted up the number of bottles lining the bottom of the basket. I stood patiently and waited for him to finish, watching while restraining a wince while the price got higher and higher. I had money, yes, but big purchases still felt like a punch in the gut as I shoveled over Galleons out of my bag and passed them over.

The owner waved me off with a cheerful smile and I got the feeling I was the best customer he'd had in a while. The thought made me grimace. The dittany along had been ridiculous, the prices on his powdered spine of lionfish given that some of the pieces I'd seen weren't entirely powdered… I shook my head and sighed as I made my way back down Diagon Alley.

Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment seemed to be busy, and it was easy to find out why. Taking advantage of the panic over personal safety, they had apparently started stocking Dark detectors by the truckload and selling them at reduced price, and almost every person in there could be seen clutching one of some kind in their hands. I felt back for whoever came to visit the pinch-faced old woman holding a particularly wicked-looking Probity Probe.

Nevertheless, it worked out well for me, seeing as that was exactly what I was there for. I grabbed a sneakoscope and a compact version of a foe-glass. It was less powerful than its full-sized counterparts, but it was something, and it would allow me to discretely observe my surroundings under the guise of checking my eyeliner. I looked around at the various displays but could find nothing else that was worth the money, so I checked out.

My basket was cutting into my arm by the time I stepped out of Wiseacre's, and I began to sneak back down the alley. I'd learned a long time ago that the key to sneaking was to not look sneaky. Someone darting from shadow to shadow and glancing over their shoulder every few seconds drew more notice than a woman keeping her head down and going about her business. So I strode alone in the same manner as everyone else, quickly and purposefully, and I didn't make a big deal about heading down Knockturn Alley, just calmly turned and started walking.

My memory of Knockturn Alley was a bit fuzzy given that it had been four years since my last trip here, but assuming it hadn't gone out of business, I knew approximately where I was heading.

Knockturn Alley seemed to have absorbed some of the vigor that Diagon Alley had lost. Many people who might once have slunk along in the shadows, fearful of being seen, now walked openly, with their shoulders back and their heads high. They knew that times had changed and that in certain circles Dark magic was not necessarily the taboo it used to be. I kept my basket pulled tight and my other hand on my wand in my pocket. My head was up now and my eyes watchful. I was clearly aware, but not aggressively confident so as to invite trouble.

Sure enough, the place was exactly as I remembered it. There was no bell to announce me as I walked into Inigo's Ink. I recalled Sirius telling me that he had come to a similar place in Knockturn Alley to get his first tattoo with my dad the summer after he'd left home for good. Given that the Wizarding Society still clung heavily to medieval and Victorian ideals – both times that didn't have particularly favorable views of the tattooed – it had been relegated to a bit of a back-alley thing, something done in secret.

There were advantages to magical over Muggle tattooing. For one, instead of using needles, the artist sketched out the design on parchment to the liking of the customer, then pressed the parchment to the desired area and used a spell to implant the ink under the skin. It was not painless, but it was less painful. There was also no risk for disease this way. They were also a cheaper, given that they took less time to apply and there was less money in materials.

The man behind the counter looked like he would stab you as soon as look at you. He was slim, nearly skeletal, with long, dark hair hanging around his face. He was olive- skinned and might have been handsome if he didn't look like life had a personal interest in drop-kicking him as often and as hard as possible. His shirt was open, displaying an ink design across his chest, and his fingers were stained by colored inks and decked in rings.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, leaning his forearms on the edge of the counter.

"Hm, well, have you suddenly decided to start selling potions ingredients at affordable prices?" I challenged. He raised an eyebrow. "Then I would think it would be obvious why I'm here."

He smirked and stepped out from behind the counter, looking at me like an artist might look over a blank canvas. "Alright then," he said slowly, and stepped towards a table in the corner that was spread with colored inks and quills. More jars of inks with faded labels lined the walls. "What are you looking for?"

"More than one thing," I said simply, and again he looked intrigued as he sat down.

"Is that so? Where shall we start?"

I set my basket down. He looked at it curiously as it settled heavily on the floor, but I cleared my throat and drew his attention back to me as I sat down primly and pushed a blank piece of parchment towards him and a pot of black ink.

"Footprints," I said simply. He looked close to rolling his eyes. I wondered how many footprints he'd done in the past. "Don't make that face at me," I said sharply, and pointed firmly at the paper. "A human." I moved a little farther up and to the left. "A dog." Farther up and back right. "A deer." Still higher and back to the left. "A wolf."

I had thought long and hard about this one, Pettigrew being the hang up. He had been my father's friend for many years and he was a Marauder. Wormtail was still proudly emblazoned on the Marauder's Map and I had to acknowledge the years he had been a friend. But I couldn't bring myself to get the rat's footprint inked into my skin next to my father, Sirius, and Remus.

"Any particular reason?" the man asked mildly as he began to ink out the design.

"I like animals," I said, my voice going high and girlish. He snorted and glanced up at me.

"How big do you want each footprint?"

"About an inch."

We sat in silence for a moment as he sketched out the footprints onto the paper. It didn't take him long, the shapes basic. The only question was one of size and positioning, and he quickly adjusted them to my specifications.

"Ready for your first time?" he asked with a lewd grin as he raised the paper in one hand and his wand in the other. I sneered at the poor joke and outright scoffed as he continued, "Where do you want it?"

Wordlessly I yanked up my sleeve and laid my arm out flat on the table. I formed my fingers into a fist and tilted my arm so that the soft inner skin of my forearm was displayed. He grinned and pressed down the parchment to my skin, pointing his wand at it and looked to me one final time. I nodded to confirm the placement and he grinned wickedly.

"Last chance to back out," he sing-songed.

"Keep mocking me and you're not getting a tip," I said firmly, and he pressed his wand tip to the parchment. There was a flash of red light and a burning sensation as the ink burrowed through my skin. He peeled the parchment back and there on my arm, the ink gleaming slightly from the freshness, were the footprints.

My attitude towards scars had changed a bit over the years, as had my opinions on tattoos. Harry would have been appalled, and Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia would have heart attacks when they saw, but I couldn't be bothered. All that was etched into my skin thus far was agony and pain and memories I'd rather not have, moments I'd rather not have had to go through. I was now in control of what was going on my body, and it wasn't the result of torture or a mistake. It was remembrance and love and pride in my father and his friends and all they had accomplished.

I looked at the tattoo and smiled softly.

The tattoo artist interrupted my moment of quiet reflection. "I expected you to at least flinch a little." He sounded like he was a bit put out that I hadn't.

"I can try and scream a little next time," I offered sarcastically, but he just sighed and shook his head.

"No, it's not your first one, you know what you're expecting. It wouldn't be real."

"Are you a sadist?" I asked mildly.

"Nah, just gets a little boring in here sometimes. Gotta get my entertainment somehow," he said with a shrug, and pulled a fresh bit of parchment towards him. "What next?"

"Phoenix feather," I said, and held up my fingers, again about an inch apart. "That big."

He nodded in understanding and began to sketch out an outline for the feather. I watched him carefully and took advantage of the period of silence to dig out the flask and take a swig. His eyes followed the flask as it disappeared back into my robes. He gazed at me questioningly.

"The way the world it, you'd drink too," I said, and didn't have to feign the world-weary tone. He grinned crookedly.

"Here's to that. Care to share?"

I stared meaningfully at his hand, which was sketching a design shortly to go on my body. "Not hardly."

"Killjoy," he accused as he stood up and fetched a selection of inks infused with metallics. I watched carefully as he filled in the design in shades of red and gold and bronze and orange and admired the skillful way he blended the colors. I tilted my head and examined the strokes, wishing suddenly that I was able to draw something better than a stick figure with a skeletal disorder.

"Alright, what do you think?" he asked, lifting up the paper for me to see the finished product. I grinned. The metallics meant that the feather almost seemed to flutter as it caught and shifted in the light. I nodded in approval and pulled my new brown hair around, tapping the skin behind my right ear. The man raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless stood up and moved around the table to press the paper where I'd pointed.

"Ready?" he asked, and performed the spell before I could even open my mouth to respond. I let out a noise that was more annoyed than it was pained and glared at him as he pulled back with a smug look on his face.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, this one came out nice!" he chided, and dug around among the pots of ink on the table, eventually coming up with a small, grubby compact that looked like it might have been left by a customer roughly a hundred years ago. I snatched the mirror from him and held it up, pushing my ear forward so that I could see and grinning at the finished product. Even under a layer of skin, the ink still shone and glittered in the dim light of the shop.

"You're talented," I admitted, and the man smirked.

"Oughta be, I'm the only person in the area who can do this."

I smirked and glanced pointedly around the shop. "Oh yes, I can tell you're very busy…"

"Is that all you wanted done?" the man asked a little shortly, clearly not amused to be reminded of his lack of clientele.

"No, only two left," I said sweetly, and pulled up the sleeve of my robes to reveal my left bicep. "I want a snake wrapped around here." I traced just at the widest part of my small bicep.

"Slytherin girl, eh?" he said, sitting down and seizing another piece of paper from the pile. "What kind of snake?"

I grinned faintly. "A Basilisk, I believe."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course, King of Serpents, why wouldn't it be?"

I wrinkled my nose at his obvious distaste, but didn't bother to correct him. I had a reason to be asking for a Basilisk tattoo, more right to wear one than a lot of people who had probably come in asking about one.

The man had never seen a Basilisk before, and admittedly I'd only ever seen a dead one, but I had a better idea of what one looked like that he did, and I was quick to correct him on the shades of green, the color of the eyes, the proportions of the bodies and teeth… he eyed me suspiciously whenever I did so, clearly wondering how in Merlin's name I knew all that, but clearly unwilling to press someone who might or might not have access to a Basilisk.

This work was just as good as the last. The tail of the basilisk wrapped around my arm, and was gorgeously shaded with different depths of poisonous green. The head curved back around, the mouth closed around the tail in the style of an Ouroboros. The eyes were yellow and metallic again, giving the snake's stare something of a liveliness. Trails of metallic green were worked into a few of the scales, making the snake seem to shift and move slightly as the picture did. Again I was deeply impressed and happily leaned my arm on the table to let him place the paper around my bicep, eagerly admiring the end result. I was delighted, and even contemplated perhaps coming back and getting an adder around my other bicep.

"One left?" the man said simply, pulling a fourth piece of paper towards himself and raising a quill. "This is all gonna cost, you know?"

"It will cost the amount of time you took and the cost of the ink," I told him firmly, as that was the unofficially accepted standard of payment for this kind of work. He looked a bit irked that he wouldn't be able to gouge a new person a little bit, but he wasn't wrong – this would still cost quite a bit, particularly because of the range and amount of inks he'd used, and the fact that several of the pieces included metallic inks.

"Canis Major," I said simply. "And it will be going on my right shoulder." Once again I rolled up my sleeves and tapped the outside of my arm just at my shoulder.

The man narrowed his eyes at me. "Funny thing about Canis Major…" he said slowly. "It's got the brightest star in the sky in it."

My eyes narrowed back. "I know."

"Star called Sirius. Funnier thing is that I hear Sirius Black died not too long ago?"

"Did he?" I asked mildly, firmly schooling my features so that the pang in my heart didn't show. "Well damn, Im sure the Ministry will be delighted."

His eyes roamed my face like he was looking for some hint of a connection to Sirius, something that might help him figure out who I was, but he had no such luck. I just stared at him coolly and raised an eyebrow. I looked pointedly at the paper. He seemed disappointed but he did seemed to believe me, so he turned to the paper and began to sketch out the stars in silvery-gold shimmering ink lined in black, the individual stars connected by thin lines of the same silvery-gold. And sure enough, Sirius was a bit larger than all the others.

This tattoo went on and I stood up to present my arm to the window so that I could see it in the reflection, smiling slightly. The woman whose face I had stolen was tanner than I was and I knew that as pale as I normally was, the shimmering ink would just barely show up until the light hit it, and then it would glow brightly. It would be the perfect tribute the Sirius, inked on my skin, and I couldn't help but think he'd approve of the gesture.

Over the years my opinion of my body had changed somewhat. My scars had been horrifying to me and I had pointedly ignored them whenever I caught my own eye in the mirror. But slowly and surely, particularly over the last year with my Basilisks supporting me, I had come to be a bit more confident in myself, and, by extension, my scars. Now they were not hideous things, but reminders of what I had overcome etched in my skin. Part of me almost couldn't wait to get more.

This was perhaps why I didn't mind getting these tattoos. These were things I had chosen to get carved into my skin, things I wanted on my body, and things that meant something to me. These things were my choice and they were works of art on my flesh, just like the scars could be considered. I smiled and turned to the man.

"How much do I owe you?"

He expected me to balk at the amount of Galleons but I didn't flinch as I handed them over. I picked up my basket and settled it on my arm, saluted him with a swig from my flask, and headed back down to Diagon Alley.

I was tied but happy as I made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom offered me a butterbeer when I reclaimed my broom but I waved him off and left out the side. Carefully I threaded the handle of my brook through the handle of the basket, tossed the Invisibility Cloak over me, and took off.

I felt the Polyjuice wear off as I flew, but didn't bother to swig any more. I would be going back to Privet Drive directly, and trying to enter number 4 wearing someone else's face would probably be a great way to get beat around the head with a dish rag by Aunt Petunia.

Now weighed down by my purchases, I landed in the back garden and entered through the back door, tugging off the Invisibility Cloak as I went. I smiled proudly as I squeezed through the door, broom and basket in my hands, and found Uncle Vernon sitting at the kitchen table. He looked up at the clattering and his face went ruddy at the sight of me coming in from outdoors looking so completely strange.

He slammed his hand down on the counter top and stood up sharply. "How dare you?" he demanded. "What do you think you're doing, running 'round in broad daylight? Were you seen?" he hissed, his piggy eyes darting towards the windows like he expected to see the neighbors flooding into the garden to beat down his door for answers.

"I was off at Diagon Alley," I said coolly, leaning my broom against the wall and setting my basket on the kitchen counter, brushing my hands off carelessly. "I needed to pick up some potions ingredients."

Uncle Vernon's face was sliding from red into purple. "You what? I won't have mention of your unnaturalness under this roof!"

"You will, actually," I said mildly. "Because if you decide not to, you'll bring the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix down on your head. You met some of them at the train station, remember?" I asked sweetly. Uncle Vernon's face abruptly went ashy at the reminder of his meeting with Moody, as most people's would after being threatened by the man.

"Well that's not… you still can't… I won't let you…"

"Let me?" I chuckled. "And how exactly will you stop me?" I laughed harshly, picked up my basket and broom, and brushed past him towards the stairs, leaving him spluttering helplessly in the kitchen.

"Where were you?" Harry asked as I entered the room. He was sitting on the bed where I'd left him, but his face was more alert than it had been in days and he was holding a piece of parchment in his hand. "I realized after you left, but you took your rings off. You never take your rings off."

I blinked. It always surprised me, the small reminders that Harry and I were actually related. They usually came when Harry said something oddly clever or observant and this time was no exception. I opened and closed my mouth, having thought I was being so smart, but the smallest thing – trying to leave behind the rings that could identify me – had given me away even before I strode into the room with my purchases and broomstick.

"I was in Diagon Alley," I said simply, setting the basket on the ground near my cauldron. I reached into it and, somewhat guiltily, pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and tossed it to him. Harry caught it with the reflexes of a Seeker and let it slide through his fingers to fall into a pile on the sheets next to him. I leaned my broom against the wall and pulled off my outer robe, sliding the flask of Polyjuice Potion from it and setting it on the desk. I'd dump it down the drain later. Even Stasis bottles wouldn't help Polyjuice after the human element had been added.

"What were you doing?" Harry asked, his eyes lingering a bit warily on the flask.

"Relax, it's just Polyjuice, I wasn't out for a pint," I assured him. "I was picking up ingredients for medical potions. I'm going to try and brew some and distribute them to Order members to carry with them in case they're attacked."

Harry's eyes widened. "That's actually… that's brilliant, Rena."

"Thank you," I said smugly, sitting down on the end of the bed primly. "I try."

"And the Polyjuice Potion was… what, so no one would recognize you?"

I nodded. "Yeah." I sighed. "You should see Diagon Alley, Harry, it's changed a lot. Everywhere is papered with blown up versions of those ugly Ministry announcements they keep slipping in the Prophet," I said, glaring at our wastebasket which was full of the pink and green flyers. "People are keeping their heads down, and no one stops to chat. And Florean Fortescue's…" I swallowed. "It's boarded up. He was… Harry, I think he was taken."

"Florean?" Harry said incredulously. "But why, what could he do?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. He was a Ravenclaw, maybe he knew something Voldemort wanted to know. He was a dab hand at history; maybe Voldemort is trying to uncover some kind of old magic?" I shrugged. "Maybe He just thought that taking Fortescue would be a hit to morale, who knows?"

"Florean," Harry said sadly. "He's probably not…."

"No, I doubt he's still alive," I agreed quietly. "The place looked like it had been boarded up for a while."

"I can't picture Diagon Alley like you described it," Harry admitted. "But surely it's still safe though? I mean, you should have been safe walking around because everyone would recognize you or me. No one would try anything out in the open, would they?"

I bit my lip. He'd find out sooner or later, honestly. "Well… I may or may not have nipped down Knockturn Alley for a bit…"

"Rena!" Harry looked at me darkly. "Are you mad? Anything could have happened to you down there!"

"Hence the Polyjuice," I said pointedly. "And since I'm under-aged, if I had been forced to fight, the Ministry would have dropped from the sky like they'd been knocked off brooms."

Harry still looked less-than-pleased that I'd been prancing around Knockturn Alley, but he just asked suspiciously, "Alright, I'll bite. What did you do down there?"

I winced. "Just… don't freak out, okay?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Lorena Potter, what did you do?"

I sighed and reached down, tugging my sleeves up so that the snake around my upper arm could be seen as well as the constellation on my shoulder. Harry's eyes locked on them and widened.

"Oh Merlin," he muttered. He stared silently for a second, and then finally said, "… Aunt Petunia's gonna kill you."

I snorted with laughter. "What, no lecture about my body being a temple or something?"

Harry shrugged. "I mean, yeah, but this was your choice, right? Don't think I'm gonna do it anytime soon… But those are pretty wicked," he admitted, finally cracking a smile and reaching out to run his fingers over the basilisk. He reached over to touch the constellation on my shoulder and after five years of Astronomy classes he recognized it easily. "This is Canis Major." His pointed finger settled on the largest star. "Sirius," he said softly. "That's… the nice."

"That's what I thought," I said quietly, reaching up and touching the spot just above the constellation. "That's not all of them…. Wanna see?" I turned my forearm so that he could see the footprints up my forearm. Harry grabbed my arm and traced his way down them slowly. "Remus, dad, Sirius, and…" The human footprint.

"I couldn't put him on there," I said simply, and Harry shook his head.

"No, this is great."

"Last one," I promised, and turned my head so that he could see the phoenix feather behind my ear. Harry grinned at it and said,

"You'll need to sprout a couple more before you can fly, I think."

"Soon," I said hopefully. "So you don't hate them?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah. Sirius had them, after all, and I think it's a pretty good tribute to him." His eyes lingered on the deer print on my arm. "To all of them." A mischievous grin split his face for the first time in a while and he said, "Just make sure I'm there when Aunt Petunia sees for the first time."

I beamed back. "Oh, I'm not mean enough to deny you." I nodded to the paper that Harry had abandoned on the mattress in lieu of poking at my new tattoos. Wordlessly, Harry picked it up and passed it to me. I read the letter curiously.

 _Dear Harry and Lorena,_

 _If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._

 _If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._

 _Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you both this Friday,_

 _I am, yours most sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

" _Brilliant,"_ I grinned. "I'll be able to brew all I want there without having Muggles breathing down my neck."

"I already sent him a letter saying to get us," Harry admitted. "Hope that's okay."

"Yeah, no, I'd rather spend my summer at the Burrow than here," I said with a scoff. "What, you thought I'd want to stay here?"

"Well, you've got Amity…"

"Amity will understand, and she knows I might have to leave early on any given summer. It'll be fine."

"This'll will be way better than a couple more weeks here," Harry said happily. I nodded, and then a delightful idea occurred to me.

"Do we tell them? That Dumbledore is coming?" I asked slyly. "Or do we surprise them? I mean, we won't have to deal with the fallout."

Harry grinned back, and it was a look ripped straight from Sirius. "I think we should surprise them."


	80. Inheritence

Knowing that I would be leaving Privet Drive in four days made me feel wonderfully free, so for the sake of my own amusement I made sure I was the first one awake in the morning. I changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top that would expose my tattoos and pulled my hair up into a high ponytail so that my scars and the feather behind my ear were easy to see. That done, I hauled my cauldron down to the kitchen as quietly as possible and set it up on the stove before grabbing up armfuls of ingredients and my book of potions.

I was humming happily as I consulted my book and began to chop up and prepare the ingredients for a blood-replenishing potion. This, Dittany, Skele-Gro, and Polyjuice were the things I planned on brewing the most of. Thankfully, this particular potion was fairly easy to make, the only difficulty being in slightly finicky stirring, but something that might have daunted an amateur was nothing to me and I dove right into the challenge.

I was about halfway done with the potion when the kitchen door opened and Dudley sidled in, yawning widely and still dressed in his pajamas.

"Morning!" I sung.

"Morning," he replied dully, before he froze and looked up at me properly, the sleep clearingfrom his eyes. I arched an eyebrow from where I stood by my cauldron and Dudley's eyes snapped from me, to it, to the ingredients spread across the counter before landing on the leather-bound book. He paled and backpedalled out of the kitchen fearfully.

"Mum!" he yelled. "Mum, she's doing it in the kitchen!"

It sounded roughly as if a herd of elephants was descending from the second floor as feet beat on the stairs. The kitchen door flew open to reveal Aunt Petunia with her hair in curlers and Uncle Vernon with his moustache sticking out all over the place. Standing behind them was Harry, even more messy-haired than usual, and rolling his eyes at me.

"I didn't mean to wake the whole house," I said mildly as I lifted the cutting board and used the back of my silver knife to scrape the roots off and into the cauldron. They hit and the liquid turned a dark grey, letting off a puff of smoke. The Dursleys stared at the cauldron in horror.

"Something wrong?" I asked, turning back to my work properly to hide my smile.

Uncle Vernon stormed forwards and latched a big, meaty hand around my arm, yanking me away from the cauldron. I snarled angrily as he jerked me around to face him.

"You can't just do things like this in our home, I forbid it!"

"Need I remind you I am holding a knife capable of gutting you in one swipe?" I said darkly, raising my knife up and drawing it back pointedly.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, jumping forwards and grabbing onto his shoulder.

"I'm just brewing a option, it's not like I blew the place up," I said disdainfully.

"You're not allowed to use magic outside of school!" he snarled.

I looked around his shoulder at Harry and raised an eyebrow. "Did we not do this after the Dementors last year?"

"Brewing doesn't count as magic," Harry called from where he was leaning in the doorway. "Are these the potions you're brewing for the Order?" he asked absently.

Uncle Vernon's face went pale as he was reminded of who exactly Harry and I had on our side and that those same people would be coming here if we so much as hinted that we weren't enjoying our time at Privet Drive.

"Yep, blood-replenishing potion," I commented like I didn't have Uncle Vernon still trying to crush my upper arm in his massive hand. I looked down at the offending limb pointedly. "Are you going to let go anytime soon or am I going to have to make you?"

I let the Slytherin come out a little bit and Uncle Vernon recoiled, keeping Aunt Petunia pressed behind him as he backed away from me.

"What's on your arm?!"

It was Aunt Petunia shrieking now. I glanced down at the constellation tattoo as though I was surprised to see it there. "Oh, this? It's a tattoo, I believe."

"A tattoo…" Aunt Petunia whispered the words as if it were a curse and looked ready to pass out. "When did…? Who did…? How did…?"

"When would be yesterday, who would be the chap at Inigo's Inks down Knockturn Alley in London, and how would be, well, I think fairly obvious."

"There's another one," Aunt Petunia moaned as she saw the snake around my arm. I waved so that she could see the footprints and turned, tilting my head, so that she could see the feather as well.

"More than one," I said gleefully. Even despite our oddly civil conversation the other night I couldn't give up the delight in mocking her as I turned back to my cauldron. "You'll be having cereal today," I said simply. "Sorry, but the stove is in use."

* * *

I continued in this vein for a while. Randomly during the day I would haul my cauldron and ingredients down to the kitchen and start brewing, bottling up everything in Stasis bottles and lining those up in egg crates to give to Dumbledore when he showed up. He'd be able to get them to headquarters, wherever it was now that Grimmauld Place was up in the air.

I spoke to Amity, and she was completely okay with me leaving early after I told her how Uncle Vernon had reacted to finding me brewing in the kitchen that first morning. She threatened to go and beat him up with the white cane she kept but never used unless she had to, but I assured her that wasn't necessary. She seemed more interested in some kind of speech-to-text software she'd gotten for her computer, honestly, and was asking me questions about how to get her hands on an owl. She was up to something, but what precisely that was was up in the air.

The closer Friday came, the less and less certain Harry seemed that Dumbledore would come and get us. I didn't blame him – Dumbledore had spent quite a bit of time at the end of last year explaining all about how we needed to be at Privet Drive for a length of time every summer. He hadn't been terribly specific about what exactly that length of time was though.

It was Friday evening and Harry was passed out against the window, his only hint of preparation being Hedwig shut up in her cage on the desk next to Artemisia. I rolled my eyes as he snored softly and continued to pack my trunk. In went my cauldron and broom, my potions kit and books, my clothes and makeup. I scowled at my trunk as I began to try and wedge my telescope inside. I was starting to overflow my trunk – I'd need to look into getting a larger one or finding some other wonderfully magical solution.

I glanced at my watch and grinned as I saw the ink on my basilisk tattoo spark in the dim light drifting in from the street lamps. Harry was still passed out, and Dumbledore was due in ten minutes. Rolling my eyes once more at my brother I checked my reflection to make sure I still looked presentable, delighted to have contacts and the way it changed my face, and tip-toed over the Harry's trunk. I loaded his broomstick and cauldron in before starting to pour in his Invisibility Cloak and clothes. I was starting on his books when three things happened. The clock ticked to eleven, the light directly outside number 4 went out, and Harry awoke with a start.

Harry straightened his glasses and looked down onto the street.

"Dumbledore," he whispered against the glass in mixed delight and horror, and looked back over his shoulder with a stricken expression.

"Who's a wonderful sister?" I said drily as I tossed a pair of his trainers into his already half-packed trunk.

"You are," he breathed, and lunged to his feet, seizing books from the floor and scooping them into his arms before letting them all fall haphazardly into his trunk. I winced at the lack of order but I couldn't blame him as he lunged for his telescope half-under the bed and dragged it out.

From downstairs, the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?"

Harry looked at me in delighted amusement and, still holding the telescope, we headed out of our room.

"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry and Lorena have told you I would be coming for them?" Dumbledore asked as we stepped out onto the landing. Harry and I rushed down the stairs to see Uncle Vernon staring in horror at Dumbledore, with his long beard, pointed hat, and long black travelling cloak, looking unashamedly magical. Despite his rather expansive girth, Dumbledore seemed to easily overpower Uncle Vernon.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."

He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.

"It is a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."

Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. I didn't expect him too. Uncle Vernon might have lashed out at someone like Remus in his shabby clothes, or Tonks with her wild hair, but anyone who spent even a few seconds in Dumbledore's presence was completely aware of the fact that he was not a manwho could be talked down to or bullied.

"Ah, good evening Harry, Lorena," said Dumbledore, looking up at us through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. "Excellent, excellent."

These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and I and say 'excellent' was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.

"I don't mean to be rude-" he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.

"-yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."

The kitchen door had opened, and there stood our aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock.

"Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." This was without a doubt the best possible way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"

Dudley had just peered round the living room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled.

"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"

Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of benign interest. I shook my head – I wasn't the man's greatest fan, but he was delightfully composed and wizardish in the face of the Dursleys – and joined them all in the living room. The headmaster looked quite extraordinarily out of place.

"Aren't - aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," Dumbledore assured. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."

"You will, will you?"

Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley skulking behind them both.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore simply, "I shall."

He drew his wand so rapidly that I barely saw it. With a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position. I watched in delight and beamed at the Dursleys wickedly.

"We may as well be comfortable," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

As he replaced his wand in his pocket, I saw that his hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away. I frowned at it curiously. If that were a normal burn, like say if a candle had turned over or something had caught fire accidentally, then Madam Pomfrey would have healed that in a trice. But since Dumbledore's hand still looked like it had lost a fight with a dragon, that mean that the flames must have been magical, or at the very least it was the result of a powerful Dark curse.

Harry asked, "Sir — what happened to your-?"

"Later, Harry," Dumbledore waved him off. "Please sit down."

Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence. I sat down on the arm of Harry's chair and surveyed them coolly.

"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Dumbledore commented to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."

A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and six glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.

"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," explained Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. I took mine and sipped contentedly. I liked Madam Rosmerta's mead, on the few occasions it had been sneaked into the Common Room and dorms for celebration.

The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. I could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself. Then again, I probably would have been doing the exact same thing, which was something I didn't particularly enjoy thinking.

"Well, Potters," began Dumbledore, turning toward us, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you both everything he owned."

Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon's head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he seem to think of anything to say except, "Oh. Right."

"That's not a surprise, he didn't have anyone else to leave anything to but Remus," I mused.

"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You each add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions, which I will leave to the two of you to divide up amongst yourselves. The slightly problematic part of the legacy-"

"His godfather's dead?" asked Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Dumbledore, Harry, and I all turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon's head. He attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. "Our problem," he continued to us, as if there had been no interruption, "is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"He's been left a house?" asked Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.

"More specifically, it was left to you, Lorena," Dumbledore corrected. I blinked.

It did make sense, in a way. The place was unabashedly Slytherin and Sirius knew that because of his own hatred of the place Harry would never want number 12. Not to mention that Harry didn't have the patience to continue with all the restoration that needed to be done to the place. More than that, putting aside the general Slytherin feeling to the place number 12 wasn't Harry's style. I could picture him in a cottage somewhere, someplace cozy, not stately.

"I suppose the place is a bit more suited to me," I said in amusement, glancing down at Harry. I could tell by the look on his face that he agreed completely. "You didn't want the place, did you?"

Harry shook his head. "No way. Sirius hated that place, I don't want anything to do with it."

"That's what I thought," I nodded decisively. "I'll move into the place when I'm out of school, for now the best thing is for the Order to keep using it."

"That is generous," said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."

"Why?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed in my mind.

"I bet there has," Harry grumbled, and I knew he was thinking of the same thing I was.

"Quite," agreed Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry and I both shot to our feet. His telescope rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who killed Sirius, inherit his house? Over my dead body!

"No," Harry said sharply.

"I'll duel the bitch in the front hall for the thing, Walbuga Black's portrait be damned!" I announced.

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," continued Dumbledore calmly, though he gave me a warning look for my language. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position,"

"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?" I asked slowly.

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test."

He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"

Harry and I looked around. All three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."

It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.

"You see," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and I and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not uttered, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited-"

He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek. Nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pajama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"

"Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.

"Son of a snidget," I groaned.

"Kreacher wont, Kreacher won't, Kreacher wont!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't-"

"As you can see, Lorena," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of "wont, won't, won't," "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."

"I had rather noticed," I agreed. "Although honestly, and don't ever tell Hermione this, I'm not entirely thrilled with the concept of house elf service."

"Won't, won't, won't, won't —"

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?" Dumbledore stressed.

"Won't, won't, won't, won't-"

Well I didn't want that either, obviously, and there was a very obvious solution. No way in hell did I particularly want Kreacher though, considering he could be considered a direct contributor to Sirius's death. But I couldn't send him off to Bellatrix either, as much for what he knew as because I was unwilling to make the elf happy.

"Give him an order," suggest Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!" Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream.

"Sweet _Merlin_ Kreacher _shut it_!" I snapped, looking down at Kreacher. It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters," sannounced Dumbledore cheerfully. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

"Well he's not staying with me," I said, staring at the house elf thrashing on the floor with tears leaking from his big eyes. Ugly though he was I did feel a momentary flash of pity for him. Years locked up in a house with no one to tend to could do bad things to a house elf, and he might once have been an effective servant, but years in service to pureblood wizarding supremacists like the Blacks and then nothing to do for near a decade had warped him badly.

"Kreacher," I announced, "you're going to serve at Hogwarts. You will do all the duties expected of a Hogwarts house elf. While you're there, you will still be bound to me. I forbid you to contact Bellatrix or any of her relatives, blood or marriage. You will tell no one what you've heard about the activities of the Order of the Phoenix unless I specifically tell you that it's okay. If you break any of these rules, I will give you to Hogwarts permanently, and that means serving blood traitors until the day you die, and clothes," I stressed, knowing it was nearly a dirty word to house elves. "Do you understand?"

Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave me one upside-down look of deepest loathing, croaked, "Yes, m-m-mistress," and, with another loud crack, vanished.

"Neatly done," praised Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, Harry, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements-"

"No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."

"Hagrid will be delighted." Dumbledore smiled. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"

Harry froze and winced sheepishly, "Erm..."

"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.

"I'll just go and — er — finish off," said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers. I rolled my eyes and followed him back up the stairs. While Harry scrambled around to find his belongings, I gripped the handles of the egg crate holding all of the potions I'd brewed in the past week and picked it up with a grunt.

Carefully, I hauled it downstairs. Dumbledore looked up at me curiously as I set the crate down by his feet.

"Dittany on the top rack, blood-replenisher on the next one down. I have the ingredients to make Polyjuice, Dittany, and antidote to Veritaserum. Anything you need brewed, I can do it now that I have access to the apprentice's lab. Just let me know. For now, this can be distributed to Order of the Phoenix members for emergencies."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the crates of potions in front of him and seemed impressed despite himself. "You have been busy, Miss Potter," he said quietly. I nodded. "I haven't done anything like this because the only capable brewer I have has too much on his plate." We both knew he meant Snape. "I didn't think you would respond well to my asking you to do this."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I may not particularly like you, but I do realize you'er necessary and I appreciate that you want as many of us as possible to live through this. So, anything you think we'll need, just ask."

Dumbledore nodded. "Once term resumes, we'll meet and discuss this more in depth."

"Of course, sir." I nodded. He flicked his wand at the crate and it Vanished, presumably sent to Hogwarts or wherever it was that the headmaster resided over the summer.

Conversation lagged as I headed back upstairs to fetch Artemisia and my trunk and drag them back downstairs, Harry following me, finally packed. When we entered the living room again, Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "Professor — I'm ready now."

"Good," said Dumbledore contentedly. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more.

"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry and Lorena come of age in a year's time-"

"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.

"I'm sorry?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"No, he doesn't. They're a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."

"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."

Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Dumbledore ignored him.

"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort Was returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, and Lorena are in even greater danger now than the day when I left them upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about their parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for them as though they were your own."

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, I felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son or Lorena as a daughter. They have known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that they have at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.

"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you-?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his ringer for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well... time for us to be off," announced Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he added to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.

"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys. I ignored them and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside our trunks with our cages perched on top.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak... just in case."

Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Dumbledore the mess within. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunks, cages, and owls vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.

"And now, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

Dumbledore seemed completely relaxed as we strolled down Privet Drive like Harry and I were out for a night time walk with our senile grandfather. The memory of Harry's last conversation with the headmaster and the less than civil tone it had taken clearly hung over him while I was reminded of sneered down the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place at him.

"Keep your wands at the ready," Dumbledore advised brightly.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?" Harry said blankly.

"If there is an attack," said Dumbledore, "I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"You are with me," said Dumbledore simply. "This will do."

He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.

"You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," Dumbledore said.

"No," said Harry. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do," said Dumbledore.

"We'll be doing Side-Along Apparition," I guessed.

"Indeed. So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment."

Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm and I grabbed on right above that.

"Very good," approved Dumbledore. "Well, here we go."

I felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and redoubled my grip. The next thing I knew, everything went black. I was being pressed very hard from all directions. I could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around my chest. My eyeballs were being forced back into my head. My eardrums were being pushed deeper into my skull and then-

I gulped great lungfuls of cold night air and opened my streaming eyes. I felt as though I had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before I realized that Privet Drive had vanished. Dumbledore had brought us to what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches.

"Are you all right?" asked Dumbledore, looking down at us solicitously. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears. "But I think I might prefer brooms..."

"No bloody kidding," I said, rubbing my eyelid angrily to get my contact to slide back into place. I blinked and the world came into focus.

Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, "This way."


	81. Professor Horace Slughorn

**The series of Severity is a thing that's going to happen people! There will be hints of it in the main story but they may go at slightly different rates. There will be no set schedule for it, it'll just be something I work on when I feel like it, but so many people seemed so excited about the idea - and I am too - that I just had to do it.**

* * *

Dumbledore set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"So tell me, Harry," began Dumbledore. "Your scar... has it been hurting at all?"

Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.

"No," he admitted, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."

He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," muttered Harry.

"And what about you, Lorena?" I jolted. The headmaster never addressed me by my first name, it was always Harry and 'Miss Potter.' Perhaps giving him those potions had somehow raised me in his eyes? "Have you dreamed anymore of Voldemort's past?"

"I haven't," I admitted. "I would say he's blocking me too, but he clearly had no idea I was getting flashes, so it's not as if I'm actually in his mind. I don't quite know how I do it, but I haven't had any dreams about T-Voldemort," I corrected quickly, but I knew Dumbledore caught the slip even if Harry didn't.

We turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again. "Professor?"

"Harry?"

"Er — where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," realized Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can we help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Left here, Harry."

We proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here too. I gripped my wand tighter in my pocket and thought happy thoughts to ward off the chill that was settling in my bones. I knew that chill.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?" Harry asked, and I snorted.

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance-"

"-you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," finished Harry instinctively. "Hermione Granger told me."

"And she is quite right. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind us.

Harry continued to ask questions as I held my wand tightly and looked around for any signs of an attack. "Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked..."

"Correct," confirmed Dumbledore, now turning up a steep side street. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Is he... Do you think he's good?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"An interesting question," mused Dumbledore. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant-"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not under-estimate Lord Voldemort."

Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimgeour that the Daily Prophet had reported, and he did not have the nerve to pursue the subject, so he changed it. "And... sir... I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes," sighed Dumbledore quietly. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think — ouch."

He had pointed with his injured hand.

"Professor, what happened to your-?"

"I have no time to explain now." Dumbledore dismissed him. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice." He smiled at Harry.

"Sir — I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters..."

"Yes, I received one myself," commented Dumbledore, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"

"Not really."

"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor."

"I didn't..." Harry began uncertainly.

"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry... although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"Huh, I like raspberry too," I admitted. "Although I do have a fondness for blackberry. Remember that if you ever wand to impersonate me, headmaster."

"I shall make a note."

"Er... right," said Harry, who clearly didn't understand our breezy conversation when he was trying to ask serious questions. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses," explained Dumbledore calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful... He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here..."

We were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Dumbledore stopped dead at the front gate and Harry, still clearly pondering the idea of Inferi, walked into him.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear."

The front path was carefully tended and looked inviting, but the door was hanging off its hinges. I glanced up, but the Dark Mark wasn't hanging in the sky like it would have been if Death Eaters had been here. If this man used to teach at Hogwarts and was apparently friendly to Dumbledore, the Death Eaters would have wanted to claim this attack as a personal taunt that none of the headmaster's friends were safe. So what had happened here?

Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.

"Wands out and follow me," he ordered quietly.

Dumbledore opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry and I at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

 _"Lumos."_

Dumbledore's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry and I right behind him.

A scene of total devastation was spread before us. A grandfather clock lay splintered at our feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier fluttered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides. Fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore and I look around.

"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."

Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. Harry followed and I moved towards the wall to the blood-like substance on the wall. I reached out towards it and pressed a finger to the substance. It was cool to the touch, so it hadn't been spilled lately. Something was off about the texture though… I pulled my finger back and rubbed it against my thumb. It was too thick to be human blood. It felt like dragon, honestly.

"Maybe there was a fight and — and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry suggested.

I pursed my lips at the stains scattered halfway up the wall. An arterial spurt could easily shoot blood that high, but the man would have been dead from losing that much blood and I didn't see the Death Eaters being kind enough to cart his body off. There was be no reason for them to do anything but leave him there on the floor.

Which mean that it hadn't been Death Eaters, so that meant…

Okay, I now really wanted to meet whoever lived here.

"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

"You mean he's-?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes."

And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace," greeted Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Harry's jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

My jaw dropped as well, but for another reason. I recognized him. Horace Slughorn, the man who Tom Riddle had interrogated once, long ago, about Horcruxes, and who had given the answer. Part of me wanted to hate the man in front of me for giving him the information he asked for – how could no one have seen what he was? But I knew well how charming and unobtrusive he could be if he wanted. There was no way Slughorn could have known that his interest was anything other than academic.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he groused, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."

The wand-light sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.

"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something... ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

I gestured to the stains on the wall. "Excuse me," I interrupted, "but is this dragon's blood?"

The man squinted at me curiously. "Why yes, yes it is, well done my girl." He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" offered Dumbledore politely.

"Please," said the other.

They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.

The furniture flew back to its original places. Ornaments reformed in midair, and feathers zoomed into their cushions. Torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves. Oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited. A vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk. Rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean. The newly remade grandfather clock chimed the time and, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling. For a moment it was ear-shatteringly noisy. There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.

"Yes, dragon," repeated the fat wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."

He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.

"Hmm. Bit dusty."

He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.

"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"

"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry and Lorena Potter. Harry, Lorena, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

He pushed past Harry and I, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old time's sake?"

Slughorn hesitated.

"All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously. I wondered how many free drinks Dumbledore got inviting himself into other people's homes.

Dumbledore smiled at us and directed us toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry and I took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore wanted to keep us as visible as possible. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon Harry and I. But, more firmly, on Harry.

As per usual.

"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here-" He gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at Harry and I, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so well," answered Slughorn at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," observed Dumbledore. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

He certainly had those, I thought ruefully, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable. There were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If I had not known who lived there, I would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," said Dumbledore.

"With respect sir, is anyone?" I asked mildly, and Harry snorted next to me. Slughorn himself visibly fought a grin and Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Slughorn bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

"You're quite right," agreed Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened ringers. The sight of them made the back of my neck prickle unpleasantly. It screamed Dark magic. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand..."

He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and I noticed a ring on his uninjured hand that he had never seen Dumbledore wear before. It was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like gold, and was set with a heavy black stone that had cracked down the middle. Slughorn's eyes lingered for a moment on the ring too, and I saw a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace... are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" asked Dumbledore.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," guessed Dumbledore. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days-"

I smiled darkly.

"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of an unfortunate accidental spell," said Dumbledore, carefully not looking at me. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to walk in between a bunch of Slytherins and Gryffindors going at it."

"That's what she did, did she?" asked Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."

Harry chuckled and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at him.

"Sorry," Harry apologized hastily. "It's just — I didn't like her either."

"That seems to be the general consensus, actually," I put in. "As I recall, the house elves took to calling her 'the Umbridge.'"

Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," requested Dumbledore politely.

"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry and I, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you two," he said abruptly.

Harry merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.

"You look very like your father."

"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.

"Except for your eyes. You've got-"

"My mother's eyes, yeah." Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.

"And you are the spitting image of your mother, just a bit… bonier." Slughorn struggled for a nice way to say it before giving up.

"So I've heard."

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."

"Which was your House?"

"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby ringer at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? The both of you?"

"Actually, sir, I'm a Slytherin," I said with a small smile, knowing that I had just scored a point for Dumbledore's plan when Slughorn's eyes lit with interest.

"Are you know?" he asked interestedly. "Yes, well, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for the last couple of years — died a few weeks ago-"

It was as though an invisible hand had twisted my intestines and held them tight.

"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."

He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside. For someone who had such an obvious eye for talent as he did, it made me wonder how he hadn't seen what Tom Riddle was back then, why he'd told him what he wanted to know. But then again, he hadn't been completely fooled. I'd seen the fear and wariness, the suspicion, in his eyes through Tom's own. Slughorn was no fool, but he had been blinded be a charming smile and dazzling intellect, as so many had.

"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of my best friends is Muggle-born," said Harry, "and she's the best in our year."

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.

"Not really," said Harry coldly.

Slughorn looked down at him in surprise. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he exclaimed. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"

He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies... People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry. Like me, he was clearly wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.

The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."

The words seemingly shocked Slughorn himself. He looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"Still... the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate-"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice. It was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when I remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."

"Working with him is a bit too vague a term, considering we found Voldemort poking out of the back of his head," I commented mildly and sipped my drink.

I had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and I was not disappointed. Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry and I ignored.

"True," Harry agreed.

"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" I added thoughtfully.

Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two. He seemed to be thinking over out words.

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend... in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus... I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me... If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..."

"That's not even counting the ten centuries of magical protections that Hogwarts has," I continued. "Most of the headmasters have added to it during their tenure, it'd take nothing less than a small army to breach Hogwarts."

Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.

"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long lime. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough. I think it is time for us to leave."

Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. I stood more slowly, setting the tray on the table next to us. Slughorn seemed taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost...?"

Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes... well... very gracious... as I say..."

"Good-bye, then."

"Bye," said Harry.

"Goodnight, professor," I added as I followed.

We were at the front door when there was a shout from behind us.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

I flattered myself that I was the straw that broke the walrus's back. Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," huffed Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.

As we set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind us, and we set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done," congratulated Dumbledore.

"I didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.

"Oh yes you did. We showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts," I smirked. "Which is, I expect, why we were brought here."

"Did you like him?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er..."

"He's a Slytherin," I said, which I thought summed Horace Slughorn up rather perfectly.

"Horace likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself. He prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office.

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived'... or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.' You, Lorena, have become hardly less notorious given your actions in the Triwizard Tournament, and the fact that you are a Slytherin instantly endeared you to him."

Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.

"This will do. If you will both grasp my arm."

Braced this time, I was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and I found myself able to breathe again, I was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow. It was an uplifting sight. Fred and George might be there, along with Mrs. Weasley, possibly Ginny.

"If you don't mind," interjected Dumbledore, as we passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"

Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. Neither of us quite sure where this was going, we followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at us.

"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you both seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you."

My hand went to the shoulder with the constellation of the tattoo. It was covered by my sleeve but I traced the spot where I knew the dog star to be and pretended that I could feel it a little warmer than the rest of my skin.

"It was cruel," said Dumbledore softly, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

The fact that I could tell by his tone that Dumbledore genuinely cared, might even have understood how we were feeling, didn't make me any more eager to talk about it, much less in the Weasley's broom shed with a spider crawling up Dumbledore's hat. Sirius was something that I kept close in my heart, he wasn't something I was ready to share with the rest of the world. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"It's just hard," Harry whispered hoarsely, "to realize he won't write to me again."

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," said Dumbledore gently. "Naturally, the loss is devastating…"

"But while I was at the Dursleys'..." interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, "I realized I can't shut myself away or — or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short... Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance... It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."

"And you, Lorena?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if I'm going to fight or how I'm doing? The answer is yes and fine, thanks."

Dumbledore nodded. "And now, on a closely related subject... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"

"Yes," answered Harry, and his heart beat a little faster.

"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Yes," said Harry again. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one-"

"No, they do not," interrupted Dumbledore. "There are only three people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are all standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.

"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"

"No," said Harry.

"A wise decision, on the whole," approved Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want-"

"-to worry or frighten them?" guessed Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away."

Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private — with you?" repeated Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"What will you be teaching me, sir?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," answered Dumbledore airily. Blue eyes flicked to me. "And apparently you and I have things to discuss as well, Miss Potter."

I as Dumbledore wasn't going to elaborate, Harry asked hopefully,

"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"

"Professor Snape, Harry — and no, you will not."

"Good," said Harry in relief, "because they were a-" He stopped, looking carefully sideways at me, and I concealed a smirk in the shadows.

"I think the word 'fiasco' would be a good one here," offered Dumbledore, nodding.

Harry laughed.

"Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on," he said, "because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get 'Outstanding' in my OWL., which I know I haven't."

"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," advised Dumbledore gravely. "Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.

"Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me? And Lorena, you should carry that marvelous map of yours."

Harry nodded and I said, "You're assuming I don't already."

"And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly — all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them."

"I understand," said Harry quickly, and I nodded softly. This would put a stop to the Basilisks messaging me. There was no telling who precisely was checking the mail and what side they were on, and I didn't want news getting back that I had people like Nott and Quinlan and Maeve messaging me.

"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you both are."


	82. OWL Results

We approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons. I could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

"Who's there?" asked a nervous voice I recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and Lorena."

The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, dear! Oh, and Lorena darling! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry and I over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. The Potters' doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. Tonks was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands. She looked rather unlike herself, with mousy brown hair and a pale, heart-shaped face. For a woman who routinely sported duck bills, it was rather… uninteresting.

"Hello, Professor," she greeted throatily. " Wotcher, Potters."

"Hi, Tonks."

"Hello."

She looked almost ill, her smile forced. Certainly the lack of her usual bubble-gum pink or royal purple of fire-engine red hair was enough of a giveaway that something was wrong.

"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," apologized Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," refused Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "Night all."

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming," Mrs. Weasley offered.

"No, really, Molly... thanks anyway... Good night, everyone."

Tonks hurried past us into the yard. A few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. Mrs. Weasley looked troubled. Whatever Tonks had come to talk about, it was clearly still bothering her.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts," bade Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."

He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry and I by the shoulders into the full glow of a lantern on the table to examine our appearances and check how thin we'd gotten.

"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking Harry up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. And Lorena, you've rather filled out haven't you?"

I looked down at myself. I was admittedly not as skinny as I usually was after a summer with the Dursleys, which essentially just meant that I wasn't malnourished in some way. I looked up at Mrs. Weasley and smiled.

"I blame my boss, she makes sure I eat well."

Mrs. Weasley nodded approving. "Good woman. Are you hungry at all?"

"Yeah, I am," answered Harry immediately, and I nodded in agreement. I hadn't eaten much dinner, too excited to be leaving, and I wouldn't be opposed to some of Mrs. Weasley's fabulous cooking before bed. I honestly wasn't quite sure whose food I liked better, hers or Amity's.

"Sit down, dear, I'll knock something up."

As Harry and I sat down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face jumped onto his knees and settled there, purring.

"So Hermione's here?" Harry asked happily as he tickled Crookshanks behind the ears. I was both relieved and annoyed. Hermione was the only one of Harry's friends I could usually have a real conversation with, but I was twitchy around her ever since she'd found out about Draco and I.

The thought of him sent a pang through my stomach. Not a letter all summer, and though I'd known to expect it, it still hurt not being able to contact him for months. I had no news on how he was doing. He was living under the same roof with Voldemort, for Merlin's sake, he could be hurt or worse, and that would really rip my heart out.

"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday," replied Mrs. Weasley, rapping a large iron pot with her wand. It bounced onto the stove with a loud clang and began to bubble at once. "Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Here you are."

She tapped the pot again. It rose into the air, flew toward us, and tipped over. Mrs. Weasley slid a bowl nearly beneath it just in time to catch the stream of thick, steaming onion soup. Harry eagerly grabbed his bowl as Mrs. Weasley set one in front of me and the pot poured.

"Bread, dear?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

She waved her wand over her shoulder. A loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully onto the table. As the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped back onto the stove, Mrs. Weasley sat down opposite us.

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"

Harry nodded, his mouth so full of hot soup that he could not speak. I answered for him after swallowing my mouthful.

"He was a Slytherin through-and-through, all we had to do was convince him that it was in his best interest to take the job," I explained.

"He taught Arthur and me," recalled Mrs. Weasley. "He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

His mouth now full of bread, Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head. I kept my mouth shut. It probably wouldn't do anything for Mrs. Weasley's opinion of me to say that he amused me.

"I know what you mean," agreed Mrs. Weasley, nodding wisely. "Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur. Didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters - it's only just happened - but Arthur's been promoted!"

It could not have been clearer that Mrs. Weasley had been bursting to say this.

"That's wonderful news!" I congratulated her.

Harry swallowed a large amount of very hot soup and rasped, "That's great!" I reached over and patted his shoulder calmingly.

"You are sweet," beamed Mrs. Weasley, possibly taking his watering eyes for emotion at the news. "Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

Harry's face screwed up, "What exactly-?"

"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing - so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off... Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who've never done an honest day's work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish." Mrs. Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.

"That's good," I said, recalling all of the stall set up down Diagon Alley that were selling amulets and potions that would supposedly protect you to the scared wizard on the street. I was glad that someone was dealing with it, and I was pleased it was helping the Weasleys out. Heading an office would mean a pretty decent pay bump.

"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" Harry asked.

"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late... He said he'd be back around midnight..."

She turned to look at a large clock that was perched awkwardly on top of a pile of sheets in the washing basket at the end of the table. It had nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member, and usually hung on the Weasleys' sitting room wall, though its current position suggested that Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of its nine hands was now pointing at 'mortal peril.'

"Cheery," I observed.

"It's been like that for a while now," said Mrs. Weasley, in an unconvincingly casual voice, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now... I don't think it can be just our family... but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!"

With a sudden exclamation she pointed at the clock's face. Mr. Weasley's hand had switched to 'traveling.'

"He's coming!"

And sure enough, a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Mrs. Weasley jumped up and hurried to it. With one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she called softly, "Arthur, is that you?"

"Yes," came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"

"Oh, honestly..."

"Molly!"

"All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how airplanes stay up."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently Mr. Weasley was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained firmly shut.

"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"

"Arthur, really, this is just silly..."

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"

Even by the dim light of the lantern I could tell that Mrs. Weasley had turned bright red. Harry, clearly embarrassed, hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl.

"Mollywobbles," whispered a mortified Mrs. Weasley into the crack at the edge of the door.

"Correct," said Mr. Weasley. "Now you can let me in."

Mrs. Weasley opened the door to reveal her husband, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty traveling cloak.

"I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home," complained Mrs. Weasley, still pink in the face as she helped her husband out of his cloak. "I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"

"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good - onion soup?"

Mr. Weasley turned hopefully in the direction of the table.

"Harry, Lorena! We didn't expect you until morning!"

We all shook hands, and Mr. Weasley dropped into the chair beside Harry as Mrs. Weasley set a bowl of soup in front of him too.

"Thanks, Molly. It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!"

"And what really happens when you put them on?"

"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentacle like warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"

"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny," said Mrs. Weasley hesitantly. "Are you sure-?"

"Of course I am!" said Mr. Weasley. "The boys wouldn't do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"

"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"

"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there..."

Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand.

"Bed," ordered an undeceived Mrs. Weasley at once. "I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you both."

"Why, where are they?" Harry asked curiously

"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Mrs. Weasley. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dear, your trunks already up there."

"'Night, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, pushing back his chair. Crookshanks leapt lightly from his lap and slunk out of the room.

"Goodnight, Mr. Weasley," I agreed, patting the man's shoulder as I passed, following Harry up the stairs.

"G'night, Potters," replied Mr. Weasley.

I saw Mrs. Weasley glance at the clock in the washing basket as they left the kitchen. All the hands were once again at 'mortal peril.'

Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor. Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could not disguise the lingering smell of what I thought was gunpowder. A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes, amongst which stood our school trunk. The room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.

Hedwig hooted happily at Harry from her perch on top of a large wardrobe, Artemisia next to her with her head tucked under her wing. They took off through the window. I knew they had been waiting to see him before going hunting. We bade Mrs. Weasley good night, put on pajamas, and got into one of the beds. It was odd, to not be at Hogwarts yet still be in a separate bed from Harry. Honestly, I missed him a little in the winter – for being small, he generated a lot of heat.

Smiling at the thought, I rolled over and passed out.

 _Cannon fire, what the hell?_

I jerked upright, cursing wildly and fumbling for my wand on the bedside table. Glancing over, I saw Harry sitting up as well. The door was open and, with a rasp of the curtains being pulled back, the room blazed with dazzling sunlight.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Harry groaned as he felt for his glasses with one hand and shielded his hands with the other. I saw bushy brown hair and startling red and knew who the welcome party was.

"I hate all of you," I moaned, and collapsed back onto the pillow, pulling the covers up over my head to hide from the brightness.

"We didn't know you were here already!" yelled Ron, and there was a thunk.

"Ron, don't hit him!" Hermione rebuked.

"All right?" Ron asked. I peeped out from the covers – no use now, I wouldn't be getting back to sleep after that wakeup call.

"Never been better," answered Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," replied Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

"About one o'clock this morning."

"One twenty-one, I saw a clock," I recalled fuzzily as I squirmed out from under the sheets and sat up against the pillows, drawing the covers up tight to my chin. "If you wanna get technical."

"Were the Muggles all right?" Ron asked, looking between Harry and I, though mostly at Harry. "Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed. He looked at me knowingly and Hermione whipped around to squint at me suspiciously.

"What did you do?"

"For some reason they got twitchy when I started using the stove to brew," I said, smiling wickedly. "How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinizing us as though we were sick or something. It was probably Sirius, she desperately wanted to know if we were really holding up as well as we seemed to be. Harry seemed to gather that too and was just as reluctant as I was to talk about it, so he quickly said, "What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?"

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you both look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought-"

Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed.

"-we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" said Harry, amused. Ron hadn't gotten any better at lying. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we?" Ron kept trying to sell it. "So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," recalled Harry. He looked to Hermione sharply. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

She was watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Snape had him as a teacher, seemed to respect him at least," I recalled. I was also forcibly reminded that this man was the same one who'd told Tom about Horcruxes. My fists clenched tightly. Maybe if he hadn't gotten than knowledge, if he hadn't shredded his soul, my boy might still be in there somewhere.

To cover my annoyance, I continued, "And he's got to be better than Umbridge."

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the doorway. Ginny slouched into the room, looking irritable. "Hi, Harry. Lorena."

"What's up with you?" Ron asked blankly.

"It's her," glowered Ginny, plonking herself down on Harry's bed. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me. You'd think I was about three!"

"I know," murmured Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

I was in the dark as Ron snapped angrily, "Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?"

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her."

Harry was just as lost as I was. Staring in confusion, he said, "Who are you-?"

But his question was answered before he could finish it. The bedroom door flew open again, and Harry instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to his chin so hard that Hermione and Ginny slid off the bed onto the floor.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

"'Arry," she said in a throaty voice. "Loreena. Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross with her own tray.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry's knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek. Mrs. Weasly set her tray down in front of me. "I 'ave been longing to see zem. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

Harry choked. "Oh ... is she here too?" he croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next summer, when we get married! But do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet."

Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!" she gushed.

"Oh," said Harry blankly. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze. "Wow. Er- congratulations!"

She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Good for you, Fleur," I said with a smirk, remembering the way Fleur had looked at Bill when he came to visit during the Tournament. I had to give the girl credit: she saw what she wanted and she got it.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming - zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well, enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry! Loreena!"

With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Mrs. Weasley made a tsking noise.

"Mum hates her," Ginny put in quietly.

"I do not hate her!" snapped Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," offered Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course." Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center!"

"Including you and Dad," added Ginny slyly.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?" said Mrs. Weasley huffily. "Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have they really got in common? He's a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's-"

"A cow," agreed Ginny, nodding. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Harry and Hermione laughed. I snorted into my toast. "Well, I'd better get on. ... Eat your eggs while they're warm, Potters."

Looking careworn, she left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-drunk. He was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water.

"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry asked.

"Well, you do," admitted Ron, "but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then..."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione furiously, striding away from Ron as far as she could go and turning to face him with her arms folded once she had reached the wall.

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny asked Ron incredulously. When he merely shrugged, she said, "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."

"She gonna poison the food?" I asked mildly, and smirked to myself.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"Yeah, that'll work," said Ron sarcastically. "Listen, no bloke in his right mind's going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but-"

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm!" retorted Ginny.

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" agreed Hermione from the corner.

"Alternatively, a man might look for more in a woman than, well, looks," I agreed tartly, giving Ron a thoroughly unimpressed stare.

"Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament," said Harry.

"Not you as well!" groaned Hermione bitterly.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ''Arry,' do you?" asked Ginny scornfully.

"No," said Harry, looking like he was wishing he hadn't spoken, "I was just saying, Phlegm- I mean, Fleur-"

"I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," cut in Ginny. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," sighed Ron. "Every time I've seen her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," snapped Hermione. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know ... I mean, he was her cousin!"

Harry picked up a fork and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation. I hesitated for a moment before biting into my toast with a crunch, my free hand drifting towards the constellation on my shoulder.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" Ron reminded her. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met-"

"That's not the point." Hermione shook her dead. "She thinks it was her fault he died!"

"How does she work that one out?" asked Harry, in spite of himself.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."

"That's stupid," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt," reasoned Hermione. "I know Lupin's tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her-"

"She can't change her appearance like she used to," explained Hermione. "I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," breathed Harry.

"Nor did I," said Hermione, "but I suppose if you're really depressed ..."

The door opened again and Mrs. Weasley popped her head in. "Ginny," she whispered, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" protested Ginny, outraged.

"Now!" ordered Mrs. Weasley, and withdrew.

"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" said Ginny crossly. She swung her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

"You lot had better come down quickly too," she warned as she left.

Harry took advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast. Hermione was peering into Fred and George's boxes, though every now and then she cast sideways looks at Harry. Ron, who was now helping himself to Harry's toast, was still gazing dreamily at the door.

"What's this?" Hermione asked eventually, holding up what looked like a small telescope.

"Dunno," shrugged Ron, "but if Fred and George've left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful"

"Your mum said the shop's going well," I recalled. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement," said Ron. "They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy?" asked Harry."Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope," said Ron shortly.

"But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back-"

"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," offered Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.

"He's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry conversationally.

Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" whined Ron.

"I only just remembered," said Harry honestly. "He told me last night in your broom shed."

"Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. "I wonder why he's...?"

His voice tailed away. He exchanged a look with Hermione and Harry slowly put down his knife and fork. He stared out the window, pointedly avoiding meeting their eyes. "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy. You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says-" began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"

"The Prophet's got it right," admitted Harry, looking up at them both with a seemingly great effort. Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

The three of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment. My hand clenched on my own fork tightly and I silently swore to myself that Voldemort would be the one to die if I had to do it myself, and hang the prophecy. I felt a little guilty though, for the twinge I felt at the idea of killing Tom Riddle.

There was a loud bang and Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.

"Hermione!" shouted Harry and Ron. The breakfast tray slid to the floor with a crash. I lunged out of bed and towards the explosion. Hermione emerged, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.

"I squeezed it and it - it punched me!" she gasped.

And sure enough, we now saw a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

"Don't worry," assured Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh, "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries-"

"Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione hastily, brushing him off. "Harry, oh, Harry..."

She sat down on the edge of his bed again. I sighed and sat on the edge of mine, crossing my legs under me and letting my hands rest on my knees.

"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this... Oh, Harry..." She stared at him, then whispered, "Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," admitted Harry. "When I first heard it, I was... but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time - he must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably... powerful countercurses... anti-jinxes..."

"I really doubt it," I said, leaning back lazily and unfolding my legs from under me. I braced my palms behind me and crossed my legs at the ankles as Ron and Hermione looked at me in question. "Harry's a powerful wizard, true, but the prophecy said specifically 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' Voldemort is… is brilliant," I breathed, recalling how it had felt to be inside his mind, be a part of him. The thought she had, while sometimes horrifying, were always so _painfully_ intelligent… "There's not a lot Harry could learn in a year or two that he wouldn't already know."

"He can't be good at everything," Hermione reasoned. "I mean, that's not possible. Perhaps there's some branch of magic that Dumbledore thinks would-"

"He can," I countered. "Because he's a scholar in a way you'll never be Hermione." She looked like I'd just slapped her across the face. "Don't look at me like that," I said tartly. "I don't think I'm telling any secrets when I say that the reason you've always been so annoyingly determined to do better than perfect on every single assignment is because you want to prove that you belong in the wizarding world. And that's true to some extent for him as well. But he is… He wants knowledge, craves it, hoards is like a niffler hoards treasure, because he feels a pleasure that other people can't understand in simply knowing."

I knew because I felt the same. There was a swooping sort of accomplishment that stop over you, you had to smile, when you found something you hadn't known before and locked it away, knowing with certainty that you'd never forget, knowing that one day this little scrap, this moment you learned this one tiny thing, might mean something later on. There was purpose to every word read, every book devoured, and every question pondered. All of it was part of something greater. It was beautiful.

Hermione looked vaguely queasy and Ron was staring at me nervously, like he was waiting for me to sprout fangs and hiss. I didn't blame him. I knew it unnerved people when I talked like this but that was part of the reason I did it – to remind them who and what I was. I was a Potter, but I was not Harry. I wasn't the hero. I was the Other Potter, an anti-hero at best.

Gamely, Hermione shook herself and turned to Harry, saying, "Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our OWL results will come?"

"Can't be long now, it's been a month," said Ron.

"Hang on," said Harry, as another part of last night's conversation came back to him. "I think Dumbledore said our OWL results would be arriving today!"

" _Today?"_ shrieked Hermione. "Today? But why didn't you - oh my God - you should have said-" She leapt to her feet. "I'm going to see whether any owls have come. ..."

"Well done, you set her off," I muttered as I shoved myself off the bed. "Out, Ron, some of us need to put on real clothes."

Ron's ears went slightly red and he obligingly skedaddled. Harry and I dug clothes out from our trunks and changed with our backs to each other. Harry took the first trip to the bathroom while I picked up the scattered breakfast dishes and consolidated them onto one tray, sliding the other beneath. When he came back I took my turn in the bathroom, putting in my contacts and brushing my teeth, pulling my hair back into a tight, high ponytail. In my tank tip and jeans, I fancied that I looked rather good.

I shoved my hands in my pockets as I met Harry on the landing, him holding the breakfast trays we walked downstairs together and found Hermione not cooing over exam scores, but seated at the kitchen table as Mrs. Weasley fussed over her.

"It just won't budge," Mrs. Weasley was saying anxiously, standing over Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of _The Healer's Helpmate_ open at 'Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions.' "This has always worked before, I just can't understand it."

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come off," said Ginny confidently.

"But it's got to come off!" squeaked Hermione, looking horrified. "I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"You won't, dear, we'll find an antidote, don't worry," said Mrs. Weasley soothingly. She gave Ginny a dirty look for panicking the other girl, but Ginny was unashamed. She was the twins' sister, after al.

"Bill told me Fred and George are very amusing!" offered Fleur, smiling serenely.

"Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing," snapped Hermione, looking more and more frustrated as Mrs. Weasley's spells continued to fail. She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together. "Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, _quite_ sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," said Mrs. Weasley patiently. "But it's barely nine, there's still plenty of time..."

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back-"

"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!" barked Ron. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding' OWLs..."

"Don't, don't, don't!" fretted Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!"

"What happens if we fail?" Harry asked the room at large, but it was again Hermione who answered.

"We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."

I wasn't concerned about my test scores. Never had been. I knew myself well enough to know that if I started getting panicky before a test I did far worse than if I went in calm and confident. I tried hard to stay sympathetic though. Like I said earlier, grades meant a lot more than just grades to Hermione.

"At Beauxbatons," said Fleur complacently, "we 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then-"

Fleur's words were drowned in a scream.

"Sweet Merlin!" I yelped in shock, recoiling. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

"They're definitely owls," said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

"And there are… five of them," said Harry in confusion, hastening to her other side.

"More than one for one of us," said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Oh no... oh no... oh no..."

She gripped both Harry and Ron tightly around the elbows. I joined them by the window, peering around Harry's shoulder and squinting at owls coming. One I recognized, the Greater Sooty Owl that belonged to Maeve.

"Don't panic, that black one's for me, and it's not about exams," I said simply.

The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, Maeve's owl and four handsome tawnies, each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to the house, was carrying a large square envelope.

"Oh no!" squealed Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One by one the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All five of them lifted their right legs.

Harry's results were tied to the leg of the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione's hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble. I waited for them to get theirs then stepped forward and collected Maeve's letter as well as my exam results.

Nobody in the kitchen spoke. There was just the sound of rustling parchment as we dug out our results. I plucked mine out and discarded the envelope.

 _Ordinary Wizarding Level Results_

 _Pass Grades_

 _Outstanding (O)_

 _Exceeds Expectations (E)_

 _Acceptable (A)_

 _Fail Grades_

 _Poor (P)_

 _Dreadful (D)_

 _Troll (T)_

 _Lorena Lily Potter has achieved:_

 _Astronomy O_

 _Care of Magical Creatures O_

 _Charms O_

 _Defense Against the Dark Arts O_

 _Divination E_

 _Herbology O_

 _History of Magic O_

 _Potions O_

 _Transfiguration E_

I smirked at my grade. Despite the interruptions during the Astronomy exam I'd still gotten an O, and without even really trying. The stars really were nice and predictable. As far as Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, they were both subjects I enjoyed and branched into Potions, which of course I got an O on. Ditto for Defense. I hadn't given too much thought to my Divination grade – hadn't really cared, honestly. I was a bit disappointed in my Transfiguration grade, but then again I shouldn't have reasonably expected an O. It wasn't my best subject, despite that fact that I was learning an advanced branch of it.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" Ron said happily to Harry. "Here – swap-"

I peered over Harrry's shoulder at Ron's grades. There were no Os and sure enough he had failed those two classes. I stepped towards Ron and glanced down at Harry's grades. He'd done well. Passing grades in everything but Divination and History of Magic, and of course an O in Defense. Considering he passed out halfway through his History of Magic exam that wasn't surprising and he cared even less about Divination than I did.

"Knew you'd be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Ron, punching Harry on the shoulder. "We've done all right, haven't we?"

"Well done!" congratulated Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven OWLs, that's more than Fred and George got together!"

"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I-not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep - ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

"How'd you do, Rena?" he asked, trading results back with Ron and coming over to lean over my shoulder. I turned my parchment so he could see it and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Os in everything bu Transfiguration and Divination. Why am I not surprised you passed everything?"

"Probably because I'm a genius," I said with a careless shrug, but I was grinning irrepressibly. Maeve's letter was tucked in my pocket and waiting for me to get to it when I had a spare second.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any more sausages?"

"On the stove," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile.

"Sounds good, actually," I said, and ventured over to the pan, dipping my fingers in carefully and whipping them out triumphantly, unburned but holding a juicy sausage. I blew on it and took a bite. My teeth had just sunk in when Mrs. Weasley's voice cracked like a whip across the kitchen.

"Lorena Potter, what's that on your arms?"

I winced. I'd been wearing a lightweight jacket when I arrived and my sleeping shirt was long-sleeved, so my arms hadn't been exposed and the feather behind my ear was well-hidden. There had been no way for anyone to see my new artwork, but apparently Mrs. Wealsey had finally noticed, now that all the drama over Hermione's eye and exam results had faded.

"Uh…"

"Are those tattoos?" she was swelling with maternal rage as she stomped over to me, hands on her hips. "And just when did this happen, missy?"

"Umfer the s'mm'r," I replied around a mouthful of sausage. Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed.

"And where did you get this done? In some kind of Muggle tattooing place?" she whispered. Over her shoulder I could see Ron craning to see my tattoos over his mother's head. Hermione was staring at the basilisk around my bicep like she couldn't decide what to think and Ginny almost looked a little jealous. Mrs. Weasley needed to keep an eye on her.

"Arthur says those places have all kinds of diseases… dirty needles… unsanitary…" Mrs. Weasley shuddered. "Really dear, why would you go to a place like that."

"Uh…" I felt trapped. "I went to a Wizadr place. I flew to Diagon Alley this summer."

"Unaccompanied?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked in horror. "And with the price on your head…" she paused and looked at me suspiciously. "I can't recall there being any places that will do that sort of place in Diagon Alley. Lorena…"

"I may have gone to Knockturn Alley," I muttered, and Mrs. Weasley threw up her hands.

"Well why not just stroll up to Malfoy Manor with a bow on your head!" she despaired, and I jolted at the unexpected mention of Draco's home. "Really what were you thinking? You could have been seen! It would have been only too easy…"

"That's what I went under Polyjuice!" I jumped in as she took a breath. "Got a hair from a Muggle teacher who came into Amity's shop. As far as anyone who saw me is concerned, I wasn't Lorena Potter."

Mrs. Weasley's lips thinned. "Well that's something, I suppose," she huffed. "but really, why would you want something like that on your skin?"

I shrugged, forcing mildness as I tilted my head and took another bite of my sausage link. "Well, everyone else seems to like marking up my skin so much, though I should do it."

Mrs. Weasley's face fell and her eyes darted to my cheeks before she could stop herself. She sighed. "Well, I suppose you're almost an adult now, so I can't tell you what to do. But really… a great snake?"

"It's a basilisk," I clarified, and saw Hermione's eyes sharpen at the mention of my group.

Mrs. Weasley harangued me for a few minutes before moving off to deal with the laundry and I was instantly inundated.

"That's wicked," Ron said, looking at the snake around my arm with mixed disapproval and appreciation.

"I also got…" I turned so they could see my forearm and my shoulder, and I noticed Hermione zeroed in on the constellation knowingly while Ron seemed more focused on the footprints.

"For the Marauders," he guessed. "But what's with the human footprint?"

"Well I wasn't going to put the rat on there," I said drily.

"Did you get anymore?" Ginny asked knowingly. I smirked and pulled my ear forward so that they could see the phoenix feather behind my ear. Ginny reached out and ran her finger over it curiously. "Did it hurt?" she asked.

"Not much," I admitted. "More than a prick, but less than I expected."

"They did good work, whoever you went to," Ginny said approvingly. "That looks really good."

Hermione bit her lip hesitantly before asking, "Did you do this because Sirius had tattoos?"

"I wasn't joking about my skin," I informed her. "But yeah, part of it was that. Now come on, I've got things to do…"

* * *

Hermione approached me after breakfast as Ron, Harry, and Ginny headed out to the garden for a game of Quidditch. She ushered me up the stairs to the room she shared with Ginny and sat down on the bed, fiddling with her fingers nervously. I sat down on the edge of Ginny's bed and leaned against the headboard, legs crossed, smirking faintly as I watched her fidget.

"Hermione, whatever you want to say is clearly killing you, so out with it."

"Malfoy," Hermione burst out. I raised an eyebrow and she winced and continued more calmly, "He's one of your Basilisks, right? That's what you called them?"

I nodded slowly. "He is. So are a lot of other people."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully and looked at me with large eyes. "You really trust him? It was his father who was sent to retrieve the prophecy… how do you know-?"

I cut her off coldly, "Because I've been inside his mind."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You… what?" she breathed.

I leaned forwards and rested my chin in my palms. "I've been in his mind," I repeated a little less frostily. "We knew that it would be a danger for him to have the thoughts he has about me, our relationship, floating around in his head since… since Voldemort is staying at Malfoy Manor most of the time." Hermione squeaked in fear at the very idea and my stomach swooped unpleasantly as I thought of Draco shut up in the manor with that monster. I squared my shoulders and gamely continued. "So, we agreed that I would teach him Occlumency. He's been a good student," I said with a fond smile. "Picked it up very well. So I've been in his mind and I know he's not working against us and he doesn't sympathize with Voldemort no matter what his father believes."

Hermione let out a breath of air and looked at me wryly. "Well I suppose that's one way to figure out a boy."

I snorted. "Strangely enough, not a lot of them are up for it."

Hermione nodded and settled further onto her bed. She looked at me curiously. "And your groups, the Basilisks… who's in it?"

"Not saying," I said firmly. "It's too dangerous. No offense, but I know I won't crack under torture and I can't say the same about you. Plus, you've never learned Occlumency."

"I have been considering it," Hermione admitted. "I read a bit about it but I can't seem to work it out. I don't know, I just feel like my time could be better spent preparing in other ways."

I nodded in understanding. "I'm supposed to meet with Dumbledore at the beginning of the year to discuss becoming a brewer for the Order."

Hermione smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You'd be great at it. Need to find a lab though…"

"I've got one," I said with a smirk. She looked at me questioningly. "The Potion's Apprentice's Lab. Snape's been letting me use it since the tournament for brewing and experiments and studying. Probably where I'll be living this year," I admitted bitterly. "Ah well, I've crashed there enough nights."

Hermione winced and looked at me uncertainly. "Is it really… that dangerous for you?"

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You can't tell anyone about this," I told her firmly. "Not Harry, not Ron, not anyone."

Hermione's eyes were wide and she nodded frantically. I grunted and laid back across Ginny's pillow contemplatively, staring at the ceiling.

"Last year, not long before Christmas, Parkinson cornered me in a hallway. Brought along two enforcers to be her muscle. She broke my nose and my glasses and then she got her goons to cast Cruciatus."

Hermione gasped and when I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye she was staring at me with absolute horror and pity, her hands clasped to her mouth.

"Oh my god… Lorena… How did you… Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because it was my fight to win," I said with a shrug. "Dumbledore knew I'd been attacked, and so did Snape and Pomfrey. Snape's the one who found me and summoned Pomfrey. It's not important anymore," I said dismissively, wanting to change the subject. "I took care of her. Point is that yes, it is that dangerous. I have my Basilisks but they can't defend me without showing their loyalty and it's too dangerous for some of them to do that."

Hermione's eeys narrowed. "You said you… took care of it. Does that mean… we're _you_ the one who poisoned Parkinson?"

I sat up and smirked at her, raising my eyebrows. "Does that surprise you, Hermione?" I purred. "After all, I am a Potions prodigy. It was only too easy, really. I distilled the poison from moonseeds and slowly drained her favorite perfume. I sent her a tainted bottle for her birthday, and the little fool sprayed it right on without ever looking at her card. Deserved what she got really-"

"Now stop it!" Hermione said sharply, and I paused, mouth dropping open slightly. "You're trying to make yourself sound evil and devious Lorena, and it's not going to work."

I scowled at her. "Granger, don't you start passing judgments on what I am and am not-"

"Oh, like you did to me this morning?" she countered. "Look, every time we chat and it gets even remotely personal you lash out somehow and I don't appreciate it. I'm trying to have a conversation here, Lorena, I'm trying to…" She paused and threw up her hands helplessly. "I'm trying to get to _know_ you."

"You've known me since we were eleven, Hermione," I said dully.

She shook her head. "No. We've moved in similar circles because I'm friends with Harry but I don't know you. Every time you're around Harry and Ron and I, I can tell that part of it is a façade. You love Harry, of course, but you don't care much one way or the other about us. And you do care about your Basilisks, I can tell by the way you talk about them."

I smiled softly. "Of course I do. They're Slytherins, but they're taking charge of their lives and not letting people tell them they're good or bad people. They're preparing to stand up and fight, some of them against their own parents, against the values they were raised with. Do you know how impressive that is? And some of them are only in their first year!" I laughed and reached up, swiping my hair back from my face. "They're braver than any Gryffindors I've ever met."

"Stenet and his fiancée," Hermione said slowly. "They're yours, I know. Nott, Greengrass – is her sister? – Malfoy, and Zabini."

"Astoria doesn't know anything," I said, shaking my head. "Daphne wants her kept out of it and I wouldn't have invited her anyway. She's still young enough that she takes her father's word as law and she sympathizes with Voldemort."

"So it's invite only?" Hermione asked with a bit of an ironic twist to her lips.

"Oh, like you don't do the same thing for security's sake, Miss DA Galleons," I scoffed. "But yes, it is. And it works well, too, because I'm the only one who can get any of them into our meeting room. Well, except Greeengrass," I admitted grudgingly. "She figured it out, annoyingly observant little thing that she is."

"Wait, why are you the only one who can get in?" Hermione asked blankly. "I could understand a door being password-protected like the Common Rooms, but I would think that Hogwarts would be warded against things like that…"

I smirked. "Hermione, think carefully. Where in Hogwarts do you keep Basilisks?"

"I don't…" Her eyes widened _. "Oh."_

"Oh," I agreed.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" she hissed. "Is that safe?"

"Of course," I said, affronted. "I've got lights put up and the basilisk is dead, plus I fixed that section of tunnel that Lockhart took out…"

"I understand," Hermione nodded. "I just… well, isn't that a bit…"

"The only people alive who can get in are me, Harry, and Voldemort. Harry's not a threat and if Voldemort breaks in we've got bigger problems. It was the perfect way to avoid Umbridge and it's worked well." I smiled proudly. "They even want to learn Parseltongue, had me make up a dictionary and work out syntax for them."

"You're going to teach them… You wrote it all…" Hermione shook her head helplessly and looked at me with a bit of envy in her eyes. "You know, the teachers all say I'm brilliant but I feel like an idiot around you."

"Don't," I warned her. "You're the only one of Harry's friends I can stand to talk to, because you can actually hold a conversation. Ron's limited to chess and Quidditch."

Hermione defended him weakly. "He's not that bad." I gave her a pointed look and she smiled. "Okay, sometimes he is pretty bad."

"Exactly," I said, standing up and stretching.

"You got contacts, didn't you?"

I blinked and looked at her in surprise. "Oh, I… yes. You noticed I wasn't wearing glasses."

Hermione nodded. "You'd have been bouncing off walls if you weren't wearing something."

I narrowed my eyes briefly, but relented. "Yeah, okay. Harry and I have the eyesight of a cave shrimp."

Hermione stared at me blankly. "What's a cave shrimp?"

"I dunno," I admitted. "Something Amity said once. I think it's an American thing."


	83. Down Knockturn Alley

Later that day I was alone up in the room I was sharing with Harry. Out the window I could see him and Ron swooping around the garden while Ginny scowled under a tree below, Mrs. Weasley having found out she hadn't yet started on her summer work. I smiled at the scene and turned back to the letter on the desk in front of me from Maeve.

 _Potter,_

 _Hiss, hiss, how's the Parseltongue going? I'll have you know that I expect you to teach Quinlan and I how to speak the language at some point in our lives, down in the Chamber or not. There's no way I'm going to let that opportunity slip through my fingers. We can call that your wedding present to us, since you're apparently so opposed to getting us something nice._

 _I'm writing about the project I started for the summer. With Trelawney as a teacher we didn't learn much, but thank god there had been a couple of Seers in my family down the line, so we have quite a bit of information on the subject here. I swear, Firenze was the best thing to ever happen at Hogwarts in terms of Divination. I started corresponding to him – he's clearly on Dumbledore's side – and he's been giving me a couple tips. In amongst a lot of probably unintentionally insulting comments about how I'm a human and therefore probably won't understand what I'm seeing._

 _Keep in mind that this isn't an exact science. Thus far all that I've managed to pin down is that this isn't going to last as long as we'd thought. I know we were all terrified of another five or six years going like this, but I think it's going to be over a lot sooner than that. Of course I can't say who'll win, but I think it'll be done within the next three years, possibly sooner. Powerful magical number, three. I can't narrow it down any further than that._

 _Speaking of powerful magical numbers, I keep getting sevens no matter what methods of readings I try. Stars, tea leaves, cards, smoke… Sevens seem to be popping up everywhere. Now I know that seven is pretty prevalent in our society, but Lorena it means something, I can feel it. Seven somethings are going to be important in this war. I don't know if it's seven key people or maybe seven battles, or maybe even seven items that will help one side or the other come out on top. But seven plays into it somehow._

 _It's not much, I know it, but that's all I've been able to come up with. I'll write if I figure out more._

 _Best_

 _Maeve_

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. It should come as a relief, I supposed, that Maeve didn't see this lasting a long time. A prolonged war could do more collateral damage than a swift and crushing defeat for one side. On the other hand, knowing that we didn't have long until it ended upped the pressure. This would be decided one way or another soon.

And then there was Maeve's hint about seven. It clicked the moment I read it. _"For instance… seven." "Merlin's beard, Tom…"_ I hadn't any way to know when I first had that dream if Voldemort ever made more than one Horcrux, if he got to his goal of seven. Now I didn't doubt that he had, and that meant that before we could truly defeat Voldemort, those seven objects would have to be found, retrieved, and destroyed, and that was where things got sticky.

True to my expectations when I looked into them after my dream last year, there was less than nothing in the Library about Horcruxes, even in the Restricted Section. One book brought them up specifically to say that they wouldn't be talking about them, but that was it. I had no doubt that one of Dumbledore's first acts as headmaster had been a purging of any and all 'objectionable' material from the shelves of the Library, which I didn't even remotely agree with. Yes, Horcruxes were Darker than Dark, but people still had a right to knowledge no matter what sort it was.

All this meant that I had no idea how to destroy a Horcrux, if there was a certain spell or an involved ritual, if it took a particular object… did you neutralize them by dumping them into a potion? There was no way of knowing and I didn't appreciate Dumbledore being stingy with his information. I didn't know what sort of objects the Horcrux would be, either.

The smart thing to do would be to seal the piece of soul in something completely innocuous… a left sock, a coin, and then release it into the world to be passed eternally from hand to hand, impossible to track. I knew enough about Tom to know that wouldn't be what he did though. He loved trophies, that was proved by the fact that he wore the ring he'd taken from his uncle…

My eyes widened. The ring! It was the ring Dumbledore was wearing these days. A black stone with some kind of pattern of scratches on it, set clumsily in a clunky gold setting. This was both good and bad. Good, because it meant that Dumbledore already knew about the Horcruxes and was taking steps. Bad, because getting a hold of one had done that to even the most powerful wizard alive.

I reached for a piece of parchment and pulled it towards me. Picking up my quill, I began to write.

 _Headmaster Dumbledore,_

 _You are scarcely more fond of me than I am of you, and I've been quite content to wreck as many of your plans as I can for the past few years out of my own pettiness, but the time for that is passed. You and I are on the same side insomuch as Harry is concerned. You want him to come through this just like I do, and for the sake of that I'm willing to stop being petty and start cooperating._

 _As you probably are aware, I've made a few friends and contacts in amongst my house who aren't entirely supportive of Voldemort. Moody or Lupin, I hope, will have approached you about Maeve and Quinlan Stenet. They're mine and I trust them implicitly. Maeve is a dab hand with Divination and I asked her to try and use this summer see if she could find anything on the future of this war. She's been corresponding with Firenze for assistance and she hadn't gotten much, but what she does have is alarming._

 _She doesn't think this will go on any longer than three more years at most. I don't know if you plan to play a long game that is longer than that, but if you do, it's time to condense the time frame. I trust Maeve's predictions; I've yet to see her be wrong. A swift and sudden end may be better in the long run, it will prevent this from being drug out for as long and causing more collateral damage to civilians and to the Wizarding World at large._

 _She also said she keeps seeing seven no matter what medium she reads. Seven is the most powerful magical number and it could simply mean that there's going to be powerful magic in this upcoming war, but I think you and I know better than that._

 _When you took us to Horace Slughorn, it was the first time we'd met, but not the first time I'd seen him. It was last year when I had another dream about Tom Riddle's past. He was speaking to Slughorn after what I assume was one of the meetings of a 'Slug Club' I heard mentioned. Tom was asking him about Horcruxes, but not about their construction – you see, he'd already made one. You know it, too. You're wearing it right now, I imagine. It was retrieving it from wherever it was hidden than cost you your hand._

 _What he wanted to know, and what Slughorn was terrified to hear him ask, was if a person could make more than one Horcrux. The answer is yes. Tom specifically asked about seven Horcruxes, drawn to the magical symbolism. Slughorn didn't confirm it – he was too frightened by the line of questioning by that point – but he didn't deny it either, and that was all the answer that someone as clever as Tom had needed. I have no doubt that he made seven Horcruxes._

 _It will come as no surprise to you that Tom Riddle liked collecting trophies from his victims as a child. I will offer you any insight I get into him that may help you figure out where and what they are. In addition, I'd like to again offer my services as a brewer for the Order. I've been communicating with Iliya, from Durmstrang, who had begun studying Mediwizardry, and I have more of my Slytherins working on researching Mediwizardry potions. I have no doubt that I'll be able to brew anything you need._

 _On the subject, I don't intend to do all of this for free. Obviously I don't want money – don't need it – but I want to trade information on Riddle and brewing services for lessons. You're already devoting time to Harry this year, and I'd like some of yours as well. I saw the way you fought Voldemort last year, and I saw how the two of you fought not only nonverbally, but also with wandless magic. I want to learn how to do that. Quite frankly, it took my breath away to watch that duel, and wands themselves produce a distinct disadvantage on the battlefield. A Disarmed opponent is helpless unless they're willing or able to attack physically or magically without a wand. I hope to eliminate that disadvantage._

 _Regardless of what you may think of me personally, know this: I do not and never will side with Voldemort. I may pity Tom Riddle and I may even relate to him because of our childhoods, but it is because of him that I had the childhood I did. It's because of him that I am covered in scars and because of him that I'm an orphan forced to live with family who don't love us, because of him that Harry risks his life trying to stop him. I can't forgive him for any of that, so I will never turn to him._

 _Regards,_

 _LP_

 _P.S. Let Quinlan and Maeve join the Order. You won't regret it._

* * *

On Harry and mine's sixteenth birthday, Lupin dropped in to join us for tea and some of Mrs. Wealsey's delicious baking. He looked like he needed it too, thinner and more ragged than I'd ever seen him and with large grey streaks in his hair. He brought news that now not only was Florean Fortescue gone, but Ollivander had vanished into thin air and no one knew what had happened to him, if he'd left voluntarily or been taken. My money was on the latter.

"Lupin, a word?" I interjected as he prepared to leave. He nodded and followed me into the living room, his travelling cloak sweeping behind him.

"What is it, Lorena?" he asked, joining me as I sat down on the couch. "Something wrong?"

"No," I admitted, shaking my head. "I just realized something… I never told you I was sorry."

Remus was lost. "For what?"

"I never told you I was sorry about you losing Sirius," I clarified. "People have been walking on eggshells around Harry and me because he was our godfather but the truth is that you knew him longer and have more cause to miss him than we ever will. You're the last true Marauder left."

Remus smiled sadly. "Oh, I realized the second Sirius came back that that was how he'd die. No way could he stand not to be in the middle of everything. Dumbledore keeping him locked up only made it that much easier for him to leave and go after you two when he heard you were in danger, but he would have gone anyway."

I winced. "I know it's our fault-"

"It's not," he said firmly, patting my shoulder. "Sirius was an adult and he made his own decisions. He went to the Ministry knowing the risk. He did it with his eyes open, and he did it because he loved you and Harry. How long you've known a person doesn't matter. You could meet someone tomorrow and know them better than anyone you've ever met, or you could know someone for years and not know a thing about them."

The last reminded me of Hermione's comment that while we'd met in first year she didn't really know me. The same could be said of Draco. I saw only the mask and never bothered to look underneath. It was only recently that I'd learned what he was really like.

"Has Molly gone on a rant to you about my tattoos yet?" I asked hesitantly. Remus's eyebrows shot up.

"I don't believe she has," he said slowly. "Of course, I also didn't know you had any…"

I smiled and shucked off the light hoodie I was wearing. I showed him my shoulder and my forearm and he smiled when he saw the footprints, his eyes going fond. They turned sad when he saw the constellation.

"Well, it's beautifully done work," he said. His fingers prodded the footprints. "And I can understand why you left Peter out."

"He was your friend for years, really your friend," I mused. "But I… couldn't do it."

"No, I don't blame you," he assured me. He chuckled. "So Molly wasn't pleased?"

"Thought I was going to get put in detention and I'm not even at Hogwarts." I looked up at him hesitantly. "What do you think Sirius would think?"

"Oh, he'd think it was great," he said confidently. "He'd start asking you all about what you thought of his and telling you the stories about getting them done. Your father went with him to get the first one, you know, and James was so edgy about it that Sirius offered him a drink from a bottle of fire whiskey beforehand to calm him down and he drank the whole thing. Sirius ended up having to chaperone him and keep him from getting a Gryffindor lion across his back!" Remus laughed at the memory and I snickered along.

I smiled.

"It's Snape, isn't it?"

I blinked and stared at Remus, but his eyes were on the footprints on my arm. The real, human footprint. I shifted guiltily. I'd never admit it, but yes, that had been partly why I incorporated human footprints instead of simply having only three sets. It seemed wrong to admit to one of the Marauders that Snape had been joined with them when they'd all hated each other, or at the very least not gotten along.

"It's more accurate than you know," Remus mused. "He was always following after us, trying to get us in trouble, but we were always one step ahead. We thought we were so clever…" He smiled wistfully. "Those really were some of the best times of my life. Oh, I wish you could have known James. He would have been so proud of you."

I gaped. "I poisoned a girl," I said incredulously. "I'm a Slytherin. He would hate me!"

"James could never hate you or Harry no matter what you did," Remus said, shaking his head. "And you did those things, yes, but he would still be proud of how brilliant you are, you talent on a broom, your dueling skills. He'd be _particularly_ pleased by how talented you are at pranking." He looked at me shrewdly. "With James to bounce ideas off of I have no doubt you would have been as big a thorn in the teacher's sides as we all were put together."

I smiled, trying to imagine that. When Umbridge came and I'd started planning my Disney pranks, what would it have been like to bounce ideas off of my father through letters instead of researching in the Library and asking McGonagall.

"The pair of you would have driven Lily mad," Remus laughed, and I smiled wider.

That smile faded a few molars as I asked, "Do you think he'd be upset by my relationship with Snape?"

Remus hesitated. "I don't think he'd be… upset. He wouldn't be pleased, but I think he would allow it, if that's what you mean. From the minute they entered Hogwarts, there was something between James and Severus…"

"Yeah, my mum," I said with a scoff, and Remus's eyes widened.

"You… how did you know about him and Lily?"

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. It still haunts him, you know. He still loves her."

Remus sighed. "I know. I was like Sirius at first, you know. I thought he was transferring his affection for her to you, but I see now that it's his guilt he's put on you. Everything he does for you makes him feel a little bit better about what happened back then with her."

I sighed. "It's a real bloody mess, isn't it? All of this."

Remus laughed. "Yes, I think that sums it up quite nicely."

* * *

Harry's Quidditch Captain badge gleamed from the bedside table as we crawled under the covers for the night. Harry glanced at it and grinned at me cheekily.

"Can't wait to coach my team on all the best ways to beat yours," he said with a wink.

I smiled back at him sadly. "Slytherin will be playing you without me, I' afraid," I said quietly.

I'd sent the letter off last week, telling Montague that I wouldn't be playing this year. I had too much to do, too much that couldn't be put off. Last year I'd told Snape that I kept with Quidditch because it was the only thing I was doing that was any fun. But the time for that had passed. My feelings weren't as important anymore. I had brewing for the Order, I had my Basilisks to look after and take care of, I had Draco's Occlumency, and all of that on top of regular lessons.

Harry stared at me in horror. "What? But Rena, you love Quidditch!"

I nodded. "I know, I do," I said, and tried to ignore the pang of loss I felt at the idea that I wouldn't be on the team this year. No more practices, getting my hair tangled in elf knots by the wind or squinting against rain or sweating in the sun. It was time to grow up, and fun fell by the wayside to my job of preparing for what was to come.

"I don't want to quit," I admitted. "But I just don't have time."

"I'm sure you could work it in after classes!" Harry protested.

I shook my head. "I really can't. I need one night to work with Madam Pomfrey on a mediwizardry internship. Wednesdays are for Occlumency, and Tuesdays and Thursdays belong to my Basilisks. I practice my Animagus transformations Fridays and hopefully brew on Saturdays. I genuinely don't have the time for it. I'll barely have time for prefect duties as it is," I chuckled wryly.

Harry shook his head. He slid out of his bed and padded over to mine, sitting down on the edge. I rolled onto my side and propped my head up on my palm, my elbow planted in my pillow, grinning at him faintly.

"What?" I asked.

"You don't have to do it all," Harry said quietly. He reached out and took my free hand, pulling it into his lap and fiddling with my fingers. His fingers trailed over the scars from old cooking mistakes, knife slips in Potions class, the half-dozen times I'd skinned my hands in various places either falling when Dudley pushed me or slugging one of his friends. My hands were perhaps the most scarred part of me, but I didn't mind them. Long-fingered and elegant, they showed a life lived.

I smiled gently. "I know. But I want to. I'm doing all of this for you," I explained. "I can't stand next to you against Voldemort, but I can stand behind you." I pulled my hand out of his and patted his wrist fondly. "You're my big brother, Harry," I murmured, mentioning the rarely-thought-of-fact that Harry was technically older than me. "I'm here to support you."

"I don't want you to have to give up things you love to do just for me," Harry said, eyes lowering guiltily.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't do it if I wasn't willing," I said drily, and Harry snorted.

"I just… I feel like I cause problems and you take all the punishment." His eyes lingered on my cheeks, unashamed. "If I wasn't your brother…"

"If you weren't my brother," I cut him off. "My parents would still be alive." Harry flinched and recoiled, looking at me in horror. I caught his hand and made him stay. "But if my parents were still alive, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I don't think I'd be as driven or as clever or as useful as I am. I like who I've become Harry, even if a lot of other people don't. And if I didn't have you, I think I'd be very lonely."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry for how I've been the past couple years, Rena. I just… I dunno, I got it in my head that everything you did had some kind of ulterior motive."

I scoffed. "Well, in your defense, most things I get up to do have an ulterior motive."

Harry grinned crookedly. "Yeah, but I forgot that an ulterior motive isn't always a bad thing."

* * *

It was an overcast, murky day when we all headed to Diagon Alley for school supplies. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars was awaiting us in the front yard when we emerged from the house, pulling on our cloaks.

"It's good Dad can get us these again," said Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moved smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. He, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and I were all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.

"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry and Lorena," said Mr. Weasley over his shoulder. He and Mrs. Weasley were in front with the Ministry driver. The front passenger seat had obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. "They've been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too."

"Hm, nothing says back to school shopping quite like a security team," I muttered to myself, adjusting the brim of my hat. My clothing that day was a rather eclectic mix of Muggle and magical. Jeans, combat boots, robes, and a plain black witch's hat with a little emerald and silver pin on the band for some color.

"Here you are, then," said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours, I expect," said Mr. Weasley. "Ah, good, he's here!"

"Oh thank Merlin," I breathed when I stepped out of the car and saw Hagrid standing there with his smile wide and his arms wider instead of a team of grim-faced Aurors.

"Harry!" he boomed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry had stepped out of the car. "Buckbeak — Witherwings, I mean — yeh should see him, Harry, he's so happy ter be back in the open air —"

"Glad he's pleased," said Harry, grinning as he massaged his ribs. "We didn't know 'security' meant you!"

"It's definitely an improvement on a bunch of Aurors, though," I offered, and braced as I got my own rib-cracking hug. I restrained the urge to cough and wheeze, patting Hagrid awkwardly on the back as he picked me up in a hug. He set me down and I hid the pain with a wide grin.

"I know, jus' like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do," said Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. "Lets get goin' then — after yeh, Molly, Arthur —"

The Leaky Cauldron was, for the first time in my memory, completely empty. I supposed the loss of Ollivander, who had been the wandmaker longer than most folks had been alive, had spooked the rest of the usual drinkers enough to find their libations elsewhere. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained of the old crowd. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, "Jus' passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know."

Tom nodded gloomily and returned to wiping glasses. We walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and rapped a certain brick in the wall, which opened at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. We stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around.

The environment was even gloomier than it had been before, and Fortescue's was looking more worn by the day. The Ministry flyers and Wanted posters glared down. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

 _AMULETS_

 _Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi!_

A seedy-looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.

"One for your little girl, madam?" he called at Mrs. Weasley as they passed, leering at Ginny. "Protect her pretty neck?"

"If I were on duty..." said Mr. Weasley, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.

"Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, dear, we're in a hurry," said Mrs. Weasley, nervously consulting a list. "I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, and Lorena too, you've both grown so much — come on, everyone —"

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," reasoned Mr. Weasley. "Why don't those three go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school-books?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think-?"

"Don' fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," Hagrid reassured her soothingly, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation.

"Mrs. Weasley," I said, and dug in my pocket. I passed her a folded bit of parchment. "If you could pick these up for me as well, for my own research."

Mrs. Weasley took the list with a pleasant smile. "Of course dear," she said, before scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while the rest of us set off for Madam Malkin's.

Many of the people who passed them had the same harried, anxious look as Mrs. Weasley. Nobody was stopping to talk anymore. The shoppers stayed together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone. It was just like it had been the last time I was here.

"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us," observed Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending down to peer through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, all right?"

So we entered the little shop together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind us than we heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.

"... not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

My breath caught and my eyes widened. I saw Hermione send me a sideways look and her eyes urged me to remember where I was. I quickly schooled my expression into one of annoyance and disdain, like the looks Ron and Harry had adopted at the sound of Draco's voice. Hermione looked at me, her eyes almost sad.

There was a clucking noise and Madam Malkin said, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child —"

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you?"

Draco appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself. It was a few moments before he noticed us reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes widened when he saw me and then immediately narrowed as he caught himself.

"Well well, mother, look what just walked in," he drawled.

"I don't think there's any need to sound like that!" scolded Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" she added hastily, for a glance toward the door had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it."

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneered Malfoy. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? What have you been getting up to?"

"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam — please —"

Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack.

"Put those away," she said coldly to Harry and Ron, ice dripping from his words. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister's. He was as tall as she was now. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!"

But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. "Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Draco made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe. Ron laughed loudly. Draco's eyes darted to me and his cheeks burned, but as quickly as we locked eyes he looked away, turning his gaze downward like he was ashamed of something. Of the fumble? I'd seen worse.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Draco snarled, rage clear in his tone. No matter how conflicted his feelings may be about his father, Draco loved his mother deeply and any insult to her was grounds for an immediate hexing in his book. I couldn't blame him either, as I'd done more than he had thus far to Parkinson for making comments about Lily before.

"Harry James Potter!" I snapped, and reached out, plucking his wand from his grasp easily and thrusting it into the pocket of my robes. "I don't care what her husband has done, Mrs. Malfoy is completely innocent and as such you will treat her with respect!" I hissed. Harry stared at me, stunned, and I turned to face Narcissa Malfoy, who seemed mildly taken aback to have me sticking up for her. "I'm terribly sorry for my brother," I apologized.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at me sharply. "It's all right," she said slowly, placing her thin white fingers upon Draco's shoulder. My eyes flicked from her to him and again the moment I looked at him he looked away. What was wrong with him? "I expect your brother will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Harry snarled and took a step forward. I threw my arm out, and he inadvertently ran his sternum into my elbow. He doubled over, clutching his chest in pain.

"Harry, no!" moaned Hermione, grabbing him and pulling him back. "Think... You mustn't... You'll be in such trouble..."

I narrowed my eyes at Narcissa Malfoy. If she were anyone else I would have spit out something exceptionally nasty for that comment, but the sight of Draco's furious expression over her shoulder reminded me of why I couldn't do that. I bit my lip hard and plastered a fake smile on my face.

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —"

"Ouch!" bellowed Draco, slapping her hand away as she bumped his wrist with a pin. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don't think I want these anymore —"

He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet. I couldn't restrain myself – you could take the lord out of the manor but you couldn't take the manor out of the lord. Draco had grown up a pampered little rich boy and I doubted some things would ever change.

"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione. "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Draco taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out. That, I fully supported, but I still didn't understand why he hadn't so much as looked at me the whole time.

"Well, really!" huffed Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust.

"Let me hang that back up for you, Madam Malkin," I offered, taking the robes from her. She smiled at me thankfully, clearly seeing me as her ally in trying to keep the peace a moment ago.

"Thank you, dear," she said gratefully, before turning to Harry with a bit of a pinch in her expression. "And what do you want?" she asked coolly.

She was distracted as she guided Harry and Ron into school robes and began to hem and pin to make them fit perfectly, allowing Hermione and I to browse alone for a moment. Hermione went to look at a display of mannequins in the corner modeling the latest styles of dress robes while I drifted towards the small corner devoted to sewing, not just robes. Most of Madam Malkin's business came from selling tailored garments, but she also catered to the at-home seamstress, selling patterns, needles, and thread and having forms for ordering different fabrics enchanted to be water- or stain-repelling.

Here I found myself browsing the patterns. I still had yards and yards of basilisk skin yet and it seemed a waste to just let it sit. I flicked through the little packets, staring at the moving photos or witches and wizards on the cover modeling the patterns inside. My eye caught on a dark-haired witch who was modeling a leather dueling vest. Smirking, I grabbed one in my size.

Madam Malkin was still a bit distracted and she tried to sell Hermione wizard's robes as she blushed and stammered out a 'no thank you.' She perked up again when she got to me, her ally, and was almost as cheerful as she usually was when she fitted me for my new robes. I was now about 5'8, reasonably tall, and now that the Dursleys had finally stopped starving us when we were home, I had started to build up a healthy figure.

"Your chest is bigger than last time I fitted you," Madam Malkin said with a wink as she fitted me. "I trust all the boys at Hogwarts will notice as well." I wondered how she'd react if I told her that the only boy whose reaction mattered was the one who had just left.

"Got ev'rything?" asked Hagrid brightly when we reappeared at his side.

"Just about," said Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "Bu they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them."

Harry and the others exchanged looks, but before they could say anything to disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books.

"Everyone all right?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's — stick close, now..."

Neither Harry nor Ron bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that they were no longer studying Potions, while the rest of us loaded up. Well, Ginny and Hermione did, I had already restocked a few weeks ago. Hedwig, Artemisia, and Pigwidgeon would enjoy the boxes of owl nuts we picked up at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

"We really haven't got too long," Mrs. Weasley said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two... ninety-four..."

"Whoa," breathed Ron, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop Fronts around them, Fred and George's windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked. My eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

 _WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT_

 _YOU-KNOW-WHO?_

 _YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT_

 _U-NO-POO-_

 _THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION_

 _THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!_

Harry and I started to laugh. Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster, her mouth open in a soft groan. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the name "U-No-Poo."

"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispered.

"No they won't!" said Ron, who, like Harry, was laughing. "This is brilliant!"

He and Harry led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers. I couldn't get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling. Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts. I noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and I pushed toward the counter with Harry, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: _reusable hangman — spell it or he'll swing!_

"Patented Daydream Charms?"

Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

"'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.' You know," commented Hermione, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

A beaming Fred stood before us, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair. I beamed at him and threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Fred laughed and hugged me back.

"I'm marrying one of you boys," I informed him, as I'd said many times over the years.

"Ooh, any preferences on which one?" Fred wiggled his eyebrows lewdly. I giggled.

"Hell, I'll take both."

"George!" Fred feigned yelling over his shoulder frantically, and I let him go to shake Harry's hand.

"How are you, Harry? And what's happened to your eye, Hermione?"

"Your punching telescope," she said ruefully.

"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," cursed Fred, clearly startled and a bit guilty. "Here-"

He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her. She unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.

"Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour," instructed Fred. "We had to find a decent bruise remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."

Hermione looked nervous. "It is… safe, isn't it?" she asked.

"'Course it is," said Fred bracingly. "Come on, Potters, I'll give you a tour."

We left Hermione dabbing her black eye with paste and followed Fred toward the back of the shop, where I saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

"Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties... Oh, here's George..."

Fred's twin shook Harry's hand energetically before stretching out his arms to embrace me. I obliged, squeezing tightly.

"Lorena says she's gonna marry one of us again," Fred informed him.

"I call dibs," George said, squeezing me against his side. I grinned and ducked out from under his arm. George snickered and observed us. "Giving them the tour? Come through the back, that's where we're making the real money—pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!" he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labeled _EDIBLE DARK MARKS-THEY'LL MAKE ANYONE SICK!_

George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and I saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

"We've just developed this more serious line," explained Fred. "Funny how it happened..."

"You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm," scoffed George. "'Course, they didn't have you teaching them, Harry."

"That's right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!"

"So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves ..."

"... I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes..."

My eyes locked on the cloaks and I fingered a price tag. Like any enchanted item they were a bit more expensive than a normal version, but such a thing would definitely be a good advantage in a fight. I bit my lip, contemplating splurging yet again and buying a bundle for all my Basilisks. Then again, I might be able to work out a deal with Fred and George… And Shield Gloves would keep Disarming spells from working. Cheaper, almost more important, because a lot of duelists opened with a Disarmer.

"And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," continued George enthusiastically. "This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape."

"And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look," added Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. "You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one."

"Handy," said Harry, impressed. Again, I wanted to buy about a dozen for my Basilisks.

"Here," offered George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry and I.

A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain. She too was wearing magenta staff robes.

"There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said.

It was very odd to hear Fred and George called _Mr. Weasley,_ but they took it in their stride.

"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," said George promptly. He looked at Harry and I. "You help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge."

"I can't do that!" said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators. Me, I stuffed them in my pocket without question.

"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.

"But—"

"You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten," said George sternly. "Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask."

George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led us back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.

"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies..."

Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.

"There you go," announced Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do they work?" she asked.

"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —"

"— and the attractiveness of the girl," said George, reappearing suddenly at our side. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've —"

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," answered Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"Yes, I am," said Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"

She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

"Pygmy Puffs," supplied George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," said Ginny with a shrug, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that I was surprised Fred didn't recoil.

"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you," she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," chimed Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."

Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" said Ginny at once.

"A what?" asked Mrs. Weasley, understandably wary.

"Look, they're so sweet..."

Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and we momentarily had an unimpeded view out of the window. Draco Malfoy was hurrying up the street alone. As he passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and we lost sight of him.

"Wonder where his mummy is?" murmured Harry, frowning.

"Given her the slip by the looks of it," said Ron.

"Why, though?" mused Hermione, her eyes again darting to me. She had to stop doing that every time Draco appeared of I was going to hex her cross-eyed.

Harry glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.

"Get under here, quick," ordered Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

"Oh — I don't know, Harry," fretted Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley.

"Come on," urged Ron.

She hesitated for a second longer, then ducked under the cloak with Harry and Ron.

"You're all idiots," I added as I ducked under the cloak with them. Nobody noticed us vanish. They were all too interested in Fred and George's products. We squeezed our way out of the door as quickly as we could, but by the time we gained the street, Draco had disappeared just as successfully as we had.

"He was going in that direction," murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them. "C'mon."

We scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione pointed ahead.

"That's him, isn't it?" she whispered. "Turning left?"

"Big surprise," whispered Ron.

For Draco had glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight. I narrowed my eyes. Draco had confessed that he wasn't overly fond of the darker alley and he only went down there when he didn't have another option. That meant that almost certainly he wasn't there for himself. Likely, he was there for something involving Voldemort.

"Quick, or we'll lose him," said Harry, speeding up.

"Our feet'll be seen!" said Hermione anxiously, as the cloak flapped a little around our ankles. It was much more difficult hiding all four of us under the cloak nowadays.

"It doesn't matter," said Harry impatiently. "Just hurry!"

But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looked completely deserted. We peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all.

Hermione gave Harry's arm a hard pinch.

"Ouch!"

"Shh! Look! He's in there!" she breathed in Harry's ear.

We had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry and I had once hidden to avoid Draco and his father. Judging by the movements of Draco's hands, he was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing Draco. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

"If only we could hear what they're saying!" said Hermione.

"We can!" said Ron excitedly. "Hang on — damn —" He dropped a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching as he fumbled with the largest. "Extendable Ears, look!"

"Fantastic!" said Hermione, as Ron unraveled the long, flesh-colored strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable —"

"No!" said Ron gleefully. "Listen!"

We put our heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Draco's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

"... you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Draco shortly. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

I saw Borgin lick his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" challenged Draco, and I knew, just by his tone, that he was sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. We shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all we could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," threatened Draco, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for —"

"I'll decide that," Draco cut him off. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not... sir." Borgin made a bow as deep as the one I had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Draco stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passed so close to us that we felt the cloak flutter around our knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen. His unctuous smile had vanished. He looked worried.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

"Dunno," said Harry, thinking hard. "He wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something in there... Could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, he was behind that cabinet —"

"You two stay here," whispered Hermione.

"What are you — ?"

But Hermione had already ducked out from under the cloak. She checked her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marched into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Ron hastily fed the Extendable Ears back under the door and passed one of the strings to Harry.

I had no desire to watch Hermione humiliate herself. Instead I let my hair down and slipped out from under the cloak as Ron and Harry were transfixed by Hermione's terrible performance. Moving fast, I headed back up the alleyway after Draco. I kept my steps light, setting down the ball of my foot first and then my heel to muffle my footsteps as much as possible. Draco came into view ahead and I surged forwards. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into the alleyway between two boarded-up shops. Instinctively his hand dived for his wand and I caught it tightly, my other hand pressed to his mouth.

"Hush, it's me!" I hissed, pressing him against the wall. Draco's eyes widened when he realized who it was and he relaxed, but not as much as I had expected. His shoulders were still tense. I frowned as I lowered my hands from him. He stared down at me coolly. I blinked in shock at the frosty reception.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked icily. "Only I've got important things to attend to." I stared at him incredulously. He scoffed and made to push me aside. I scowled and shoved him back against the wall.

"Alright, now what in the hell did I do to warrant getting _that_ spat at me?" I demanded.

"You didn't have to do anything but be a Potter," he said darkly, his eyes darting to the side. For all his mouth and nose were twisted in an expression of distaste I could see the sadness, the fear, the utter exhaustion in his eyes. My mouth dropped open and I reached up, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at me.

"What happened?" I asked softly, looking at him in concern. "What's he done?"

Draco's mask fell for a second and I was looking at a sixteen-year-old boy who was drowning he was in so far over his head. I stared at him, hating how helpless I felt because I had no idea what was going on. I was able to watch as his expression cleared once more and he jerked away from me violently, starting for the mouth of the alleyway. I reached out and grabbed his left arm. He hissed in pain and ripped himself away from me, throwing himself back against the wall. He cradled his arm to his chest, and though he'd always been a bit of a drama queen, this was too much even for him. It was his left arm he was favoring… his left…

I paled, my mouth dropping open, and I saw agony stretch across Draco's face as I caught his left wrist and pulled it out.

"Don't," he begged as I fiddled with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve, but he made no move to stop me as I yanked the fabric up. Sure enough, burned into his flesh in deep black ink, swirling and writhing under the skin, was the Dark Mark. It was reddish and inflamed looking, obviously rather fresh, and I felt as though I'd been punched in the stomach.

"I didn't do it willingly," Draco said suddenly, words spilling out of him in his desperation for me to understand. "I didn't want it, but he kept going on about how I needed to replace my father, I couldn't hold out anymore or he would have gotten suspicious… dear Merlin, phoenix, I swear I didn't want to, you have to believe me, please, _please_ I would never… I _wouldn't_ …" He was panting and sounded near to tears as I stared blankly at the Dark Mark on his skin.

Seeing it on his arm should have revolted me, should have made me cringe away, but all it did was break my heart to see what mark Draco had been forced to bear. This was just like my scars. Voldemort had forced them on me and he walked away while I had to deal with the fallout. No matter how this ended, Draco and I were both marked by him and neither of us had chosen it. The only difference was that I had years to get used to my marks, and for Draco the pain was still fresh and new and raw.

The first wild thought that I had was to kiss it to show that I didn't care, but I knew better than to touch the thing, knew it would send pain radiating down Draco's arm. With nothing else left to me, I let out a breath, looked up at Draco, and asked helplessly, "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

Draco's knees gave and he collapsed against me, his arms snapping up to wrap around my waist and clutch me to his chest. I hugged him back tightly, staring in blank, wide-eyed horror at the brick wall over his shoulder. He was shaking, I could feel him trembling in his arms, and if he were anyone else I thought he might have been sobbing in my arms.

"You have no idea… I'm so sorry… I didn't know how you would take it… I was so scared."

"Shh, shh," I whispered into his ear, reaching up to card my fingers through his hair. "No, I understand it wasn't your choice Draco, I don't blame you for it." I hesitated, a faint smile crossing my face though he couldn't see. "Would you… would hate me if I made a joke right now?"

"Shoot," Draco mumbled, burying his face in my neck.

"Well, it seems we both got inked up this summer…" I said weakly, looking up at the grey sky above and holding him tighter.

"Yeah I guess we… wait what?" I grinned as Draco's head came out of my shoulder slightly and tilted my head so that he could see the phoenix feather. He stared for a moment and then straightened up, staring down at me in disbelief. "You… you just…" Laughter finally rose to his eyes and an affectionate smile stretched across his lips. "You _ridiculous_ woman," he said, shaking his head and laughing helplessly.

"There's a smile," I said, smiling right back at him fondly as I reached up and set my hands on his shoulders.

"I've missed you," Draco admitted.

"Missed you too," I assured him, and reached up to peck him on the lips. It was like warmth spread from the contact down to my toes. I'd missed that as well, along with a hundred other things. I'd missed the smell of his cologne and the striking grey of his eyes. I'd even missed his arrogant smirk, now that I thought about it.

Draco hummed as I pulled away, opening his eyes and looking down at me. "You shouldn't be here," he said gently.

"Harry saw you looking shifty and followed you down with Ron and Hermione," I explained. "They saw you go into Borgin and Burkes and overheard your conversation. Harry's decided you've taken over for your dad, it seems."

Draco's expression darkened. "He's not wrong."

"Yes, he is," I said shortly, reaching up and grabbing his face between my palms. I shook my head at him. "Look, I have to get back now before they start worrying about me, but the first night back, meet me in the Room of Requirement, okay?"

Draco nodded, and I saw some of that hesitance and uncertainty coming back to his eyes. There was more to it, more than even the Dark Mark, and that terrified me. Something was making Draco fearful of how I would react to the news and I had no idea what it could be. I couldn't bring myself to be offended that he thought his summer activities would make me hate him, because not too long ago they would have. But not… not now.

I reached out and rolled down his sleeve, carefully buttoning his sleeve back up so that it wouldn't slide. I couldn't touch the mark, that would be the height of foolishness, so I lifted is arm up and kissed the buttons that hid it. Draco smiled down at me thankfully and I darted from the alleyway, my heart aching for him, and made my way back to Fred and George's shop.

"There you are, Lorena!" Molly fretted when she saw me lingering by the shelf of Muggle magic tricks. "Hagrid and I were worried sick, we couldn't find you! And do you know where Harry, Ron, and Hermione have gone off to?"

"We were in the back room," I lied with a shrug. "I was looking for Fred and George, had a question for them. The others were helping me look."

Mrs. Wealsey looked a bit suspicious. "I looked back there, and so did Hagrid."

"Well, we were moving around, we must have kept missing each other," I said with a careless grin. I spotted Fred across the way, leaning against one of the shelves and muttering something to Verity. "Oh, there he is! I swear, they're slippery," I muttered and fled Mrs. Weasley, heading over to Fred. Verity saw me coming, tossed me a small smile and moved off. Fred looked around at me with a grin.

"Come to plan the wedding, dear?" he asked coyly as I approached. I snorted and shook my head.

"Slightly more serious, I'm afraid," I corrected, knowing full well how 'Fred and George Weasley' and 'serious' rarely went together. To his credit though, Fred turned to face me fully and his expression did indeed turn serious as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his magenta staff robes.

"What's up, Rena?"

"I've know some people who might very much benefit from some of your Shield line, and some of those Decoy Detonators and Darkness Powder wouldn't go amiss either," I admitted. "And I'm willing to pay, because I'll need a lot."

Fred blinked. "And what people might this be?"

"Well, for one, the Order could probably use them," I offered, staring around suspiciously and making sure to keep my voice low. "Those gloves? They'd keep a wand from being Summoned and just distributing them among some of our agents would be a good idea."

"But you're not here about the Order, are you?" Fred asked shrewdly, raising an eyebrow.

I inclined my head. "I'm not."

"These people you know… wouldn't happen to go by a snaky name? Run around hexing Slytherins with you?" Fred asked, and I stared at him incredulously.

"How did you-?"

"Ginny wrote," he explained. "Told us about Umbridge's office and about what happened on the train car. You're wanting to get some gear for your Basilisks?"

I nodded, a bit chagrined that he'd worked it out. "Yeah, for them."

"Like I said, you don't have to pay for anything," Fred reminded me. I gave him a dark look.

"But I'm gonna. I'll accept a discount, but not free."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Stubborn," he teased, nudging me with an elbow. "Normally I'd be a bit wary about selling to Slytherins, but from what Ginny has told us, your people are alright."

"They'd better be," I said proudly. "I vetted them myself."

Fred nodded at me, smiling. "I think we can work something out."


	84. Sixth Year

**It's Christmas! And I think you all wanted an update so, you're getting it. I wasn't going to, but I'm going to be out of town for Wednesday so you're getting it all now! Also, the highly-requested series of Amity and Severus will be up shortly, entitled Severity, will be up soon! Merry Christmas!** **It'll be updated randomly, with no real schedule, just as I feel like working on it.**

* * *

I received two letters the day before we returned to Hogwarts. As Harry finished packing, gathering his things from where they'd spread across the entirety of the Burrow it seemed, I sat at the desk, my trunk already packed, rereading the letters.

 _Miss Potter,_

 _You are correct that we have never been amiable. You are also correct in many of the things you said to me in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. I expected too little of you when for years you have never done anything but go above and beyond the expectations placed on you by your teachers and peers. I confess myself ashamed for allowing myself to fall into old prejudices. While I may not agree with some of your actions, they have always been in service to your brother._

 _There can be no higher loyalty than that between family._

 _Remus did indeed bring the offer of the Stenets to my attention, while Alastor vehemently opposed the idea. I was aware that you were doing something with a group of Slytherins, thought I still don't know what exactly you've been up to. I am trying not to be unnerved by how skillfully deceptive you are. The Stenets, to my knowledge, have yet to declare for a side. Many will be reluctant to allow Slytherins into the Order, and I myself am hesitant._

 _Your endorsement, however, does change things. If you have faith that they are trustworthy, I know you would not put your brother or the Order at risk. I will speak with them later this month once they have settled into their new home and present the idea of joining the Order to them. It will be ultimately up to them, of course. And, when the inevitable protests arise, I promise they will have my endorsement and, I suspect, Remus's. He seemed to remember them from classes and seemed fond of them._

 _I confess that I have always been somewhat skeptical of Divination, though Trelawney's prediction has convinced me of its validity. Upon conferring with Firenze, he was surprisingly complimentary of Mrs. Stenet and seemed to believe that she could be considered a reliable source. If that is indeed the case, then this is both cause for celebration and concern. Your points on the advantages and disadvantages to a quick close to this conflict were valid._

 _Of far more interest to me is the appearance of the number seven and your connection of it to Voldemort's Horcruxes. One day, we really must discuss where you get your information, because you were correct in all your assumptions. Yes, Voldemort made Horcruxes, and I suspected there was more than one. Your vision makes me confident in that assumption. Yes, the ring I now carry was a Horcrux – it has since been destroyed. And yes, that is what happened to the ring. There was a very Dark spell on it that I foolishly overlooked._

 _When you return to school, I would very much like it if you would join me in my office for tea the first Saturday. Your offer to brew for the Order should be discussed, and your request for lessons must be covered as well. I will neither promise nor refuse to teach you in this letter, I would prefer to discuss these things face-to-face._

 _Hoping you are well,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

This letter gave me hope that perhaps it was a new chapter for the Order, one of inclusiveness. I was glad that Dumbledore seemed to be taking Maeve's words seriously, even though my stomach swooped at the idea of hunting down so many Horcruxes. They would all have to be destroyed before Voldemort could be truly killed, and that would take time and skill. Most importantly, I wanted to learn from Dumbledore how he had destroyed the Horcrux in the ring.

If Dumbledore's letter made me frown in concern, Amity's made me grin. Because the second letter was, miraculously, from her.

 _Lorena,_

 _Say what you like about your medieval fantasy land, but sometimes Muggle technology is awesome. For example, I have recently come into possession of a certain text-to-speech software which means that I can speak my letters to you, print them off, and send them to you via owl. We can communicate! How wonderful is that?_

 _Where did I get an owl, I bet you're asking. Well, that's a bit of a funny story. Your delicious professor turned up the other day. Said he wanted to 'check that his wards were holding' but that was all kinds of nonsense. If you ask me, I think he was a bit lonely. But anyway, I gave him the money and he was nice enough to go out and fetch me an owl and explain how to take care of it. I have named him Sneed, after my grandfather, and he is fabulous._

 _I know you're busy, and I know things are serious where you are now. I don't expect you to write me every day, honey, so don't worry. But if you could just drop me a line every now and then, tell me how you're doing, that you're not dead, it would really cut back on the time I have to spend worrying about you. I have other things I should be doing._

 _One of them being your Potions Master._

 _Ha! Now that I've thoroughly disgusted you, and I can metaphorically see your face getting green, I'll let you get back to being a wonderful magical genius and saving the world and such._

 _Lots of love,_

 _Amity_

I couldn't believe it! I could now write Amity and she would write back! It was a delight and I was suddenly about a thousand times happier to know that I would be able to ask her for advice as the year went on and actually get an answer, not just write to her to burn off a little steam or work out some thoughts on paper.

I agreed with her assessment of why Snape had turned up, honestly surprised he had. He was a skilled wizard, if he put up wards they would stay where he put them for as long as he wanted them. There was no need for him to come and check on her. He had anyway, though, and I wondered if it had been triggered by one of the nights I knew he spent in his office nursing a glass or two of firewhiskey. Amity was right, the idea of her and Snape _in flagrante delicto_ was enough to make me feel a bit queasy, but as far as the pair of them keeping company… I really didn't mind. Amity hated people walking on eggshells around her, and Snape certainly wasn't one to spare a person's feelings. And as far as he went, Amity was someone who didn't expect anything from him and didn't have any preconceived notions about him. That had to be rare. Perhaps the both of them could benefit from a friendship.

* * *

"Touch me and I'll bitch-slap you so hard I'll knock the magic out of you," I growled as one of the Aurors that had met us at the platform tried to grab my arm and guide me through the barrier. He jerked his hand back in surprise and I tossed him a rude gesture over my shoulder before barreling through the brick wall and onto the platform. The scarlet steam engine was as breathtaking as usual, with steam filling the air from the stack. I grinned and moved aside, waiting for the others to come through.

They all poured through behind me and Harry motioned to us to follow him and hunt for a compartment.

"Can't, we've all got prefect duty," I reminded him, gesturing to myself, Ron, and Hermione. "We've got to go to the prefect's carriage and then patrol."

"And I said I'd meet up with Dean," Ginny apologized, before moving off to meet up with her boyfriend.

"You'd better get straight on the train, all of you, you've only got a few minutes to go," said Mrs. Weasley, consulting her watch as Harry pulled Mr. Weasley away for a private word. "Well, have a lovely term, Ron..."

I narrowed my eyes at Harry. It was easy to guess why he might want to speak to Mr. Weasley. He'd been on Draco-is-a-Death-Eater repeat all summer. I'd have been a bit more annoyed with him if he wasn't completely correct. Draco was a Death Eater, but an unwilling one, while Harry seemed to think he'd jumped at the chance to replace his father in the ranks when Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban. The truth couldn't be more different: he'd nearly broken there in that alleyway to show me the Mark on his arm.

I boarded the train and moved off, knowing that the Slytherins would be down at the end of the train where they usually congregated. I didn't doubt that I'd find my Basilisk crammed together and, sure enough, I passed a carriage that held Molly, Emilia, Chastity, and Dominic. I paused and stuck my head inside.

"Hiss, hiss, darlings," I greeted them with a smirk. Emilia jumped up, a huge grin on her face, and waved at me happily.

"Lorena!" She looked at Dominic superiorly. "You can tell him then. That our project for the summer will be way more effective than his dumb plants!"

"Emilia," I cautioned. "No knowledge is more important than another. All knowledge has power."

Emilia slumped and Dominic stuck his tongue out at her smugly. "Oh, fine," she submitted, and flopped back onto her seat.

"When will our first meeting this year be?" Molly asked curiously. "And do you think we'll be inviting any of the first years?"

I shrugged. "I don't know about the first years, we'll see who comes in. I probably won't approach any of them for a couple months, not until I get the lay of them. After that, I'll see if there are any I think would be interested and useful. As for the first meeting… haven't decided yet. Probably not right away," I admitted. "Give me a few days to get things ready and we'll see. I'll send a note when it's time."

"Are you going to be able to teach us Parseltongue?" Chastity asked hopefully, looking up at me with large, eager eyes.

I sighed and her face fell. "Well, the thing about that is… yeah, I will."

Chastity squealed in delight and I grinned at the cabin full of younger students.

"Wicked," Dominic grinned.

"I've got to move on and find my fellow prefect." I bid them all goodbye and headed further down the train until I found a compartment where Draco, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Greengrass, and Zabini were all sitting. I strode inside. The place was full, but Daphne obligingly scooted over until she was nearly in Nott's lap and made room for me by the wall. Crabbe and Goyle narrowed their piggy little eyes at me but the other occupants of the carriage ignored me.

Parkinson, of course, was the exception. "What are you doing here?" she sneered. "Did your brother and his pathetic friends throw you out?"

"Last time you tried to start something on the train it didn't end well," I reminded her threateningly. "Sure you want to try again?"

Parkinson stood up and started for the door, sniffing. "I think I'll find somewhere else to sit, where there's not as much filth," she said primly, and shot bedroom eyes over her shoulder at Draco. "Coming, Draco?"

Draco shook his head firmly. "I've got things to talk about with Blaise," he said, and turned firmly towards his friend, who flicked his wrist at Parkinson with a dismissive smirk.

"Run along, Parkinson, and give it up."

Parkinson now had no choice but to leave or risk losing face, so she thrust her nose in the air and sauntered off, probably to go find Bulstrode, Lily, and Tracey.

"Why don't you boys go and raid the trolley?" Daphne offered to Crabbe and Goyle, whose eyes lit up. They eagerly took her advice and scampered off to stuff their faces. I rolled my eyes as they scarpered and sent a quick spell at the door that would prevent anyone from listening in as we talked.

"Well, now that that's handled," Blaise said, and kicked his feet up on the seat Parkinson had vacated, stretching out with a contented sigh and folding his hands behind his head. "How was your summer, Potter? Have any snaky visitors?"

I smirked. "You know, when I saw the kids they asked me the same thing. I'm starting to think you people only love me for my brain."

"Well, Merlin knows your personality isn't terribly inviting," Daphne agreed. My jaw dropped open and I pressed a hand to my chest.

"Greengrass?" I choked. "You wound me!"

"We all know it takes more than that to wound the great Lorena Potter," Nott said absently, turning a page in whatever book he was reading.

"There you go, see?" I said, and stood up, squishing myself in between Nott and Blaise's feet. I peered around Nott's book at Daphne. "I'm sitting by him, he appreciates me."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Did you hear from Maeve over break?"

I nodded, frowning as I recalled her predictions. "Not the best news, but not the worst either. I've passed her information on to the appropriate channels."

Not finally looked up from his book and asked with an arched eyebrow, "And that would be?"

"Well I wouldn't say we've called a truce, but Dumbledore and I have at least decided on a cease fire," I admitted. "I've been trying to get him to induct Maeve and Quinlan into the Order. They expressed an interest in joining at the end of the year."

Blaise whistled low, looking mildly impressed. "I always knew Maeve had bollocks."

Daphne wrinkled her nose. "Charming, Zabini. Malfoy, what's eating you? You've been awfully quiet."

"Nothing, just tired," Draco said dismissively, and he did look tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was paler than usual, drawn and with a grayish tinge as if he was sick. I looked at him in concern but he shook his head dismissively. I sat back, not precisely satisfied, but knowing I could get more information when we met in the Room of Requirement later.

The cabin door slid open, revealing a second-year Hufflepuff boy who looked to be about to wet himself in fear to be standing in a carriage of sixth year Slytherins.

"I-I'm supp-osed to d-deliver these t-to Blaise Z-Z-Zabini and L-L-Lorena P-P-P-Potter!" he squeaked. Daphne rolled her eyes and snatched the rolls of parchment from him, tossing them to Blaise and I.

"Scram," Blaise advised the Hufflepuff, and he obligingly fled, slamming the door behind him.

"What's it say?" Nott asked, leaning over my shoulder.

 _Lorena,_

 _I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Horace Slughorn_

"Who the hell is Slughorn?" Blaise asked blankly.

"New teacher," I supplied. "Potions."

"Wait, if he's teaching Potions…" Nott said slowly. "Then has Snape-?"

I grinned and nodded. It was all I'd been able to work out. Slughorn was a Potions Master, that was the only subject he could teach, and that meant that Snape would be filling the role he'd always wanted. I knew Harry thought Slughorn would take over DADA but the reality was that Slughorn had no desire and fewer qualifications for that subject.

"Well bully for them then!" Blaise said cheerfully. He looked over at me. "So, are we going to go?"

"Inquisitorial Squad last year, Slug Club this year," I reminisced.

"Whatever it takes to keep in the teacher's good graces," Blaise agreed, and stood up, looking around the cabin.

"We'll be back," I said, but I was looking mostly at Draco. He nodded, still seeming more subdued than he would normally be. I frowned once more as Blaise and I left the compartment and headed down the train for compartment C.

"He won't tell me what it is either."

I blinked and looked up at Blaise, who was uncharacteristically stern-looking. He looked down at me and ruined it with a slight smirk. "Yeah, you know I know, don't even pretend like you don't."

I scoffed. "Of course you do. You're his best mate."

"Don't tell Crabbe and Goyle, they think they are," Blaise advised.

I feigned shock. "They think?" Blaise sniggered. "Seriously though, what do you know?"

Blaise sighed and reached up, adjusting his tie. "Honestly, not much. He's been rather quiet this summer, not as many letters, and not as much information in the ones he does send. You want my opinion, you'll be the one who gets whatever it is out of him, not me."

I blinked. "You've known him longer-"

Blaise shrugged. "Doesn't matter, he loves you," he said mildly, and hearing someone so casually toss those words out made me flinch and look up at him in shock. Blaise smirked.

"It's not hard to tell. Nott and Daphne know too, but only because they're both perceptive. All you've got to do is see how he looks at you. And, if I can be blunt, how you look at him."

I stared at Blaise incredulously, but there was no more time. We were at the compartment where we were supposed to meet Slughorn. Blaise pushed open the door and we saw at once that we were not Slughorn's only invitees.

"Ah, Miss Potter, and Mr. Zabini! You made it!"

"Professor Slughorn, sir," I said with a faint grin. "Nice of you to invite us along."

I clocked Marcus Belby in a corner, Cormac McLaggen, and, to my surprise, Ginny Weasley on the bench opposite Slughorn. I sat down by the window and Blaise took the seat by Ginny.

"Weasley," he greeted. His voice definitely wasn't friendly, but it was polite, and Ginny blinked in surprise. She looked around him to me, the question clear on her face. My eyes darted down to the Basilisk ring proudly displayed on Blaise's hand and her eyes widened in realization.

"An honor, sir, my mother's mentioned you several times," Blaise continued, speaking to Slughorn now. "Said you were one of her favorite teachers."

"Ah, well, it's an easy job when working with a student as clever as your mother was," Slughorn said modestly. "We're just waiting on a few more now and then we'll begin- Ah!"

The compartment door slid open and Harry and Neville were revealed, both of them looking a little bit confused as to why they had been invited. Harry, obviously, was the Chosen One, and Neville had been mentioned in the papers as being at the Ministry. Of course, so had Luna, but she was a well-known kook, while Neville was from a well-thought-of family.

"Harry, m'boy!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleamed as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!"

Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only two empty seats, which were nearest the door. Harry glanced around at our fellow guests. He recognized Zabini from our year and looked from me to him questioningly. I smirked and Harry nodded in reply, getting the message – Blaise was one of mine.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked Harry and Neville. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course -?"

Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville. Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle, after all.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other - No?"

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him.

"-and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether-"

Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile.

"-and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finished.

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back.

"Well now, this is most pleasant," announced Slughorn cozily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch. The trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things... Pheasant, Belby?"

Belby started and accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant.

"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told Harry and Neville, now passing around a basket of rolls. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"

Unfortunately, Beiby had just taken a large mouthful of pheasant. In his haste to answer Slughorn he swallowed too fast, turned purple, and began to choke.

" _Anapneo_ ," I said lazily, flicking my wand at Belby, whose airway seemed to clear at once. He shot me a thankful look.

"Not... not much of him, no," gasped Belby, his eyes streaming.

"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," said Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work! And well done, Miss Potter, although technically I should dock points for using magic on the train." He waggled a finger at me.

"I suppose..." said Belby, who seemed afraid to take another bite of pheasant until he was sure that Slughorn had finished with him. "Er... he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about..."

His voice tailed away as Slughorn gave him a cold smile and turned to McLaggen instead.

"Now, you, Cormac," began Slughorn, "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?"

"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," recalled McLaggen with a lazy smile. "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour - this was before he became Minister, obviously-"

"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus too?" beamed Slughorn, now offering around a small tray of pies. Somehow, Belby was missed out. "Now tell me..."

Everyone in the compartment had family who were rich, well-known, and/or influential in some combination. Frankly, I was a little impressed at how fast Slughorn worked. I was honestly a bit in awe of his ability to accumulate people who could be useful to him so quickly and easily. Most of the others in the car didn't seem to realize that they were there not because the professor was actually interested in them, but more because Slughorn was interested in what they might be able to do for him, be it a box of crystallized pineapple or tickets to events.

"And now one of our celebrities," Slughorn said, settling contently in his seat and lacing his fingers together, resting his hands on his ample belly in that way old men had. His eyes turned to me. "Miss Lorena Potter, where does one begin?! Triwizard Tournament Champion, Dragon Tamer, Parseltongue… you've accumulated quite a reputation in the media!"

I shrugged. "It's hard to avoid when you get into trouble as often as some people do," I replied calmly.

Slughorn chuckled. "Oh, I can see how that might be a contributing factor… but aside from the general propaganda everything that's been reported on you is quite impressive! Tell me, how did you manage to get past that dragon?"

Harry shifted nervously in his seat and Ginny, who had doubtless heard a bit about Norbert from Charlie, pointedly looked away from me.

I just smirked and looked up at Slughorn from under lashes, demure but smug in equal measure. "Trade secret, I'm afraid."

"Well, keep that secret, but you must stop by my office and discuss your brewing with me!" Slughorn offered. "I've heard from my dear friend Cutler Barnes that you've expressed an interest to him in starting your own brewing company, and he's been in raptures over some of your ideas. By all means, I'd be happy to point you in the direction of a few of my other old friends."

I smiled. "That would be wonderful, professor. It would be nice to sit down and have a proper conversation about brewing with someone."

"Indeed it would!" he chortled. "Forgive me, Miss Potter, but I must ask… I was under the impression that your scar was only on one side?" he asked mildly. "Did something happen at the Ministry that the papers didn't report?

All eyes turned to me and it took effort not to stiffen. I hadn't donned my patch to board the train. I fully intended to do away with wearing it except for in cases where I had to hide my identity.

"No, this was during the encounter in the tournament," I said calmly, refusing to be cowed by fear or shame. I raised a hand and stroked my fingers down the newer scar, feeling the familiar raised lines of the S. "As it happens, Lord Voldemort doesn't like it when one refuses to answer his questions immediately. He especially doesn'tlike it when one laughs in his face." I smirked and was rewarded as Slughorn paled slightly.

"Well, aha, I can imagine not," he said weakly, before swallowing gamely and continuing. Clearly, he was done with me. "And now," said Slughorn, shifting massively in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act. "Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!" He contemplated Harry for a moment as though he was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then said, "'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!"

Harry said nothing. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini were all staring at him.

"Of course," said Slughorn, watching Harry closely, "there have been rumors for years... I remember when - well - after that terrible night - Lily - James - and you survived - and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary-"

Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism. An angry voice burst out from behind Slughorn.

"Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented... at posing..."

"Oh dear!" chuckled Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny, who was glaring at Zabini. He arched an eyebrow right back. "You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!"

Zabini shook his head and hid his smirk. Ginny was a wicked witch with a wand but I didn't doubt that Blaise could probably give her fits in a duel if he was so inclined. After all, I'd trained him to handle Death Eaters, and powerful though she might be, Ginny was no Death Eater.

"Anyway," continued Slughorn, turning back to Harry. "Such rumors this summer. Of course, one doesn't know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes - but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!"

Harry nodded but still said nothing. Slughorn beamed at him.

"So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond - you were there, then? But the rest of the stories - so sensational, of course, one doesn't know quite what to believe - this fabled prophecy, for instance-"

"We never heard a prophecy," said Neville, turning geranium pink as he said it.

"That's right," said Ginny staunchly. "Neville and I were both there too, and all this 'Chosen One' rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual."

"You were both there too, were you?" said Slughorn with great interest, looking from Ginny to Neville, but both of them sat clam-like before his encouraging smile.

"Yes... well... it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course..." Slughorn said, sounding a little disappointed. "I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies)-"

He meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence, but I had the distinct impression that Slughorn had not finished with Harry, and that he had not been convinced by Neville and Ginny.

The afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the "Slug Club" at Hogwarts. I could not wait to leave, but there was no way to do so politely, because Slughorn clearly didn't care that I was a prefect and therefore supposed to be patrolling.

Finally, the train emerged from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight.

"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice that they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise - any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkled at Ginny. "Well, off you go, off you go!"

Zabini pushed past my brother, nearly bursting from the compartment before stopping in the hall to wait for me. I followed him. It was an open secret in the Slytherin Common Room that Blaise wasn't entirely fond of his mother and I knew that being called into the compartment specifically because of her was not how he had hoped his train ride would go.

"Zabini," Harry greeted coolly when he, Neville, and Ginny stepped out.

"Potter," Blaise replied, equally chilly. He glanced from Harry to Ginny. "Word to the wise, Weasley… start something with me and you'll regret it."

Ginny's eyes narrowed challengingly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, stepping between them. I put a hand on Blaise's shoulder. "I know you're in a bad mood, Blaise, but don't go picking fights. We can't draw attention to ourselves now."

Blaise shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. "You're right-"

Neville's eyes widened as he looked at my hand on Zabini's shoulder. "Wait, so you're-?"

"Neville!" I cut him off sharply before he could get farther. "Come on Blaise, let's get back to the others."

"Yeah, and hope Parkinson hasn't slimed her way back into the compartment," he agreed, turning on his heels. We made our way down the halls towards our compartment. Ever the gentlemen, Blaise held the door for me and I stepped inside. I scowled when I saw that Parkinson had indeed made her way back into the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle had also returned from the trolley and were reading comics with a pile of sweets between them.

"Oh bloody hell," I said, wrinkling my nose as Parkinson cuddled up to Draco's arm. He was pointedly staring out the window and not at her. If I didn't know that he had a cover to keep up, I might have been pissed. Honestly, I still was, but not at him, at the leech stuck to him.

"Oh bloody hell, why'd you come back?" I scowled as I flopped into my seat by the window.

"I thought Draco might want some better company," Parkinson said, curling even closer to his side.

Zabini was sliding the door shut when it suddenly stuck, like it was hitting something. The rattling made us all look around.

"What's wrong with this thing?" said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into whatever the block was. Zabini, still clinging on to the handle, toppled over sideways into Goyle's lap as the door seemingly slammed itself open. Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing Parkinson and Crabbe's eyes to them. But I was absolutely certain I'd saw the flash of a trainer leaping up into the luggage rack, and going by the way Draco's eyes had tracked I he had too.

He looked at me and I scowled furiously. Harry bloody Potter, still on his Malfoy's-a-Death-Eater crusade… I was going to kill him. Unfortunately, it was now critical that Harry believed Draco was a Death Eater. For one, he would never accept that Draco was on our side no matter what had happened in Umbridge's office last year and for another, Harry would never be able to pretend he and Draco hated each other if they were on the same side. He wasn't that good of an actor.

Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him. Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Crabbe returned to his comic, and Draco, sniggering, lounged back into his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him and letting his arms rest across the back of the bench. Parkinson squealed and cuddled closer, convinced this was his way of making a move.

"So, Zabini," said Draco, "what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Blaise, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."

This information did not seem to please Draco. "Who else had he invited?" he demanded.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," recalled Zabini.

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," approved Malfoy.

"-someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw-"

"Not him, he's a prat!" whined Pansy.

"-and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy off of him and nearly into the wall. I smirked and hid it behind a hand. Well, that was one way to pry off a leech…

"He invited Longbottom?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Blaise indifferently.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"

Zabini shrugged.

"Probably the Ministry. He was mentioned in the papers as being there," I offered.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,'" sneered Draco, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," said Parkinson, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly, and Parkinson looked pleased. I knew that it was an act though – Blaise had indeed admitted before that he found Ginny attractive, and he didn't care as much as he would imply about so-called 'blood traitors.'

Draco slumped back into the seat. "Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or-"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," scoffed Zabini. "He asked me about Nott's father when he started on me. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Dearh Eaters."

Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." Draco yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

I froze. What did he mean by that? He might not be at Hogwarts? If he wasn't at Hogwarts, then that meant that whatever this mysterious thing that was bothering him was, it had something to do with the school. Unfortunately, that was fairly obvious. Why else would Voldemort want anything from Draco when he had a host of other, more experienced servants? The only thing Draco had that they didn't was access to the school.

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Parkinson indignantly.

"Well, you never know," said Draco with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have - er - moved on to bigger and better things."

I let out a soft breath. I understood now, what Draco meant when he said he didn't like seeing me put on the Slytherin mask I wore. Seeing him play the part of the hateful, prejudiced pureblood sycophant he had been when we were younger was like a punch in the stomach. His eyes were dead behind his sneer and it killed me to see. I knew how Harry, up in the luggage rack, would be taking this and it only pushed the time when it would be even remotely possible to consider telling him about Draco and I farther and farther away.

But Draco had to put on this act for Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle. It was expected that he would brag and they would ask their parents, who would in turn ask Voldemort. Or rather, subtly pry for information. For him to do anything else would have been strange. He was known to be proud, and he was expected to be proud to have already received the Mark.

Blaise's eyes widened and twitched towards me before he caught himself. "Do you mean-"

Draco shrugged.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone's got? Of course he isn't! It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Blaise scathingly. He was angry, angry at Draco for telling him about it like this, in front of Parkinson and the two human boulders who were gaping with their mouths open. I understood why he did though. Sometimes it was easier to play the part than be genuine. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," said Draco quietly, his eyes carefully averted from me.

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Parkinson was gazing down at Draco as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

"Why are you saying all of this in front of Potter?" she demanded suddenly, eyes locking on me. "We could Obliviate her?" she offered with relish.

I narrowed my eyes. "Try it, bitch, and the next anonymous gift you get _will_ be fatal," I promised, and heard a faint gasp overhead as Harry caught that and suddenly realized who it had been that poisoned Parkinson. Thankfully, her own cry of outrage masked the sound.

"You think just because you got me back you're safe?" she hissed. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles threateningly.

"Your muscle graduated," I told her coldly. "By some miracle… Next time you want to toss a Cruciatus my way, you'll have to do it yourself, and I really don't think you have it in you. Whereas I do." I smiled, but it was more a baring of teeth.

"That's why I don't care to talk in front of Potter," Draco said, looking down his nose at me, and the look of disdain on his face was like a vice around my heart. I knew it was false, but still, the paranoid part of me that had been hurt too many times wondered if it had all been a lie up until now. "Bet the old fool wasn't too pleased when he realized you were the one who did it? But he can't touch you because you're precious Potter's twin. No side will have you Potter, how does that feel?"

"I don't know, how does it feel to be the son of a criminal?" I responded sweetly, and I saw the faint pang of hurt behind his eyes before it too was masked. He snarled at me before glaring out the window.

"I can see Hogwarts," said Draco as he pointed out of the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on."

Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.

I was already in my robes, and I stayed seated as the others pulled no their robes and locked their trunks back up. There was a faint thud and gasp as Goyle pulled his trunk down and I winced in sympathy – he'd hit Harry, I guessed.

The train slowed to a crawl and then finally stopped. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed. Parkinson waited by the door for Draco, who hesitated only a moment and glanced at me. I turned, pretending to be rooting through my trunk for something, and he took the hint, leaving with her.

The moment the door shut, Harry swung down from the luggage rack and ripped the cloak off. He was staring at me with horror, anger, disbelief, fear.

"Did I hear that right?" he hissed. "Parkinson… she got you with a Cruciatus?"

"Technically, she got me with a body-Bind, and the two seventh years she brought along as backup got me with a Cruciatus," I corrected as I closed up my trunk and straightened. "But yes, you heard that right."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded. "I'd have gone to Dumbledore, he could have-"

"He could have done nothing, because Parkinson's dad is big at the Ministry and they never would have believed him over her at the time," I reminded him gently. Harry's face scrunched up.

"Still, something could have been done, I'd have found a way-"

"Something was done," I pointed out. "I poisoned her perfume."

Harry looked at me hesitantly and I could see the faint embers of distrust starting to be stoked. "So the… the thing with the perfume last year… that was you?"

I nodded, but was quick to add, "I made sure the dose was low enough not to do any permanent damage. I thought if I got her back she would be too scared to try anything. And for a while she was. Seems summer has given her a bit of a backbone," I said, glaring at the door she'd vanished through.

"And Dumbledore knew?" Harry clarified. "I mean… about the poison and the curse?"

I nodded. "He wasn't thrilled about it, but he got out of the way and let me do my own thing."

"Dumbledore let you poison Parkinson?" Harry asked in disbelief. I snorted.

"He's already written Parkinson off as a lost cause, she'll join up the minute she's out of Hogwarts I expect, of her own volition if her dad doesn't insist to try and gain favor for their family. And he knows I'm not dumb enough to do her lasting harm."

"Still," Harry said, looking dizzied. "It's hard to believe that Dumbledore… condoned that."

I shrugged. "Not so much he condoned it, but he knew he couldn't stop me, and he wasn't overly concerned about Parkinson."

"And did you hear the way Malfoy was talking?" Harry asked, his eyes suddenly bright and eager. He looked vindicated, and my stomach dropped. "I know you think he's on your side, Rena," he said a bit patronizing. "But you must have heard how he was talking? I bet he was just pretending to help you back in Umbridge's office, he's probably been told to get close to you and pass information back. I mean, it'd be perfect, you two always patrol together and you're on the Quidditch team together… _used_ to be on the team," he corrected himself a bit sadly.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. There was no way to play this that didn't end up with someone getting hurt. I couldn't fully support Harry to Draco, not after the way he'd acted in Madam Malkins, and I couldn't fully support Draco to Harry, not without raising suspicion and driving him away again. This might have been easier if I'd told Harry about our relationship earlier, I mused, and then instantly rejected the idea. No, Harry would have been even more alert for signs of betrayal from Draco, and it would have been intolerable by this point.

"I've lived in the same house as Malfoy for five years," I reminded him. "He shoots his mouth off. I'm not saying I think he's innocent," I hastily added as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "I'm just saying it wouldn't surprise me if all of that was just talk. If there's one thing Malfoy knows, it's how to play a room."

Harry looked like he didn't believe me, but we didn't have time to talk about it now, we had to get off the train. It was now almost empty and if we didn't leave soon the thing would take off again with s still on it. I didn't like to think of the verbal lashing we'd get if that happened.

"Come on," I urged, and pointed towards the door. "We can talk about it more later."

* * *

The sorting was uneventful. The Hat sang about uniting to face a common goal, as it usually did, and it was right. The sad part was that it was easy to say, it was much harder to do. Try and get the Gryffindors to cooperate with the Slytherins, or vice versa. I'd let the hat give it a go and see if it kept singing about it like it was easy to put aside centuries of distrust.

Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione, her voice audible even all the way from the other side of the Hall.

She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry and I from the Dursleys. Whispers ran around the room. Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."

The state of his hand worried me. He'd said it came from a spell placed on the Horcrux, not the Horcrux itself. That meant that there were ways to destroy Horcruxes without getting hurt. Or at least, without getting hurt in that specific way. But that did beg the question – if that was how the first Horcrux was protected, then what were the defenses like on the others? Was there ever a prayer of being able to get our hands on them without ending up like Dumbledore's hand?

"... and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

I smirked.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise."

The mention of Quidditch hit me like a punch in the gut. God, I wished I could go soaring around with the other students without a care in the world but who caught the Snitch and how the scores were shaping up, but I couldn't. It would have been a relief, but I didn't have that kind of luxury these days. The fact that I had a – heavily warded – planner tucked away in my trunk for the first time ever to help me try and keep track of everything testified to that.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn"— Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waist-coated belly casting the table into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?"

The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered wheel they had heard right.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. I stared at him, not entirely surprised he hadn't guessed. It had occurred to me only afterwards that Dumbledore had never mentioned Slughorn used to teach Potions. I had only known because I'd seen him in Tom Riddle's memories.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his mention of his name. He merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table. I clapped hard, beaming. It was time something good happened to Snape, but no matter what subject he taught he would always be my Potions Master.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. I glanced at Harry, who was looking at Draco. Draco was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's words unworthy of his attention.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"


	85. Draco's Mission

I made eye contact with Draco. Taking the first years to the Common Room would fall on the fifth year prefects this year, meaning we were free to go. He nodded and then let his fork fall onto the table. I got up and hurried off, knowing that Draco would follow after a while.

I was one of the first ones out of the Great Hall, and by taking a couple of secret passageways, I popped out on the seventh floor far before the other students had even hit the fourth. I found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy easily and paced in front of it.

 _I need to get into our room…_ I thought. _I need to get into our room…_

When I turned around from my third pass, the door had appeared. I opened it and slipped inside. I paused. When Draco and I had used the room in the past, it used to be different depending on which one of us showed up and made our request of the room first. Draco favored a marble fireplace, darker woods, and richer fabrics, while I preferred brick or stone with a wooden mantle, redder woods, and plush, overstuffed furniture.

What appeared to me now was a perfect blending of the two. Plain grey stone fireplace, already going. The couch was soft and covered in velvet with downy throw pillows. The rug was a solid color but tasseled and the woods were a dark burgundy color. The sconces that usually appeared in my room were gone, replaced by a chandelier, but the candles burned a bright green color. I smiled faintly, and tried not to read too much into that as I settled into the couch and slipped my shoes up, drawing my feet up under me.

Several minutes later, the door opened. I didn't turn around as Draco walked around the couch and sat down next to me. Like me, he slid his shoes off and let them rest on the rug. He laid one arm across the arm rest and threw the other across the back. I scooted over, leaning against his side, and his hand slid down to rest on my right shoulder, his thumb stroking absently, so gentle I doubted he knew he was doing it.

"What's wrong?" I asked him softly, and I felt his shoulders lift with a heavy sigh before the breath even left him.

"Everything," he croaked. "Everything. My father's in jail. My mother's grieving and trying to hold it together because suddenly the Malfoy name is mud and people don't want to associate with her. The nicest ignore her, the ruder ones make no secret exactly what they think of her husband. Like your brother," he said bitterly.

I reached out, placing one hand on his chest and curling closer. I shook my head. "Harry was just shooting his mouth off."

"You're saying he didn't mean it?" Draco snapped. I sighed.

"No, but I'm saying my brother lets his mouth run away with him and you should take his comments with a grain of salt."

Draco shook his head helplessly. "That's the thing, I can't. I… I think I may hate him," he whispered brokenly. "For… for leaving mum to deal with all of this. For getting caught, I guess. For joining up in the first place and dragging all of us into this. If he hadn't… then I wouldn't…" His left hand twitched and I knew he was thinking about the mark. Draco looked down at me, his expression clearly pleading for some kind of help. "Is that wrong?"

"Oh, sweetheart no," I whispered, reaching up to touch his jaw. I'd never felt like this before for anyone other than Harry, that their pain was my own. Seeing the turmoil of emotion Draco's eyes was like feeling it all myself and I wanted desperately to do something to shield him from all of it. If I could have taken any of his pain away from him at that moment, I would have happily.

"There are times I hate Harry for what he does," I murmured soothingly. "But at the end of the day, he's still my brother, and Lucius is still your father, and that's something that can't be destroyed so easily."

Draco let out a shaky breath and lowered his head, blonde hair falling out of its careful coif and a few strands trailing in front of his forehead. His brow rested against my temple. "I don't know what to do," he breathed in my ear. "Tell me, Lorena, what do I do?"

"You trust," I said, because I didn't know what else to say. "You have faith that this will all end and we'll all still be here and this will be over and we can just be us. I'll do whatever I can to help you, Draco," I promised.

"Don't _say_ that!"

Draco ripped himself way from me, shooting to his feet. A manic energy had seized him, fear and anger glowing in his eyes. The storms raged as he paced in front of the fire. My feet slipped of the couch to rest softly on the ground and my mouth dropped open as I stared at him in surprise.

"You can't promise me that!" Draco insisted, giving me a firm look before staring ahead again. "You can't promise that because you have no idea what I've been asked to do and you don't know what you're promising. You have no idea what else I'll be asked to do and that I'll have to do because if I fail he won't just hurt me, mum will be left alone and _she_ won't be safe either! I-I've got her to take care of now that father's gone, and this _mission_ and this _mark_ and this ' _honor'_ that I never _wanted_ , never _asked for_ -"

"Draco!" I stood up and caught him by the shoulders, stepping in front of him to stop his pacing. His voice was getting louder and angrier with every word and he was all but spitting as his pacing turned to stomping. "Stop that, you're scaring me."

"Good!" Draco grabbed my shoulders, jerking me. My eyes widened and my breath caught as my mind flashed back to years of being shaken around by Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Draco stared down at me, tornadoes in his eyes, teeth bared. "Good, you should be scared! Because this is so far beyond either of us and I don't know how we're going to do it, Lorena, I really don't! I only barely held him out of my mind this summer, kept him from finding out about us and the Basilisks…"

"But you did!" I insisted, seizing his shoulders and shaking him as well. "You _did,_ Draco! You're braver than you think you are, and you can't think that it's hopeless. Never think that, because as soon as you think it, it's true!"

"I couldn't stop any of it!" Draco continued to rant. "I couldn't stop my father from being caught and I can't stop the things people whisper about my mother when they see her and I couldn't stop him from giving me the mark and I can't… I can't keep from doing this mission." He was talking so fast and so heatedly he was out of breath. He was wheezing, breathing fast and shallow. Concerned, I turned him and pressed his shoulders, forcing him to sit down on the couch again. Draco buried his face in his hands and gave a single, heart-wrenching sob.

Mission, he kept saying. Always mission, but never what the mission was. What had Voldemort asked him to do that had Draco so terrified, so on edge? He was all but coming apart in front of me, more than I'd ever seen. A summer in Voldemort's company had nearly ruined him. He hadn't slept, I could tell by the rings around his eyes, and the grayish tinge to his skin and slightly sunken quality of his cheeks was something I recognized – he wasn't eating right either.

I knelt down on the rug between Draco's knees. I reached out and, careful of the spot on his forearm where I knew the Mark would be, I pulled his hands from his face and folded them together. Tenderly, I kissed the back of each once and tucked them under my chin.

"What does he want you to do?" I asked him softly.

Draco's face was red from his yelling and his eyes were wild with terror as he looked up at me. He looked like a terrified child an inch from tears.

"He wants me," Draco breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as though he couldn't face the reality of the words, "to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts and…" He took a deep, steadying breath. "… and he wants me to kill Dumbledore."

I stared at him, jaw loose, frozen. I didn't know what to think, what to say.

His eyes pleaded with me. "Say something," he begged. "Say something, please, don't just look at me like that, I can't take it-"

It made a horrible, sickening sort of sense. Lucius Malfoy's failure in the Department of Mysteries must have greatly enraged Voldemort, and here was his punishment – by making Lucius's own son one of his and sending him out on a suicide mission. There was no way in hell that Draco could be expected to kill Dumbledore, when wizards like Gellert Grindelwald had failed in the endeavor before. The reason Draco was to let Death Eaters in was two-fold: to find a way to penetrate the castle's impregnable defenses and to bring in back-up – wizards who actually _could_ handle Dumbledore. If Draco was successful, Voldemort scored a major blow. If he failed, Voldemort probably expected him to be killed or jailed, and that would serve as a blow to Lucius and Narcissa. It was sick, and it was perfect.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked him carefully.

Draco groaned. "Tell me it'll be okay. Lie to me, Lorena, please," he asked, and tried to hide behind his hands again. I caught them before he could and shifted closer.

"It will be okay," I assured him, smiling softly. "And I'm not lying. There's… there's a way around this Draco, a way where all of this comes out fine and you're safe and so is your mother. I will help you find it."

Draco shook his head. "I can't ask you to help me… help me assassinate the head of the Order of the Phoenix. It's like… like asking you to betray your brother! And just for me…"

"I told you before," I murmured. "There's quite a bit I would do for you, Draco Malfoy. Quite a bit more than I ever expected I would do for anyone."

Draco stared at me, incredulous. "Y-You can't be serious."

"There are other people who could take over," I reasoned. "It would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one. Really, the only thing you need to do is get the Death Eaters into the castle. I doubt anyone really expects you to kill Dumbledore, so those Death Eaters do it for you, and you've done all that could have been hoped for. It could be arranged so that it happens late, when students and teachers are in bed so that no one's hurt. We couldn't launch a full-scale offensive against them or you'd be as much of a failure to him as your father was, and that's a risk you can't take. But if a couple of Order members just happened to be visiting Dumbledore for a meeting after hours, you couldn't be expected to know that…"

Draco stared at me in disbelief. "Y-You would… you'd h-help me?"

I sighed. "No," I admitted. "No, I can't help you kill him. But I don't have to hurt you either, and I can try my hardest to find another way. There are precautions that can be taken, measures. Harry would hate me if he ever found out about this, but considering you and I are the only ones here that know-"

"And Snape."

I blinked. "And… what?"

Draco nodded. "Mother visited him with Aunt Bellatrix this summer. He and my dad are friends. She got him to make an Unbreakable Vow to help me as much as I can and to take out Dumbledore for me if I can't. He knows what I'm supposed to be doing as well."

I could barely restrain my delight. If Snape knew what Draco was supposed to be doing, then Dumbledore already knew as well that he was the target of an assassination mission. That meant that Dumbledore had probably already come up with a plan. I doubted it would be particularly favorable to Draco, but then again Snape cared about him and knew that I did. He was valuable enough that Dumbledore might take Draco into account if Snape asked.

"There might be a way," I said slowly, and Draco looked up at me, narrowing his eyes.

"What do you know?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing I can tell you," I apologized. "But… the situation might not be so hopeless as you think."

Draco sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "If you were anyone else, I'd laugh in your face," he informed me. "But since it's you, I trust that you've got something ridiculously clever cooked up in your head."

I smiled at him and leaned up, kissing him sweetly. Instantly, his hand was at the back of my neck, holding me there, pulling and teasing my lips with his. I smiled wider against his mouth and he let me go.

"There's an awful lot I'd do for you, Draco Malfoy," I said again, whispering the assurance against his lips. Draco smiled at me, the first smile I'd seen him crack since last year. He reached up, cupping my cheek and staring at me so tenderly it took my breath away. What had I ever done to deserve to have someone look at me like that?

"What did I do to deserve you?" Draco asked, looking as if he honestly couldn't fathom it. I laughed gently and stood up, resettling myself so that I was in his lap, my arms coiled around his shoulders and my face buried in his neck.

"It's pretty simple, really." I sighed. "You cared about me." Draco's arms came up and clutched me tightly.

"The fact that you're even thinking of doing this for me," he mused. "I never dreamed… even when I thought about you actually accepting me, a future with me and you together… I never even dared to dream you would do something like this… for me."

It shocked me too, honestly, and in that moment I knew exactly why I was willing to do it – I loved him. I loved Draco Malfoy when I never thought I'd ever love any man that way. He was everything I had ever wanted, which was actually a rather short list – he loved me, and he wanted to be a good man. It didn't matter if he _was_ one or not, it was that he _wanted_ to be. People who were born good, who were raised to be good, and who always make the good choices… it's a shallow sort of perfection. Those who had to fight and claw for the light like he and I did, we appreciated it so much more.

Even though I knew the words were true I still couldn't bring myself to open my mouth and say them. The moment I did then this all became real. This wasn't just… just whatever the hell it was. Then Draco and I loved each other, we were in love, and how in the world could that possibly ever work out well for either of us? I couldn't say it yet, because what it meant for both of us was too impossible to surmount to deal with yet.

Soon, I promised him silently. I'd say it soon.

"What did you dream of?" I asked instead. "When you saw us together?"

"Ah…" Draco shifted under me. I looked up at him and there was a faint hint of color in his pale cheeks as he stared over my shoulder into the fire. "Normal things… silly things…"

"Picnics by the Black Lake?" I asked teasingly. "Strolling through Hogsmeade hand in hand?"

"Yes," was the bald reply, and I looked at him, surprised. That was an answer I would expect from… well, from a girl. All the little romantic things that were supposed to build up, he wanted them all. The simple things that every couple, even the ones who only lasted a month, got to have but we couldn't because of who we were. It was sad, to think that such easily taken-for-granted things were the stuff of dreams for him.

"But you were always Potter's sister. I never thought someone like me had a chance."

I stared at him incredulously. "Why wouldn't you? Aside from our families," I added quickly when he opened his mouth.

He shrugged. "You are… you are brilliant, Lorena, and you know it. And more than that, you're kind, even though you don't let people see it all that often. No matter how you present yourself to other people because of what they expect from you, you're a good person. And me… I don't know that I am." His voice was soft, quiet as he finished.

"Oh…" I reached up and took his cheeks between my hands. "Draco, I want to show you something."

"What?"

"Look into my eyes?" He did so, and I whispered,

" _Legilimens."_

It wasn't Legilimency as it was meant to be used. His defenses were unsurprisingly much stronger than they had been before summer, but he hadn't expected it and he didn't have any real reason to want to keep me out, so they faltered quickly. Instead of invading his mind, I coaxed him into mine and felt him follow, uncertain.

At first it was a flash of images as I struggled to find the one I was looking for. I seized a thread of memory and pulled it, flying back through years at Hogwarts until I was eleven years old again. The memory solidified into something solid around us and Draco and I stood in that abandoned classroom as Harry and I stared into the Mirror of Erised.

I was eleven years old, clutching the frame of the mirror with a desperate gleam in my eyes. Since it was my memory, Draco could see my parents standing there with their hands on my shoulders, Harry in the background. My expression was one of helpless rapture, and then suddenly it twisted into utter horror and I turned and fled from the room. The memory dissolved into smoke and Draco looked at me blankly.

"What was that?"

"That was the moment that I realized that my deepest-held desire was not only to have my parents back, but to be the child who mattered while Harry took my place in the background," I explained bitterly as the scene began to reform around us.

Now I was sitting against the wall in that secret passage, clutching my upper arms. I shook and shuddered and stared blankly at the wall in horror. My thoughts from then echoed around us, my voice young and horrified.

" _I'm not a good person. I'm not, and I could be worse, I could certainly be worse, but I'm not good. I'm jealous and angry and bitter and sad and selfish and terrible things like that. I can't look through rose-colored glasses and tell myself it was just house prejudice or that it was just an outside perspective. No, that mirror showed only myself. I can't blame anyone but myself for what it showed."_

Draco gasped as we went flying out of my mind and back into the Room of Requirement. His expression was one of sympathy as he looked at me. "Phoenix…"

"Snape found me down that corridor," I whispered, staring past him. "He knew my parents, did you know? I was so sure that my parents would hate me for what I was, but he told me they wouldn't. He was the one who told me that as long as I still cared about people I'm still a good person. That's why finding out my Animagus form is a phoenix, it meant so much to me. Those creatures are the embodiment of goodness and loyalty and if I can become one of those then… then I'm still safe, I haven't committed too many sins.

"Don't you ever think I'm perfect," I told him firmly, finally turning to look at him. "Because I'm not, not even close. And don't you ever think you're a bad person, because you're not. I know bad people and I know good, and you're a good man, Draco Malfoy, and I'll go to my grave saying it, no matter what you have to do. I know you're not doing anything Voldemort asks because you want to hurt people or you want him to win. You're doing it to protect yourself and your mother, and no one can ever look down on you for that." Sirius's words rang in my ears, the ring he'd given me a reassuring weight on my hand. "We all have both light and dark in us. What matters is what we choose to act on."

Draco clutched me tightly to him and buried his face in my hair.

"It's times like this I wish you would let me say it," he murmured into my skin, and I smiled faintly, knowing what he wanted to say. I reached up and began to stroke my fingers through his hair.

"I know. I will soon, I promise. Just knowing is… that's enough for me. That's more than I ever thought I'd get."

* * *

The next morning before breakfast I got up early and headed from the apprentice's lab to the Hospital Wing. As expected, Madam Pomfrey was there, bustling around and replacing the sheets on one of the beds.

"Madam Pomfrey?" I called as I stepped into the ward. She looked up at me and smiled, abandoning a tussle with a fitted sheet.

"Miss Potter! What a pleasant surprise. And you don't even seem to be injured." She placed her hands on her hips. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"We spoke last year," I reminded her, approaching the bed she was working on. I grabbed the sheet and pulled it taut, lifting the corner of the mattress and tucking the end under. "I expressed an interest in helping you here and learning what I could about mediwizardry."

Madam Pomfrey visibly hesitated. "I don't see why that would be a problem – you're clearly capable enough in your classes to not be distracted by the extra workload. But Miss Potter, you must understand that what I see… it isn't all just sniffles and sneezes."

"You occasionally treat member of the Order of the Phoenix," I replied smoothly, and she blinked.

"How did you-?"

"There had to be a Healer," I answered. "And who else would it be but you? Dumbledore trusts you implicitly."

Madam Pomfrey sighed and shook her head, throwing up her hands. "Don't know why I'm surprised anymore," she muttered. She glanced at me. "Working here may give you access to some Order information you're not meant to see. I'll have to discuss it with the headmaster and make sure he approves."

I nodded. "I expected as much."

"From what I understand, you're already the reason I got a nice store of blood-replenisher added to my stores." Madam Pomfrey looked me over. "You know, you're meant to relax over the summer."

"Relaxing now can get you killed," I disagreed as I tucked the last corner of the sheet under the mattress and straightened up. "I'm not that stupid."

Madam Pomfrey stared at me, and her eyes were sad as she observed me. I stared back, knowing that it hurt the matron to hear one of her students, one of the children she'd tended to, talking like that. But this was war, and it had turned a lot of us from children into soldiers with no regard for how old we were or how right or wrong it was to expect kids to fight for their lives.

"Let me know," I requested, "what Dumbledore says."

And with that I turned and left the Hospital Wing. I still didn't head to the Great Hall. Instead I headed for the third floor, where Snape would be setting up for his very first lesson teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sure enough, the door was cracked open and I could hear shuffling inside. I pushed the door open gently and tapped my knuckles against the wood. Snape looked up from where he was bent over his desk.

"Potter," he greeted coolly. "Starting off the year by skipping breakfast? I can see my lectures of years past continue to fall on deaf ears."

I waved a hand dismissively. "I'll eat a big lunch," I promised. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"I gathered, otherwise there would be no point in your being here. I don't have you in class until this afternoon."

I snorted. "You know, anyone would think you don't just absolutely adore my company."

Snape smirked faintly. "The horror."

I stepped into the classroom proper and walked up the rows towards the desk. I smiled at Snape and said, "I just wanted to say congratulations, sir. I know you've wanted to teach the subject for years and I'm glad you finally get to. I'm glad we've finally got a competent teacher again, too."

"Only competent? You wound me."

I scoffed. "Yeah. Right. Because you're a sensitive soul." I shook my head, still smiling. "You deserve it sir, really."

"Well…" Snape settled himself in the chair behind his desk, black robes flaring around him. He looked quite smug as he cast a glance around the room. I had noticed the changes – portraits of curse victims on the wall to provide a visual reminder of the dangers, a dark environment like the dungeons… it was very well-done. "I would prefer if the appointment hadn't come from simply a lack of other options, but I have learned not to expect too many things to go the way I would like these days."

I smirked. "Oh, did your visit to Amity not go as you hoped, sir?" I asked saccharinely, and Snape's eyes narrowed instantly.

"That ridiculous Muggle wrote you, did she?" he muttered. I nodded.

"Said you went to Diagon Alley and got her an owl so she could write me."

"Yes, well, she was annoyingly persistent and it wasn't terribly inconvenient," Snape said carelessly. I snorted and shook my head helplessly.

"Sir… one of these days the secret's gonna get out."

"Secret?"

"That you're a giant teddy bear."

"Detention."

"Good, I needed to talk to you about something anyway. Shall we make it Wednesday, and we can review my Occlumency as well?"

"That's acceptable. Now run along, I have to fill out a detention slip."

I was smiling as I left the classroom. I could hear the rumbling below that meant breakfast was in full swing. For the sake of getting my schedule I headed down, knowing Snape would be along shortly, and sure enough, he swept through the doors only a few seconds after me and began distributing schedules to the older students.

"Unsurprisingly Nott, you've managed to pass everything," he drawled, flicking his wand and transposing the schedule onto a blank piece of parchment. "Run along." Nott nodded and took his schedule, moving to compare it with Daphne and then heading off to class. Snape said nothing to me, just gave me my schedule and sent me along, but it didn't bother me as I hustled to catch up with Daphne and Nott.

"Any information about our first meeting?" Daphne asked the moment I caught up. I gave her a reproachful look.

"The amount of people who have asked me… I think you people only love me for my brain."

"Well, it's certainly not your personality."

"Bite me."

"See?"

"Hang on, isn't that Artemisia?"

I paused and looked around. Nott was lingering by one of the windows, and sure enough, Artemisia was on the other side, pecking at the glass and giving me a dirty look.

"That's right, you missed mail," Daphne recalled as Nott opened the window and obligingly ushered Artemisia in. She hooted at him gratefully and hopped onto my extended arm, offering her leg. I took the envelope that was tied to it and sent her off with a quick scratch behind her wings. I shoved the envelope in my pocket, recognizing the Hogwarts crest and knowing it was from Dumbledore.

"Not going to open it?" Nott noted.

"Not around you snakes," I said with a teasing scowl. "You can't be trusted!"

"Your impression of your brother's Weasley is uncanny," Daphne commented, and I laughed.

This, I thought, was how I had always hoped Hogwarts would be when I was a child. It was the life I'd dreamed of. I had friends, and it had only taken a life-threatening war and a tyrannical, genocidal wanna-be dictator. The thought made me smile faintly. So at least something good had come from all of this shit.

* * *

"Inside," Snape ordered, ushering in his sixth year DADA class from the hallway.

"Well, it's an interesting new design scheme," Daphne observed as she took a seat next to me and peered around. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit by candles. Like many people, she seemed intrigued by the pictures on the wall displaying the pained or mutilated figures of curse victims, although she was observing them without the faint tinge of disgust on most faces.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk. Hermione hastily dropped her copy of _Confronting the Faceless_ back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

His black eyes roved over our upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's and mine than anyone else's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an . in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced."

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice. We craned our necks to keep him in view.

The Dark Arts," Snape continued, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures," - he indicated a few of them as he swept past - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - a bloody mass upon ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a high pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," answered Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…"

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, we watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. He and McGonagall had that gift that few teachers had of effortlessly commanding a class. His talents were now on display in full force as he spoke about his favorite subject, and it was easy to see that there was a passion here that, though not the same, came very close to his love of potions. This passion, though, was born of a desire to keep us all safe.

"...you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well - Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively as over in the corner, Draco sniggered, "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" - his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more - "lack.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

We all stood and the desks swept themselves up against the wall to give us room to duel. I smirked – I was completely capable of nonverbal spells. Thanks to my Occlumency, I now had the sort of mental clarity that one needed to cast a spell without speaking. This lesson would be easy, I thought as I placed myself across from Blaise, who had pointedly sidestepped Draco's attempt to get him as a partner. Draco scowled at us as he ended up trapped with Crabbe.

"You're still not forgiving him then?" I asked quietly.

"You can't just drop something like that on your mate and then refuse to talk about it," Blaise said tightly.

"Give him a break, he's going through a lot right now," I urged. Blaise sighed.

"I know, Potter, but still…"

Snape was sweeping among students and being part of his house wouldn't save us from at the very least a dirty look for talking when we should have been practicing. I squared myself off against Blaise and we both raised our wands. Blaise took a breath in, trying to steady himself and calm down to cast the spell, and I struck. My Tickling Charm hit him in the ribs and Blaise doubled over, laughing wildly and clutching his sides.

"Twenty points to Slytherin, Potter," Snape announced as he swept past us. I got a few dirty looks from people of other houses.

A reasonable amount of cheating was going on. Many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from another teacher. Snape swept between us as we practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.

Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here - let me show you -"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively and yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes _, sir."_

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape silkily. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter... not even 'the Chosen One.'"

"That was a good lesson," Daphne said as we walked out of the classroom. Nott was walking with us, limping every now and then. The remains of Daphne's Jelly-Legs was still lingering and affecting him.

"One of our best teachers yet," I said proudly.

* * *

The letter was from Dumbledore, requesting that meeting we'd talked about, so at seven o'clock that night I approached the gargoyle that guarded his office and gave the password – cockroach clusters. The gargoyle leapt aside and I rode the spiraling staircase up to the top. I knocked on the door and pushed it open, stepping inside the familiar room of silver, spindly instruments puffing smoke.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore greeted. He sat behind his desk and gestured for me to sit in the chair opposite. I approached and sat. "You seem to have many things you wish to discuss with me. Where would you like to begin?"

"Let's start with the easy topic – brewing for the Order," I offered, knowing that we were only going to get further and further into things that weren't going to be fun to discuss the more the night went on.

"As you wish," Dumbledore approved. "That's simple – you have proven yourself capable with a cauldron time and again, and of course it would be to our advantage to let you brew potions for the Order."

"But it's not just that," I pressed. "I think it would behoove us to give every Order member a sort of… emergency kit. Blood-replenisher, dittany, Skele-Gro, murtlap, Polyjuice Potion, antidote to Veritaserum, antidote to basic poison. These are all things I have brewed before and can get together for you."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "An intriguing idea. But do you think people could easily carry around that many potions?"

I shook my head. "No, but that's where Undetectable Extension charms come in. A small pouch, and they could carry it all around for emergency situations. Do I think everyone will need it? No, but I think that if another incident like what happened with Mr. Weasley occurs, it could be drastically improved by having a kit like that on them."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. He took a long breath in and then let it out slowly, blue eyes observing me. They were not twinkling, but they weren't flat either. I might even say they were almost appreciative as he stared. I sat patiently, waiting for him to pass judgment on my idea.

"Do you play chess, Miss Potter?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I do, sir."

Dumbledore nodded with a small smile. "Yes, I thought you might. You see, I had pegged you for a knight until now – powerful but limited, unpredictable. I, like many, saw your age and your house and made assumptions on your capabilities. I see now that it was a mistake."

I blinked, feeling at the same time flattered and insulted. "And what do you see me as now, sir?" I asked slowly, carefully, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.

Dumbledore looked at me over his steepled fingers, glasses angled so that they were slashed of reflection. "I believe," he pronounced thoughtfully, as though he was weighing every word, "that you may just be my queen. You can do whatever you want and have the aptitude to apply those abilities well."

I huffed a laugh at that. "Queen, sir? That makes me the most valuable piece on the board. Are you sure that shouldn't go to Harry? Or Snape?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "You're brother is the king, too important to be risked without great need. And Severus, as it will come as no surprise to you, defies all attempts to put him in a box or label him." He smiled slightly. "He's useful that way."

I shook my head. "With all due respect sir… you're wrong."

"Am I?"

I smirked. "Your mistake is thinking I'm on the board at all, because I'm not. I'm the trophy. The winner will take me home in the end. Now, unlike most trophies, I'm rooting for a particular side and doing all I can to make sure they win… but I'm not a player."

Dumbledore contemplated me for a moment. "No, perhaps not," he agreed mildly, before settling himself more comfortably in his chair with a creaking of old joints. "I will think about your proposal for emergency kits distributed to Order members. In the meantime, if you want to brew any of those potions you mentioned, they would be a boon."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir. What shall we discuss next?"

"How about your proposal of spending time with Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, learning about mediwizardry?" Dumbledore offered, and I inclined my head.

"It's up to you, sir."

"Of course, I see the advantage of having someone close to Harry who is a capable mediwizard, though I don't see it as likely that you'll have the time to become a true mediwizard."

"I don't aim to, sir," I said with a shrug. "My future is in potions, not patients. But I do want to become capable."

"A practical approach," Dumbledore approved. "Very well then, I approve of your request."

I inclined my head once again. I felt like I was in a board meeting, negotiating a contract of some sort. Dumbledore and I had a very clear agenda of things that needed to be discussed and we were doing it in a mature and rational manner, for the first time. The time for pettiness or manipulation was gone, it was time to put our cards on the table and trust that the other had Harry's best interests at heart.

"I haven't had any more dreams about Tom Riddle," I offered, and Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.

"And your offer to share with me what you do learn still stands?"

I nodded. "Of course."

"Then I think we should briefly detour to your requested payment before delving into that. You wish to learn wandless magic?"

"And opponent who is disarmed is helpless in a fight unless they have another way to attack," I said calmly. "Now, you could simply punch them in the face, but what if you're a distance away? Being capable of wandless magic would be a huge advantage, particularly compared with nonverbal magic. You could do one wand movement and perform a completely different spell with your hand."

"Nonverbal magic, which I hear you've already become quite adept at."

I smirked. "I try."

"Are you aware of the theory behind wandless magic?"

I nodded. "Wands focus and amplify our magic. Without a wand, you must draw on more of your own magic. It takes a physical toll, wearing one down after prolonged use. Mentally, it's harder to control and maintain spells, and requires a great deal of strength and focus. I believe with my Occlumency skills I should be able to meet those demands."

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction. "Very well. Considering what you've put on the table in return, I can't refuse you here. I am, after all, an educator. Is there any particular night of the week you would like to train with me?"

"Sunday nights would be best, sir," I supplied. "And Mondays with Madam Pomfrey. Wednesdays with Professor Snape. I can spend Saturday brewing. Fridays I plan to continue my Animagus training," I added carelessly.

"And what will you do with Tuesday and Thursday night I wonder?" Dumbledore asked. I shrugged.

"Something that doesn't concern you, sir, no offense."

"Somehow I suspected you'd feel that way. Very well, that works for me," Dumbledore approved.

I sighed. "Now, I believe we should turn to something a bit more serious."

"Horcruxes," Dumbledore said, and his eyes definitely weren't twinkling anymore. "I will admit I never intended for you to find out about them so soon, or in this way."

I shrugged. "I can't control what I dream of any more than you can, sir, even when it comes to Tom Riddle. But I happen to think this is a boon to you, after all." I smirked. "It's not a coincidence that you asked Professor Slughorn back here, or that you brought Harry and I to try and woo him. You wanted Harry to get that memory from him."

"I did," Dumbledore admitted shamelessly. "That you were able to bring it to me was an unexpected pleasure. You say that Tom Riddle had already made a Horcrux when he spoke to Horace?"

I nodded to the ring no his blackened hand. "That ring belonged to his uncle. He took it from him after he killed his parents and grandparents. That kill became his first Horcrux. He was already completely capable. What he needed from Slughorn was to know if it was possible to make more than one. Seven, specifically."

"One down," Dumbledore said softly, spreading his hand on the desk between us, the black stone glittering. It was covered in vague scratches, split down the middle.

"More than one," I guessed. "That diary, back in second year. That was a Horcrux as well, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore gave a soft 'ha' of laughter. "Yes, it was."

"Well, then that's two down. Any suspicions on the other five?"

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back, withdrawing his hand and tucking it into his lap. "Theories, only."

"Well, your theories tend to be correct, so tell me anyway," I said shortly. I wasn't going to let him dodge behind the excuses of 'theories' again.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "That is true… You may know, then, about the curious control that Voldemort possesses over the snake Nagini?"

I scowled. "That was foolish of him. Even possessed, something with its own brain is a risk. It's far easier to kill an animal that destroy an object."

"Quite so, particularly if one puts curses on those objects," Dumbledore quipped. I glanced in the direction of his hand.

"It's a variation on a Living Mummy curse, isn't it sure?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Unless I'm much mistaken, the book that might mention that curse is in the Restricted Section."

I snorted. "Yes, it is. And? Velvet ropes aren't enough to deter me, sir."

Dumbledore blinked. "Yes, so I gathered," he said coolly, and I got the feeling he wasn't terribly enthused about the fact that I had been running around the Restricted Section without permission or supervision.

"Am I right about the curse?"

"I suspect so, yes, and Severus agrees," Dumbledore admitted, looking down at his hand, and there was no hiding the faint hint of sadness that I saw there.

"Then you're going to die, sir," I said calmly. "That curse can be slowed, but never stopped. It will continued to suck the liquid from your body until your entire body is mummified, and only then will you die. It's a bitter, painful end."

"It is indeed," Dumbledore said softly.

"So what are you going to do about it?" I demanded. "Are you going to let Draco Malfoy kill you?"

His head snapped up. "How do you-"

"Knowing things I shouldn't is what I do," I said shortly. "You should really expect it at this point. What I don't know is how you plan to deal with it."

"You take an interest in young Mister Malfoy's affairs?" Dumbledore asked suspiciously.

"Of course I do," I replied simply, my heart pounding. I was about to try and lie to one of the greatest living wizards, and I was going to have to sell it. "If you die it will be a blow to the Order that I don't know if they'll be able to recover from. But you're dying anyway." I nodded to his hand. "So, how do you plan to handle it?"

"That doesn't answer how you knew something that, as far as I am aware, only myself, Severus, and Malfoy himself know in the castle."

I shrugged. "Malfoy brags enough to make me curious, and he decided to have a conversation with Snape before classes. I had the same idea. I overheard a few things. Not much, but enough for me to guess that he's supposed to bring Death Eater's in and kill you."

Dumbledore shook his head. "You may have a knack for knowing things you shouldn't, but this isn't something I can risk letting you know."

"Really?" I asked disdainfully. "Why?"

"If you were captured-"

"And how would that happen?" I challenged. "If my guess is right, you've got a year and a half at a generous estimate. So anything you plan to do will have to happen before that. I'll be in school almost all of that time and under Fidelius at Privet Drive the rest of the time. Where could they possibly attack me?"

"You have a summer job, as I understand it-"

"Which has been warded against Death Eaters," I replied shortly. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose.

"How-?"

"Not your concern," I shrugged. I smiled mockingly. "What if you were captured-?"

Dumbledore sighed. "You have made your point, Miss Potter," he said wearily. "It is… difficult for me. You and I do not agree on quite a bit. Frankly, I don't like you," he said bluntly.

I shrugged. "I don't like you either, sir, so that doesn't really bother me."

"But," Dumbledore relented. "I am being forced to acknowledge that it's to my advantage to include you more in my plans. Your intelligence and abilities notwithstanding, you apparently have quite a bit more influence in your house than I originally assumed and you also have influence over your brother. I can't risk losing those advantages."

"Good, I love being someone's tool," I said sarcastically. "Now, spill it, old man."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I would request you be slightly more respectful."

I sighed heavily and settled back in my chair. "You're right," I submitted. "If I can't respect you as a person I can at least respect your abilities."

"A mutual sentiment." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You are correct in your assertion, though I would put it closer to less than a year at this point. That's why I have decided to give Harry private lessons this year. There are things he needs to learn that must be shared before I die."

"And as far as Malfoy being an assassin?" I tilted my head. "I heard something about his mother and an Unbreakable Vow."

"This summer, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange visited Severus. To keep his cover, he had to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect and assist Draco. The plan is that Severus will be the one to kill me. The young Malfoy isn't capable, but he will be bringing in others who are. Severus will spare me a messy end at the hands of the likes of Fenrir Greyback or Bellatrix Lestrange."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "It surprises me," I said quietly.

"What does?" Dumbledore asked wearily. Clearly, this conversation had not gone even close to how he expected it to.

"That you're willing to plan around Draco Malfoy succeeding in his mission. He's a Slytherin, after all."

Dumbledore's eyes were sad, guilty, tired, old. "I threw aside a Slytherin boy once before only to be shown how wrong I was."

I knew he was talking about Snape, it could be no one else.

"I would prefer not to do the same again."


	86. Potions with Slughorn

The dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As we filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry, Zabini, and I with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. People were clustered together by house, except for Ernie, who ended up with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was full of what I recognized as Felix Felicis. My eyes locked on it hungrily and I found my hand groping unconsciously for a bottle. If we had even a chance to walk up to the front, then I could use a spell so summon some from the cauldron into the vial… and the things I could do with Liquid Luck.

That wasn't the only intriguing potion already made. Veritaserum was in a cauldron, and again I itched to get my hands on some of it. I still bore a bit of a grudge against the potion considering its hand in last years reign of terror from Umbridge, but forcing someone to tell the truth had advantages. It was far from infallible though. As I'd proved last year it did have an antidote and it could also be defeated by a particularly skillful Occlumens.

I also recognized the slowly-bubbling, mudlike consistency of one of the other options. It was Polyjuice Potion, and when I looked sideways at Hermione, she was staring at it with a slightly hurt look in her eyes. I had no doubt that she was remembering the way she'd ended up in the Hospital Wing as some kind of anthropomorphic half-cat creature in second year. That had been an interesting time. I'd been the one who recognized that the Crabbe and Goyle Draco had brought back to the Common Room were in fact Harry and Ron and hunted them down to give them a good thrashing.

The final potion had a mother-of-pearl sheen and some rising in spirals that could only mean one thing. Amortentia. I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the potion. I'd never been fond of the idea of a potion that could force someone into a helpless infatuation with another person, but now since I'd found my own love, the potion seemed more personally offensive. It masqueraded as love, but it wasn't. Love was far more complicated and messy than even the trickiest potion could be.

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything - nor's Ron - we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see -"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's. Slughorn pointed at her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the, drinker to tell the truth," Hermione said, reciting the dictionary definition of Veritaserum.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known... Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too ... Who can-?"

My hand hit the air first and Hermione gave me a startled look. I usually was content to let my knowledge show in my brewing instead of in answering questions. Hermione was the opposite. She had to display her knowledge through answering questions posed because she was at best a slightly above average brewer. She still maintained good grades, of course, but she couldn't touch me in terms of actual potion-making. But with a new teacher, and a new teacher from my own house who had contacts galore that might be useful to me some day down the line, it was important to make a good impression whether I liked the man personally or not.

I honestly still hadn't decided on that front.

"It's POlyjuice Potions, sir," I explained. "By adding a bit of another person – most commonly a hair, though less-common and more distasteful objects include nail trimmings and bits of dead skin – you transform into the other potion. It's a lengthy brew, and you have to be careful what you put in. For example, if you accidently get a hair from a person's pet instead of their own, you might turn into something not very nice."

I smirked and Hermione flashed me a dark look from across the room as her cheeks toasted. Her eyes flashed with the typical Gryffindor response to a challenge, and it was on.

"Excellent, excellent! I'd expexct nothing less from you, after reading the notes my predecessor had on his students. Now, this one here... yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again.

"It's Amortentia!" she announced, and threw me a surperior look.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love porion in the world!" said Hermione smugly.

"Quire right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -" But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" Slughorn asked eagerly.

"No. I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

"Like that will stop him from trying to get his hands on the biggest brain we've got in our year," Draco hissed to Nott, and they both snickered. I kicked him under the table and Draco winced, glanxcing at me.

"Present company excluded, of course," he corrected himself.

"Damn right."

Slughorn beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You are the best in the year - I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"

Hermione smiled but made a "shhing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

I scowled and my hand hit the air.

"Something to add, Miss Potter?" Slughorn asked me, looking amusedly curious, like he was eagerly anticipating more displays.

"Granger and most people are wrong," I said firmly. "Amortentia and its less-powerful cousins are misclassed. No potion can create love, but they can create powerful feelings of infatuation that would encourage the drinker to do anything for the object of their obsession and treat them like royalty. That's why Amortentia and other love potions are so dangerous.

"Twenty points as well, for Miss Potter is right on all counts," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, boys, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love...

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily. It was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis."

"God, she's pretty," I said, staring at the potion affectionately. As most of my classmates had learned over the years, I did occasionally get a bit odd about my brewing. More than once Pansy had shrieked at me for making the dorm smell like polish for the sake of cleaning my equipment or the rasping sound it made when I sharpened my knife.

"You're a freak," Daphne muttered, and Nott snorted.

"I take it that you know what it does?" Slughorn said, smiling at me indulgently.

"It's liquid luck," I said with a crooked grin. "Makes you lucky. A standard-size vial full of the stuff is enough for one perfect day."

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all I could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention. I didn't blame him. He could use some luck more than anyone else here.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Slytherin. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" asked Terry Boot eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," reasoned Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally..."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.

"Twice in my life," said Slughorn wistfully. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, the effect was good. Once more I found myself trying to decide whether or not I liked him. For what he'd told Tom Riddle I wanted to hate him but I knew that realistically no one could have predicted Voldemort because no one ever saw the signs unless they were paying very close attention. Dumbledore had been the only one paying attention back then, and it was the wrong kind of attention, the kind that drove him further down the dark path.

On the other hand, Slughorn was the most perfect Slytherin I had ever met. He seemed to have all of the good qualities and none of the bad. Or at least, if he had the bad, he'd learned to cope with them. His desire for influence hadn't let into usurpations or illegal study, but into a collection of people with whom he traded favors and gifts to mutual benefit. He stayed in the background, never in the front. He was not arrogant – on the contrary, in his personality he was almost Hufflepuff – but he was assured of himself. It was impressive.

"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions... sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

"Sweet Merlin, he's like a showman," Daphne said, staring at him in bemusement.

"It's actually a bit impressive," I commented.

"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Malfoy was riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

I got to work and felt completely at ease. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would be able to produce the best potion – I always did. The disadvantage of Potions class, however, was that everyone could see what you were doing and I was very conscious that a lot of eyes were darting to me to see what I was doing. The bluish steam that began to rise from the cauldrons blocked the view from the other side of the room, but my fellow Slytherins were shamelessly copying me.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" Draco commented as Slughorn passed the Slytherin table.

"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at Malfoy, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age..."

And he walked away. I winced. It couldn't have been cleared that Draco wouldn't be getting the type of preferential treatment he'd always gotten from Snape. A few years ago, perhaps he would have, but he wasn't lying when he said that the Malfoy name was mud these days and Slughorn wasn't going to cater to him if he couldn't get anything in return.

"Crush it," I murmured to my table as Daphne and Nott lifted their knives to start cutting up to sophorous beans. They didn't question me, just shifted their grips and brought the flat sides of their knives down on the beans, and sure enough, the juice oozed out instantly.

I gave them that, but it was hardly the only addition I made. My valerian roots were cut so finely they were nearly shredded so that they could be absorbed more easily into the potion. On top of that, as I began to stir, I added a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. I smirked as my potion turned as clear as the Veritaserum at the front of the room.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. I drew my stirring rod out of my potion and wiped it on a rag before letting it rest across the rim of my cauldron. "Stop stirring, please!"

I sat back and watched, fully aware that Daphne and Nott were giving my potion dirty looks and even Draco looked less than pleased. Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

I gaped.

"No way in fucking hell," I snarled, clenching my fists as I glared at Harry's perfect potion.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are - one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

I snarled wordlessly. My potion was as good as Harry's was, the only thing clear here was that Slughorn's desire to collect people was in full swing. After all, as much of a name as I might have made for myself, I still wasn't the Boy Who Lived. Harry would always win, I thought bitterly, but it was tinged with a weary acceptance.

Something was different. No way that Harry had pulled that off by himself, and no one he was sitting with was good enough to have helped him out. Hermione was the best at the table and if she had been helping him then her potion would have been better as well. Something had changed, he didn't get that good overnight, so what had-

The book. I was hardly the only person who annotated their textbook and Harry's was a hand-me-down. Perhaps some other potions genius had left their book behind full of improvements and Harry had taken their advice. I needed to get a look at that book, and it would be only too easy to do so I thought with a smirk as I decided it was time to break into the Gryffindor Common Room again. It had been too long, really, and they were due.

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket. He looked a bit pleased at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

"Go on ahead," I urged the others as they hung back to wait for me while I dithered cleaning up my cauldron. Daphne and Nott gave me suspicious looks and Draco's eyes flicked from me to the pre-made potions knowingly. He really did know me too well I mused as I siphoned several doses of the Draught of Living Death from my cauldron into vials. I was never a fan of Vanishing potions after class, and Slughorn looked at me approvingly.

"Well done, Miss Potter," he congratulated as he headed for the door to his office. "An excellent potion, but perhaps next time, eh?"

I nodded and smiled and waited for him to pass through the office door before I raised my hand in a rude gesture. For the sake of keeping it subtle in case Slughorn came right back out, I Disillucioned myself. I gathered a handful of empty vials, kicked my bag under the desk, and headed for the potions at the front of the room. I couldn't take too much, particularly from the Felix Felicis, for the sake of keeping it secret from Slughorn, but I did manage to steal two doses from it. Since the others were made in full-size cauldrons, I smuggled five doses out of them all, even the Amortentia, because you never knew. With my prizes tucked in my pockets and clinking gently, I scooped up my bag and silently slipped from the dungeon.

I headed straight to the Apprentice's Lab and stepped inside, shutting the door behind me and feeling myself relax the moment I was in. I let the spell hiding me drop and dumped my bag on the counter, emptying the contents of my pockets into the racks on the shelves. I had quite the collection going. My stolen potions, murtlap essence, antidote to Veritaseum, and my various tests of Sine Fraxinus. I stared proudly at my current collection before turning to my bookshelf.

The thing was meticulously organized and books were stacked two deep. Dark Arts books were on the top shelf. The two below were on potions and brewing. Under that was Animagus books, and under that were books on Occlumency. A random assortment took up the shelf one from the bottom, and at floor level was the heavily-banded box that held the basilisk skin and sewing patterns, including the one I'd recently gotten at Madam Malkin's for a dueling vest.

My two stools had undergone some magic. One had been turned into a cot with a quilt and pillow that was shoved into a corner and the other had been replicated so that I still had two. My trunk was shoved in the corner, away from any potential cauldron mishaps. It had been easy to call Dobby and have him bring it down here instead of to the dorm. There was a mirror hanging on the wall now that I used to do my makeup and fix my hair in the morning. This place had become my home within a home, and I loved it.

I wasn't feeling up to dinner, and besides I needed something to do to keep me awake until it was safe to go and creep into Gryffindor Common Room, so I drew my potions grimoire from inside the drawer under the counter where it and my other books were kept under heavy ward. I flipped it open and got to work on my first batch of brewing for the Order. Veritaseum and Polyjuice Potion would take the longest, so I got those going in my first two cauldrons. It would be nearly a month before they were done, but until then I could use the third cauldron for alternated blood-replenisher and dittany. The potions I had brewed last year to fight Umbridge's reign of terror were in Stasis bottles, so they were still fresh and were less critical.

Once the potions were up and going, I sighed and stepped back, rubbing my shoulders and straightening up. I went to my trunk and changed from my robes into more comfortable clothes – jeans, trainers, and a jumper. Rubbing my eyes, I sat down at the counter and Summoned a book from the shelf, flipping it open to the page held with a few pages of parchment. These were the notes I was taking.

I had two main projects in the works. Firstly, the emergency kits for the Order. They would require pouches with Undetectable Extension Charms. Of course, you could buy the things, but they were ridiculously expensive, and I'd need at least a dozen of them. Quite frankly, I wasn't willing to invest that much into the project when I could potentially learn how to do it myself. It was a nastily tricky spell though and would take some work until I managed it. I had some time though.

The second project had been inspired by Hermione and Sirius. Harry had told me about the mirror Sirius had given him that he and our father had used to communicate across separate detentions. For schoolboys, it was a clever idea, but for my purposes they could be even more incredibly useful. Inspired by Hermione using Galleons to communicate among the DA, I had decided to collect a batch of small hand compacts and enchant them with the same spell as a whole. It would be more than a link between two mirrors, it would be like a web connecting all of them. The Basilisks would be able to 'conference call' each other. On top of that, I planned to use the same spell applied to Snitches to give the mirror's flesh memories so that only my Basilisks could use them for anything more than checking their hair.

Two hours later, I was feeling reasonably well-informed about the Undetectable Extension charm and I was ready to start playing with it and trying to get it to work. I rubbed my eyes, done with my inventing for tonight, and I stood up and stretched. Once again I tapped myself with my wand and Disillusioned myself, fighting a shiver at the feeling of liquid sliding over me. I went to my trunk and pulled out the Marauder's Map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," I whispered, and smiled when the Marauders greeted me and the ink began to spread across the parchment into the map. I grinned and headed out. With the map it was an easy thing to make for the Gryffindor Common Room. The Fat Lady was asleep in her frame. I reached out and poked her in the middle of her painted forehead and she came awake with a snort.

"Who, what?" she babbled, and squinted into the darkness. She scowled thunderously. "Is that you, Potter? It has to be!"

"You know me so well," I cooed.

She looked down at my triumphantly, or rather, where she thought I was, which was about a foot to my left. I resisted the urge to snort as she said smugly, "Well the password's just changed, so there's no way you can-"

I glanced down at the map and asked mildly, "Oh, you mean to _coccineus?_ "

The Fat Lady froze mid-rant as she unwillingly swung open.

"One day," she sighed wearily, sounding defeated. "I'll figure out how you always know."

"I really rather doubt it," I commented as I stepped into the empty Common Room. I made my way up the familiar path to Harry's dorm and cautiously pushed the door open, peering inside. I didn't have any concerns about waking them up, seeing as I was invisible. Still, I was quiet as I shut the door behind me and went to kneel by Harry's trunk. I lifted the latch and began to rifle through it. I came up triumphant – all of Harry's books were brand new except this one, and sure enough, when I flipped it open, it was covered in spidery, cramped writing that looked incredibly familiar.

I didn't have time to go through it all, but I did tap the book with my wand and replicate it for my own study. Then I took Harry's copy and erased a few of the instructions crammed into the margins. I didn't mind Harry using any resource he could – I even applauded him for the rather clever and downright Slytherin tactic – but no way in hell was he becoming known for being as good a brewer as I was. I'd be damned before that happened.

With the book tucked under my arm, I ventured back to the Apprentice's Lab. It was a little before midnight, my self-appointed bedtime, so I took a few minutes to flip through it. Sure enough, whoever had owned this book was brilliant. All of the additions or changes would result in a better potion, and some were things I wouldn't have thought to do, but seeing them written down, it seemed so obvious. There were even what looked like invented spells scribbled in the corners.

The familiarity of the handwriting was what got me, and I flipped through to the front of the book were many students wrote their names. With a hundred other students all carting around the same book, it paid to know which one was yours if you lost it. It wasn't a normal name written in the cover though, but a nickname. _The Half-Blood Prince._

I stared at the nickname in bemusement for a moment. Half-blood, that was easy. Whoever it was, they were halfblood, which helped rule some people out, but there was no telling how long that book had been at the bottom of that cupboard. This person could have graduated before I even started school, hell, they could be teaching now…

I paused and a grin split my face as it clicked suddenly. Severus Snape, whose mother's maiden name was Eileen _Prince_ and who was a half-blood. It made perfect sense. Surely he would have been brilliant even as a student and it didn't surprise me that he hadn't followed Libatius Borage's instructions where they could be improved upon. I did surprise me a little that he'd left his book behind, however. Either way, it explained why the handwriting looked so familiar – I'd seen the adult version of it scrawled across a chalkboard several times a week for the past five years.

I set the book aside for the moment. All things in time. Perhaps this weekend I'd be able to have some time to read through it, but for now, I desperately needed sleep.

* * *

"It's funny, I swear Jones's essays have gotten worse since my first year," I commented as I liberally applied red ink to a Hufflepuff essay. I sat across from Snape in his office, a stack of essays split between us to halve the work, sharing a well of bright red ink.

"It's possible she's always been worse at Defense than in Potions, though that's a truly alarming thought," Snape commented as he slashed out a line of a Ravenclaw essay and scribbled next to it something disparaging.

"Personally I think she's just an idiot."

"Incredibly likely. So, you wished to discuss something with me?" Snape asked mildly as he set the Ravenclaw essay aide and picked up one that some idiot had written in glittering color-shifting ink. The expression of mixed disgust and delight on Snape's face as he raised his quill and got ready to rip the rainbow essay to shreds was hilarious enough to almost make me forget what the topic of conversation was.

"Yes," I nodded, and leaned back in my chair, fingering the quill in my hands. "So… you're going to kill Dumbledore?"

Snape jerked, nearly knocking over the red ink bottle. He quickly steadied it and stared at me with unreadable dark eyes. Moving slowly, deliberately, he set the essays aside and let his quill rest perfectly straight next to the ink. He laced his fingers together and set them on the desk in front of him. Snape gave a deep breath out through his nose.

"Miss Potter," he said slowly. "You've gone beyond knowing things you shouldn't to knowing things that no one should know. I suppose young Malfoy told you?"

I nodded. Snape sighed and reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I expected too much, thinking he could keep this from you. You have always been very persuasive…"

"He needed to tell someone," I insisted. "You should have seen him sir, he was pacing and yelling, he looks like he just got out of a prison… I was scared for him. I asked him, and he told me."

Snape nodded to himself. "And you have, I would imagine, guessed that the curse on Dumbledore's hand is fatal?"

"It's a Living Mummy variation," I replied. "Which means that it is treatable but only by a very painful and possibly fatal battery of particularly wretched potions."

Again Snape nodded. "And you know, I imagine, that I am completely capable of brewing said potions, if not without effort."

"He's refused them," I guessed.

"Exactly so. Our esteemed headmaster seems to believe that it is in the best interests of everyone if he simply… passes on."

"Because going into a war we don't at all need a leader," I said bitterly. "He's scared, isn't he sir? He's afraid of the pain? That's why he wants a quick, clean death. He mentioned Fenrir and Bellatrix playing with their food."

Snape sat back in his chair, resting one finger contemplatively at his chin. "I suspect you are correct, though he will not admit it even to himself. If the curse progresses, it will be agony. To heal it will be agony. Avada Kedavra was created exactly for such a case."

"If Draco fails, you have to take over the mantle of killing Dumbledore, if I understand it all correctly," I said slowly.

"Yes, but it is the headmaster's intention to have me kill him instead. He says he sees potential in the Malfoy boy and doesn't wish him to split his soul." It wasn't hard to pick up the faint jealousy in Snape's voice. If Dumbledore had felt the same about him, how much better might his life have been? Hell, if Dumbledore had felt that way about Tom Riddle we might not be in this mess right now. But then again, Dumbledore was far from the driving force behind Lord Voldemort becoming what he was.

"What about yours?" I asked softly. "What about your soul, sir?"

Severus Snape was a man who was not even forty years old. By wizarding standards, one hundred thirty seven and three-quarters years was the average life expectancy. In theory, Snape should have a full century of life ahead of him, and yet he already looked old, with heavy lines on his face and very few white hairs starting to make an appearance. A life of abuse had been hard on him, robbed him of so much, and to ask him to do something knowing it would shatter a part of him that really couldn't take much more battery… Dumbledore had reached new heights of cruelty.

Snape licked his lips and said softly, "I do not know that I have much of a soul left to me, anymore. Not one that belongs to me anyway."

"Bullshit," I said bluntly, and Snape blinked in surprise, eyes flicking to me.

"Language," he said sternly.

"You wouldn't let me damage myself that way two years ago sir," I growled out. "You told me that it would shred my soul, and I was horrified at what I'd been willing to do. Now you're willing to do this, so I'll ask you the same question you asked me. Do you still care?" I demanded of him.

Snape blinked. "I hardly know anymore, Potter."

"You do!" I snapped at him, rising to my feet angrily. "It because you care more than anyone I've ever met that you are able to do what you do, sir. A wizard who cared less wouldn't have been able to handle all that you've been through. They wouldn't have survived what you've survived. You are amazing, sir, and I wish you'd figure that out, because it's getting tiring being your personal cheering squad when you're determined to keep ignoring me. Damn it," I finished rather anticlimactically.

"I know you think you're beyond saving, but that's not true, sir, it can't be. I don't want either you or Draco to have to tear your souls, especially not over that old codger and his thrice-damned chess match. So I guess…" My voice was shaking as I spoke and my mind was officially lagging behind my mouth, which was running in tandem with my heart. "I guess what I'm asking is if you'll let me try and save part of you for a change, sir? Let me kill Dumbledore."

Snape was frozen in his chair. His hand had slipped from his jaw and was now held in front of his chest absently. He stared at me, his expression blank except for the looseness in his jaw. I had stunned him with my offer. I'd stunned myself, I realized as I stood there panting, heart racing with the intensity of my offer. I had shocked Snape so badly that he had to actually think about how to respond.

The moments stretched long and liquid, then snapped as Snape shifted slightly in his seat. The chair squeaked slightly and he said, quite simply, "No."

My eyes widened. "Sir?"

"No, Potter, I will not let you tear your soul, not for me, not for this," he snapped out. "I appreciate… the offer…" He was gritting out his words. "But I do believe it would do more damage to my soul to know you have shattered your own for my sake." He shook his head helplessly. "I will never understand what you see in a bitter old man… but I must confess, I am glad that you do."

Snape was staring at the top of his desk because he couldn't look me in the eye with his words, because that made it real, because he couldn't handle the reality of the moment right now.

I let out a breath and sat back down slowly. "You're welcome, sir," I said quietly.

"Besides," Snape said, shaking himself and pulling the essays back towards himself. This topic of conversation was clearly done. "It is to my advantage to do it. Once the Dark Lord hears that I have dispatched his greatest enemy, not even Bellatrix whispering in his ear will make him doubt my loyalty."

"Loyalty," I said slowly, a smirk creeping across my features. "Isn't that a Hufflepuff trait, sir?"

His eyes were daggers. "It would be a shame to earn another detention while in detention, Potter. Now finish those essays and we'll see if your Occlumency has improved over the summer."

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets was alive with excited whispers and mutters as I stood in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

"I didn't think you'd get it together this quickly," Daphne commented as she moved to stand by me, watching the others mill around for a while.

"You underestimating me, Greengrass?" I asked mildly, smirking faintly as I saw Emilia doing some sort of second year flirting with Dominic that involved tossing her hair and giving high-pitched giggles whenever he spoke. Going by the look on his face, it was freaking him out more than attracting him.

"Never," she replied calmly. "But it does seem awfully fast…"

"I'm a busy little beaver."

"Please, you look nothing like Granger."

I snorted and nudged her hip gently with mine. "Move it," I chuckled, and she went to join the others. I pursed my lips and a high-pitched whistle rang through the Chamber. Immediately, all eyes turned to me and I grinned at my Basilisks.

"So, another year, kids," I began mildly. "And what we're going to do today is tell the group how your projects went over the summer. I myself will be going last, and then we'll talk about how this year's gonna shape up. Anybody want to volunteer to go first, or do I draft people?"

"We will," Emilia said, grabbing Chastity and dragging her up to stand by me. I nodded and left their stage. With a flick of my wand, several squashy chairs were scattered in an arc around them and people took their seats while Emilia and Chastity got their thoughts together.

"So, first we thought about charming the rings to be protective," Emilia began.

"But the problem is that the Basilisk scale makes it pretty much impossible for that to happen," Chastity admitted.

"And because Daphne's jeweler used magic to permanently bind the scale to the ring, we can't enchant the setting either."

"Our first thought," Chastity picked up, "was simply that we were going to have to just find some really high-level spells."

"And we did find a couple," Emilia put in, but then admitted irritably, "but we couldn't do any of them ourselves."

"No shame in that," I called from my seat. "You are twelve, after all."

"Right, but then Molly wrote us a letter and mentioned that Dominic was mad because his parents were making him keep up his Ancient Runes work," Chastity said, and there were a few laughs. Dominic's ears turned red.

"That's when it hit us that we didn't need to actually enchant the rings if we engraved them with symbols that have inherent power to them. The scale wouldn't negate them and they would be easier to do than trying to come up with some crazy powerful protective spells!" Emilia chimed.

"Unfortunately, we've never taken Ancient Runes and we won't get to for another year," Chastity continued. "I don't really like the idea of handing over our project, but we didn't get very far when we tried looking into runes ourselves. Neither of us really got it because we don't know how to start."

"Nott's really good at Ancient Runes," Daphne piped up. Emilia and Chastity looked at him hopefully.

"That might be appropriate," he admitted. "My decision was to research counter-curses to Dark spells." He stood up and took the floor, while Emilia and Chastity took their seats. He held up a rather thick sheaf of parchment. "I found many. However, beyond that, I have nothing to do."

"Ah yes, nothing to do but prepare for our tests," Blaise muttered. Nott gave him a pointed look.

"They're not NEWTs, are they?"

"True," he allowed. "I retract my comment."

"Thank you," Nott said, and approached me to hand over the papers he'd put together. "I know you'll come up with something incredibly clever to do with these, Lorena." He smirked. "And since you are the teacher…"

I raised an eyebrow, images of my own grimoires dancing behind my eyes. Yes, a book I put together with all of our research in it. Dictaquills would make adding entries and information easy. And I could link them with a derivative of the spell I intended to link the mirrors, so that we would all receive any additions that were made to the research as we worked on our projects. A battery of security charms, and we would be all set to learn and study whatever of our various projects caught our personal attention while still adding to our own and spreading information outside of meetings.

"Oh look at her face, she'd already got something!" Daphne said, throwing up her hands helplessly. "Potter, you really do enjoy making us look bad, don't you?"

"Me?" I asked innocently. "No!"

"Alright," Nott said, rolling his eyes. "Get me a copy of your research and I'll see what I can do."

"And we can look for a spell to help set the runes in the gold once we've got them settled on!" Emilia said happily, leaning over to Chastity eagerly, who nodded in agreement.

"We're not done yet!" she said in pleasure, and they high-fived happily.

"Alright, who's next?" I called out, and Daphne stood up primly, smoothing her hands down her skirt and approaching the front.

"My job was to come up with healing spells," she reminded us all. "And I did." She held up her own pile of parchment. "But there's an easier solution – potions. Any idiot can down a potion, but healing spells can be tricky, and you can do more damage if you don't know what you're doing. Frankly, I don't think learning spells will be feasible. Unless some people feel like cutting themselves up for practice dummies, we won't be able to get proficient enough to be any use. Well, most of us won't." Her eyes lingered on Nott a little bit proudly, and he shifted in his chair.

"So, my proposal is potions," Daphne announced. "Standard things like Pain-Reliever, Blood-Replenisher, dittany, and murtlap would be good, maybe some other things that I've found. And Lorena, I fully expect you've got more ideas for potions."

I smirked.

"You want us to cart around an armload of potions everywhere?" Dominic called out. "I dunno, I get why it's better, but it seems impractical."

"I've got an idea," I called out, and looked at Daphne proudly. "Great minds think alike, Greengrass. As it happens, I'm already on that."

Greengrass snorted. "Oh good, then I don't have to ask if you'd be willing to brew these things."

I nodded and gestured for her to take her seat. I stood up and headed for the front, my Parseltongue dictionary under my arm. As I reached the front, I held it up and nodded to it vaguely.

"Anybody want to learn Parseltongue?" I asked mildly, and I was greeted with a roar of approval and pleasure form my Basilisks. I smirked and nodded. "Thought so," I said, and lowered the book. "It's all in there. Here's how this year is going to work. We don't need to work around Quidditch anymore, because none of us are on the team, so-"

"Wait, what?" Molly stood up, seemingly horrified. "You're not going to play?"

"And neither is Draco," I said simply. "To put it frankly, we've realized that some things are more important than Quidditch. We love the sport, true, but for me personally, I'd rather you all came through this war alive than I tossed a ball through a hoop. So, yes, if any of you are wondering, that's why our dear Quidditch Captain looks like he wants to do bloody, violent things whenever he sees me," I finished with a faint grin.

"Now, as I was saying, we'll meet Tuesday and Thursday. Tuesdays we'll be focusing on Parseltongue. I don't expect you all to learn it all – personally, I don't know that you actually can – but a few key phrases would be just what the doctor ordered, I think." I nodded to myself.

"So Thursdays will be spellwork?" Zabini guessed, and I nodded to him, pointedly avoiding Draco sitting next to him. Those in my year were apparently all aware of our relationship, but I that didn't mean I wanted anyone else in on the secret, for their own sake as well as ours.

"Exactly," I said. "Now, on your own feel free to meet up and duel, practice spells, and don't forget to work on your own personal projects," I finished, and then paused. I groaned and slapped a hand to my face.

"What is it?" Draco asked, looking vaguely concerned. "What's wrong, Potter?"

I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling. "I really am becoming a proper teacher," I bemoaned, drawing laughs from the others.

"All raise your hands for Professor Potter!" Blaise called out, and I laughed as they all raised their hands and began to chant it with him.

"Alright, alright!" I called over them, holding up my hands for quiet. When the last echoing 'Professor Potter' faded from the Chamber I continued, "Like I said, I'll look into carrying potions for you Daphne, and I'm making ridiculous batches of some of that stuff anyway, so that'll be fine. You've all got the schedule, and before you go I want a copy of whatever notes you've got on your projects. I'll add my own, as well as what I got from Maeve this summer to the pile.

"Now, who's next?"


	87. Discussions with Dumbledore

It was Sunday, and the night before I'd been working until nearly midnight. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't need me until noon, which meant that I was able to grab about eight hours of sleep, summon Dobby for a meal, and then settle in for a little more brewing before my first wandless magic lesson.

"Sasha, you're so lucky you're a snake," I said mildly as I watched Silas unhinge his jaw around a chicken egg.

"Mph hmph hmm hmph hmm mmph," Silas contributed, and Sasha bared her fangs at him in rebuke.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she said sternly, and then looked up at me. "Feeling the pressure?"

"Yep," I said, and rubbed my forehead as I set aside the bowl of cereal I'd just finished. Tippy or Dobby would be by and take it away after a while, of that I had no doubt. I approached the bubbling cauldrons and scowled, looking at the placement. There were only three, but there was wall space enough for five, of that I was confident. Now, most people wouldn't have tried to brew more than three potions at once. That was asking for distraction and ingredients ending up in the wrong cauldron.

I wasn't most people. I could keep it straight, I knew I could. And aside from that, I needed to brew massive quantities of the same potions over and over. At this point, I felt like I could brew murtlap essence in my sleep, and I was about ready to start trying it for the sake of a few extra hours of shut-eye. I sighed and made a mental note to start looking into architecture spells. A few move divots carved in the floor and I'd be able to brew more. But I'd need more cauldrons. And more ingredients.

This whole damn venture was getting to be ridiculously expensive. I had yet to make much of a dent in my inheritance, and I doubted that I would unless I started commissioning gold statues of myself. However, the loss of Galleons was starting to be felt. I needed to buy a mirror, a book, and a bag for my personal projects for the magical first aid kits and the communication mirrors, which I would be bringing up with Dumbledore at my lesson for the Order now that I had the spells I wanted to use finalized. On top of that, there were the Shield garments from Fred and George and the Peruvian Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators… I wouldn't accept them for free but I'd take a discount, like I told them. And I'd need two more cauldrons, and ridiculous amounts of ingredients… I was going to blow the whole Potter fortune on this war if I wasn't careful.

Financing, that's what I needed, and I smirked. I was certain Dumbledore himself was sitting on quite a bit of gold, seeing as he'd been Headmaster as long as anyone could remember. And unless he was spending it all on lemon drops, he likely had quite the sizeable Gringotts account as well. It wouldn't hurt him to dip into it for me, especially since I was doing this to benefit the Order as well. I'd definitely bring it up at the end of my lesson though, not the beginning.

I sighed and stood up, stretching and yawning once again. I moved to the bookcase and pulled down the books on linking, scrying, and flesh memory spells I'd put together for the mirrors and slapped them all down on the counter top.

"I need a Time Turner," I groaned, rubbing my face and wishing to Merlin we hadn't destroyed all of them last year in the Department of Mysteries. I'd kill for a couple extra hours to sleep or work or eat or do one of the hundred other things I needed to do. I was starting to wonder if this was how Snape felt, like there weren't enough hours in the day. No way would I ask him if he felt overwhelmed, though, that was a recipe for a superior sneer and a derisive comment. I could almost hear him now.

"Oh, is the war too much for you, Potter? I shall politely ask the Dark Lord to reschedule his reign of terror," I said, forcing my voice as deep as it would go, then laughing to myself.

I shook the silliness off and got to work drafting a basic outline of my plan for the mirrors and listing the spells along the sides. It was a basically a very underwhelming project proposal one might present to a boss at work, but it was the best I could do in the time allotted, and I didn't really feel the need to try and impress Dumbledore with a song and dance. He would easily be able to see the benefits, especially after the Umbridge's fireplace fiasco last year that had started the whole battle in the first place.

The clock was ticking toward noon when I put my hair up in a high ponytail, grabbed my wand and my proposal, and headed up to Dumbledore's office.

"Cockroach Clusters," I announced, and the gargoyle leaped aside to let the staircase spiral up. I mounted it and rode it all the way to the top, knocking on the wooden door.

"Come in, Miss Potter," called Dumbledore, and I pushed the door open and stepped inside, looking around. I raised an eyebrow when I saw shimmering shields erected around all of the spindly little instruments that decorated Dumbledore's office.

"It's almost like you expect things to get violent," I said mildly, and Dumbledore inclined his head from his position behind his desk. Without being invited, I moved to sit across from him and crossed my legs, looking at him expectantly.

"One thing I have learned, Miss Potter," Dumbledore began, "is to expect drama where you're involved."

"Can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult."

"Take it how you will," Dumbledore said, making me think it was probably supposed to be an insult. He steepled his fingers in front of himself and looked at me. "So, you wish to learn wandless magic? Tell me, have you ever performed wandless magic before?"

"Like most children, I performed wandless magic when I was a child, yes," I said slowly, not sure where he was going with this.

"Then do you remember how you did it?" Dumbledore pressed. I raised an eyebrow, thinking back and trying to recall what I had intended to do. When I found out the Dursleys had kept the truth from Harry and I about our parents and our powers, I had made the fire in that little shack leap out at them. And the summer before third year, when Aunt Marge was insulting our parents, Harry might have blown her up, but I'd been the one to first shatter the lights over her head and shower her in glass, then give her incredibly painful boils. And how had I done it?

"I wanted to," I said slowly. "I knew exactly what I wanted to happen and I made it happen."

Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. "And that is one of the roots of magic. It is an extension of our will. Say, for example, you are sitting at home on a chilly winter's night and would like to cuddle up under a nice patchwork quilt. However, that quilt happens to be all the way across the room. Why, a Muggle must get up and go fetch it, but a wizard may do so with a flick of our wand!"

I raised my hand and scowled. "I'm going to stop you there, sir," I said firmly, and Dumbledore paused, looking at me.

"Yes? You have a question."

"No, a request," I corrected him. "If we're going to do this, I'd like you to kindly drop the senile old man routine please. We both know it's not the real you, sir, so it doesn't really fit here."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly and he lowered his steepled hands. "Very well," he said, and there was a little less mistiness, a little more steel, in his voice as he continued, "As you wish."

"So it is the will to do something that makes our magic respond," I began to work out, getting back to the topic at hand.

"Of course," Dumbledore said simply, and challenged, "Why else would one cast a spell, but to have something happen?"

I raised an eyebrow and smirked faintly. "The forest for the trees, eh?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "For many young people exploring their powers, wands act as training wheels. The intrinsic power of the wand means that they have to use less of their own innate power to cast a spell. It's why wands became so popular for working magic in the first place."

"But people began to rely on wands," I said, and pieces began to click into place in my head as I realized dizzily that it wasn't so much that wandless magic was particularly difficult – though it did require more power since you couldn't draw on a wand – it was that wizards had become so reliant on wands that they forgot they could work magic in another way.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "Muggles have no idea of the truth of magic, so to them the idea of using a wand, your hands, a staff, they are all one and the same. It's why Muggleborns tend to have more instances of wandless magic. For purebloods, they may instinctively cast spells, but far more of their pre-school magic comes when they get their hands on their parents' wands."

"From a young age they are conditioned to believe that a wand is how you perform magic," I mused. "So while they don't think to try anything else, a Muggleborn or someone with at least one Muggle parent might."

"You understand," Dumbledore nodded. "When Muggleborns come here, many of them have consciously used their magic on at least one occasion, sometimes more. But once they arrive here, they become completely immersed in the idea that the only way to perform magic is to use a wand, that wandless magic is only for the incredibly powerful. They forget what they once could do, although they are so young that many of those memories would have faded as they grew older anyway."

"It's a matter of psychological association," I breathed. "Wands are magic, magic is a wand, you need a wand to cast magic."

"Once you remove that thought from your mind, you find that wandless magic is actually quite simple… in theory, at least. As I said, without a wand you use more of your own power, and thus become exhausted more quickly."

I paused, contemplative. "Is magic like a muscle, sir? Can you increase your power by doing… I don't know, magical workouts, for lack of a better word?" I asked, and became more sure of my supposition as I continued. "People like you, like Voldemort, like Grindlewald, none of you relied solely on a wand, and all of you are hailed as some of the greatest wizards of our time. Flamel, he gained his power through alchemy… though I suppose that could be argued as simply another metaphorical wand."

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation. "As you say, you can increase your power by exercising it. Students are able to perform more and more difficult magic as they go through their years because they grow in power and in skill."

"All while becoming more and more dependent on a wand," I finished, feeling rather stupid for not having considered it. I had done magic before I even knew what it was, but I'd forgotten all of that the moment I got my hands on a wand. How much more powerful would I be now if I had been exercising my magic since I was little? I could have been doing wandless magic for years.

"Wandless magic carries its own difficulties," Dumbledore warned. "I can see you getting more and more confident, Miss Potter, and you shouldn't. The wand motion and incantation serve a purpose – to focus a wizard's attention on a spell. Without that, your attention can be scattered, fragmented, resulting in spells of pitiful power, misfires, or outright failure."

"Which is where my Occlumency will come in," I offered, and he nodded.

"Yes. Your Occlumency training means you are already starting out ahead of the curve because you are used to focusing on something intensely for a long period of time, so that shouldn't be much of a problem for you. But separating yourself from the idea of needing a wand to do magic is harder than you might think."

"You think you can ride the bike, but you're afraid to fall anyway." I extended his earlier training wheels metaphor.

"Again, I suspect your Occlumency will help you with that, and the fact that you have consciously performed a few acts of wandless magic in the past. You know you can do it, but what if you can't?"

"It's all mental." I nodded to myself, and sighed, "Alright then, how do we start?"

"Theory first, then practice, as with everything," Dumbledore said, and nodded to a pillow sitting across the room from us. "I would like you to try and Summon that pillow to you. Without a wand."

"No kidding," I quipped, and focused my attention on the pillow. I was intensely conscious of Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on me, waiting and watching. I sighed heavily and drew on my Occlumency, blocking everything out, all but the pillow. My will was to make it come towards me, so that's what it would do.

Only it didn't.

I sat there and stared at that damn pillow for a full five minutes before Dumbledore interrupted.

"Perhaps try something else?" he offered, and there was no mistaking the little mocking twist to his words. I looked at him and narrowed my eyes before turning back to the pillow.

Okay, the problem was that instinctively I wanted to raise my wand, give it a flick, and mutter 'Accio' to get the pillow to come to me. My fingers twitched in my lap with the instinct of it and I understood what Dumbledore meant about it being tricky to separate the idea from the practice. I understood that I didn't need a wand but my body was so used to performing it with one that it felt wrong to do so without it. It was like magical muscle memory. I imagined it would be the same if a musician learned to play a piece of music by heart, and then had to play it with one measure changed. Instinctively, their fingers would want to do what they'd always done.

So this time I didn't stop myself. I raised my hand, flicked my wrist, and said, "Accio." And the pillow, to my delight, rose into the air and wobbled. I smirked. So that was it. I wasn't quitting a wand cold turkey, it would be a matter of weaning myself off of it. Dumbledore had mentioned the fact that Muggles had ideas of magic being performed with hands or staffs. I myself had those ideas once. I was not getting rid of my wand, but replacing it as the instrument of my magic with my hand in my mind, replacing spoken words with thought and intention.

"Admittedly, I thought that would take longer," Dumbledore said softly. "Well done. One of the mistakes that many make when they attempt to learn wandless magic is to sit silently and will something magical to happen. But your voice, your hands, they are part of your body and as such can be used to channel magic with as much ease as a wand. In fact, the words and gestures make it easier for you to believe something magical will happen, thus making the magic flow easier."

"Mind over body," I whispered, and Dumbledore nodded grimly.

"A concept that not many grasp. Fortunately for your efforts, you do, and therefore I have very little doubt that you will be able to learn wandless magic. Not as fast as you might like," he allowed, looking at me knowingly. "But faster than some others.

"I believe that will be all for today," he finished. "I have given you quite a bit of theory to digest, and I believe that this is something best practiced unsupervised. Prying eyes, after all, make it rather harder to concentrate."

I glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner and was mildly surprised to see that about an hour had passed. Shaking my surprise off, I turned to Dumbledore and corrected him, "There's something else we need to talk about."

"Is there?"

I reached into my pocket and wordlessly passed my proposal over the desk to Dumbledore. He took it with a curious expression and began to look over it. His eyes widened as he looked over the drawn compact and began to understand from the spells written and explained along the margins what the thing would do. He looked from the paper to me, back to the paper, and then back at me. Dumbledore set the paper on the desk in front of himself and said simply,

"You have not been thinking about this just since we last spoke."

"No," I admitted without hesitation. "I haven't. I intended it for other use, but the Order can get quite a bit of value out of it as well, I think."

"The idea for this came from Sirius' mirror, I gather?" Dumbledore guessed, and I nodded.

"But by enchanting them as a batch, I can connect more than one mirror," I explained. "That would connect them all in a web, not just a line. And this spell here," I said, poking the parchment, "would allow you to contact more than one person at the same time."

"And this spell?" Dumbledore said, pointing to another one. "It would make the mirror heat up when someone called you? Intriguing."

I privately thanked Hermione for giving me that little spell, as it was a bit of brilliance.

"And what was the logic behind the inclusion of a flesh-memory spell?" Dumbledore asked. "If I'm not mistaken, this is a variant of the spell used on Snitches."

"Say I as a Death Eater," I said, and grinned when Dumbledore's eyes darkened. "I know, it's a stretch, but try and imagine," I said sarcastically. "I find out the Order have these fabulous little mirrors. So I steal yours, down a bit of Polyjuice Potion with your hair in it, and call up the whole Order to plan a meeting. I've just ambushed all of them. However, if the mirror is keyed to you, Professor Dumbledore, alone, then no matter how many appearance-altering spells I cast or potions I down, it's of no use to me. Interested?" I asked slyly. "It's a damn sight better than Umbridge's fireplace."

Dumbeldore huffed. "Yes, I dare say it is. Very well, Miss Potter, you have once again proved yourself unexpected clever and valuable to the Order. If you can get these mirrors to work as you hope, then I will distribute them among the Order members for you."

"Not so fast," I said, as Dumbledore made to hand the paper back to me. He sighed.

"Should have expected…"

"It occurs to me that I'm doing an awful lot for _your_ Order out of my own pocket," I pointed out. "And quite frankly, if we win this war, I'd rather not come out of it poor. Ingredients, phials, cauldrons, mirrors, and pouches, none of this is very cheap. I think it's time for you to start chipping in, sir."

Dumbledore stared at me, looking like he couldn't decide whether to be amused, annoyed, or just plain tired. "Miss Potter, are you… is this a shakedown?" he asked with a twist of his lips.

"Payment for services rendered," I corrected.

"I thought these lessons were supposed to be your payment?"

"Then I sweetened the pot with the mirrors. And quite frankly, I think these lessons are not a whole lot to pay for potions and information on Tom."

"Which you have yet to provide," Dumbledore pointed out.

"So sorry, I'll try and tell my mysterious powers that they're slacking on the job," I said sarcastically. "You knew going in that my information on Tom might or might not be useful and, for that matter, might not be as frequent as you wanted."

Dumbledore sighed. "I am not going to give you my own money, Miss Potter, as much because school bylaws and regular laws would look rather poorly on that as because, frankly, I don't like you."

"We've established that."

" _However,"_ Dumbledore stressed. "There is funding set aside for students who wish to pursue independent study in a subject. It's not very well known because, to prevent every student from clamoring for a payout, it is usually only brought up by teachers with students who have expressed an interest in a career in research and magical development. You have more than done that, I believe. What I _can_ do is transfer the approved amount of Galleons from the Hogwarts account into your own vault at Gringotts, with the understanding that it will only be used for the projects you have discussed with me. Is that amenable?"

"So long as it's a decent sum, that works," I said, completely content with the offer. It made it all a bit more above-board anyway and it also meant that anything I came up with was mine and mine alone as research property, and while it would be associated with Hogwarts, it would not be associated with Dumbledore. It legitimized my projects and meant that I could benefit from them in the future. Frankly, it was better than a handout from Dumbledore, because he would technically be an investor and have right to whatever I produced.

"It should be amenable, especially since, given the nature of your projects, you will receive money for both potions and charms research."

I grinned. "Sir, you really are useful when you want to be. See, I'm not so bad, am I?" I asked saccharinely.

"Hm," Dumbledore replied noncommittally.

"And I'll need permission to leave campus next Saturday and go to Diagon Alley," I added absently, leaning back in my chair.

Dumbldore's eyebrow rose. "And why is that? All of your supplies can be ordered."

I scowled. "I am _not_ trusting the employees at Slug and Jigger to send me the best quality ingredients when I know for a fact that some of them can't tell black cherries from choke cherries. I have a batch of Polyjuice made and a few hairs I snagged from Muggles this summer, so it's not like I'll be out in the open."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Very well," he relented slowly. "But you will be given a specific time limit in which to do your shopping and you will be submitting a copy of your receipts for your materials for approval upon your return."

"Fine," I agreed.

"Then I will write you a day pass for next Saturday. You may leave by Professor Snape's fireplace. Is that all?" he asked, looking mildly annoyed by this point. I was pleased.

"Oh, that's all sir," I said sweetly, and left the office.

* * *

"Homework seems somehow… underwhelming?" I commented as I set aside an essay for Charms and stretched. Draco and I were once again in our room provided by the Room of Requirement. I'd stripped off my shoes and propped my stocking feet up on the coffee table, a book across my lap and my ink bottle balanced precariously on the arm of the couch.

There was no response and I glanced over at Draco. He was sitting there with a book and an essay on his lap just like I was, but he was staring into the flickering flames in the fireplace. His expression was lax, listless. His hand held his quill, but he hadn't written anything in several minutes, going by the fact that the essay was entirely dry. His jaw was tight, a muscle knotted there.

I sighed and reached out, lifting the book out of his lap and pulling the quill from his fingers. Draco flinched in surprise when he felt things start to move on him.

"I was working on that," he muttered without conviction.

"No, you weren't," I said simply, closing the book on the essay and sitting his quill on top. "You were lost in your own thoughts. Where were you, Draco?"

"Oh, you know." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Trying to figure out how to save my life. Strangely enough, it's sort of trumped Binns's essays lately."

I sighed and scooted closer, drawing my feet up under me and scooting over to settle myself against his side. Without thinking, Draco draped an arm over my shoulder and began to move his thumb in smooth, rhythmic strokes. The ease of the gesture made me smile.

"Fourth year was the Triwizard Tournament," I began quietly. "I was terrified, though I never let on. I spent hours and hours in the Library and brewing to try and make sure Harry and I would come out alive. I sacrificed food and sleep to the point where Snape gave me a simple critique and I burst into tears and started screaming at him."

Draco was looking at me, his expression showing slight confusion. He knew me well enough to know that I had a point, I was going somewhere with this, so he didn't interrupt.

"Fifth year I was learning Occlumency. I was learning to become and Animagus. I was trying to raise a tiny army of Slytherins so that they would survive whatever was coming while also playing double agent against a toad. I was brewing mass quantities of antidote to Veritaserum and murtlap essence… and I played Quidditch," I added as an afterthought.

"This year I am trying to learn wandless magic while honing my skills in Occlumency, Animagus transformations, and mediwizardry. I am brewing potions for the Order of the Phoenix because even if very few of them like me I want them to survive. I am also trying to keep my little nest of snakes alive and make them as safe as I possibly can because I know what kind of danger is out there. I gave up Quidditch for the sake of all of that.

"I know what it's like to be overwhelmed with everything," I summed up. "And I know that letting it consume your every thought is the worst thing you could possibly do. It will get to you, settle in the pit of your stomach until it's a weight you're constantly carrying around. You will slowly stop eating and sleeping more than is absolutely necessary to keep you alive because you worry you don't have the time in a day to do what needs to be done. And you can't do that.

"You have to take time," I told him gently, reaching up and tangling my fingers with his where they rested by my shoulder. "Take time to do the normal things. Brewing, that's normal for me. My work for the Order is, thankfully, not really work for me. It's boring brewing the same thing over and over but I've never gotten in front of a cauldron and not enjoyed every minute of what I was doing. You have to take time and be normal, Draco, or everything else will eat you alive," I said, nodding to the homework.

Draco let out a shaky breath, his eyes going to the table that was spread with our books, essays, quills, and ink.

"I used to dream about doing the normal things with you," he said quietly. I smiled.

"Yes, you told me. Picnics by the lake and dates to the Three Broomsticks."

"And now I have the opportunity to do some of those things and I can't because I have this noose around my neck. I can _feel_ it, phoenix, I can feel it getting tighter every _second_ …" He cut himself off, choking on his words.

"Then don't let it," I said simply. I twisted around and reached out, loosening the knot at his tie symbolically. "That's what I'm saying, sweetheart. You've got to do little things that are for _you_ , not for anyone else," I said firmly. "Do the normal things, and don't let _him_ ruin them, because if you do then he's winning. You don't want him to win, do you?" Draco was silent, and I felt cold fear knot in my stomach. _"Do you?"_

"I don't know!" Draco sounded pained and his face was contorted. "I don't know, I honestly don't, because if he does I know it'll just mean a lifetime of living for nothing but him for my mother and me and suffering for everyone else, but if he doesn't, then what do we have to look forward to? Your side hates us because of my father. Do you think my mother would ever be accepted into society again? Do you think I would? I've got the Mark, I can't ever get rid of that."

I clenched my jaw and grabbed him by the chin, jerking him around to look at me. His eyes widened in surprise as I got up on my knees so I could look him squarely in the face.

"I swear to you, when he loses, I will keep you and your mother safe," I promised him. Draco scoffed.

"How? You're impressive, but I don't know if-"

"You forget, you've told me all of it!" I said sharply. "You told me how he forced you to take the Mark, you told me how your mother doesn't really want anything to do with him, only supported him to support her husband. I will stand in front of the Wizenagamot if I have to and talk until I can't breathe telling them that none of this was your fault. There are some advantages to being Harry Potter's sister, you know," I said with a faint smile.

"My mother isn't yours to protect." His eyes were wide. "Why would you-"

"Because _you_ are mine to protect," I said firmly, tugging gently on the end of his tie to accentuate my point. "You're one of my Basilisks, but more than that you're… you're…" I still couldn't say it. In frustration, I managed to get out instead simply, "You're mine. And what matters to you matters to me. You want your mother safe, so I want her safe. I wouldn't-"

I was cut off by lips slamming down over mine. I squeaked in surprise before melting against Draco. His arms were wrapped around me so tightly that it almost hurt, but I actually rather liked it. He kissed me roughly, passionately, a way he'd never kissed me, with all the emotion he was holding inside of him. He leaned into me, I leaned back, and then my head was against the arm of the couch. I could barely breathe, my head was swimming as Draco leaned over me.

"I don't c _are_ if you can't say it back," he growled, pulling back from me just barely. "Just let me say it…"

"No," I panted.

"Lorena Potter, I-"

"Please!" I gasped. "Please, Draco, don't," I begged, and he stopped. Draco heaved a sigh and let his forehead rest against my shoulder, still squeezing me tightly. I wrapped one arm around his waist, pressing my hand flat to his spine. My other hand came up to card through his hair softly.

"What was that?" I asked softly.

"That was you being amazing as usual and me reacting to that amazing," Draco mumbled into my shoulder and I snorted.

"Be normal with me?" I asked him softly. "Just for now, okay?"

Draco nodded and sat up, pulling me with him. I blushed and straightened my skirt, which had ridden up high on my thigh, and Draco smirked faintly at the gesture.

"Prude," he muttered fondly, leaning over and kissing my temple.

"Excuse me?" I asked archly, raising an eyebrow. "Do I need to extort more ingredients from you, sweetheart."

"Yes please."

I scoffed and reached out, picking up the book he was using and plunking it down in his lap again.

"Do your homework," I said, looking at him fondly, and Draco picked up his quill, getting back to work. I watched him work, moving slowly as I picked my own materials back up.

"I'm instituting a new rule," I informed him. Draco looked at me in surprise.

"Oh, are you?" he asked pointedly.

I nodded. "Sundays I work with Dumbledore part of the day, but that night you're coming to the apprentice's lab and we're playing chess, just like we used to back in first year."

"Oh, Merlin," Draco said, laughing slightly. "I remember those games. Teaching you just so I'd have someone to play with. I was a bit demanding, wasn't I?" He smiled at me apologetically.

"As I recall, you made me brush off homework to play you," I teased, nudging him in the side. Draco groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

"I used to be a real brat, didn't I?"

"Used to be?" I asked sweetly. He glanced at me sideways and smirked.

"Hush, you. Do your homework."

* * *

I stepped into the Hospital Wing, and for once it wasn't because I or someone I knew was hurt. There was a Hufflepuff sitting glumly on one of the beds with steam pouring from his ears – obviously an early cold – but he was the only person I could see in the ward. I traipsed back towards the office in the rear and raised my hand to knock on the door. It swung open to reveal Madam Pomfrey sitting behind a desk.

I'd always felt sorry for Madam Pomfrey and her tiny closet of an office. It also doubled as a records room, so three of the four walls were surrounded by filing cabinets holding records for student present, past, and long, long dead. The fourth wall was covered in volumes on mediwizardry. Crammed in the middle was the desk with a chair behind it and a chair in front. Madam Pomfrey was sitting there with a pile of books pushed to the side and a file open in front of her, making notes.

"Miss Potter," she greeted me cheerfully. "Hello, nice to see you."

"Good to see you too, Madam," I replied, and took a seat opposite her desk. "So, how is this going to work?" I asked.

"Most mediwizards-in-training will apprentice at a hospital under a Healer," she explained. "We don't have that luxury, and I don't have enough cases right now to keep you busy. So, for now, what you'll be doing will mostly be reading."

I eyed the stack of books on the edge of the desk. _Magical Maladies and Injuries, Basic Medical Spells, Diagnostics through Magic, Dosages for Draughts So You Don't Do Damage, Mediwizardry for Professionals Instead of Frazzled Mothers,_ and even a copy of _Grey's Anatomy._

"Those are for me, then?" I asked. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"You've scheduled to be here for three hours every Monday night. Now, if there are patients here that need treating, I'll let you watch and occasionally assist at first. Once I'm confident in your abilities, I'll let you deal with minor cases yourself."

"And during that time on Monday nights while I'm not assisting, I'll be reading?" I guessed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded apologetically. "It won't be terribly exciting I'm afraid, but these are things you need to know. Basic anatomy, how to measure doses, how to run a full diagnostic exam on a patient." She gestured to the various books in turn. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying but I would really prefer you didn't have patients to practice your skills on."

"I understand," I assured her. "You're the Matron, you want people healthy."

"Indeed. While I'm here, you can ask me any questions, and owl me any questions you have through the week. I know you have quite a bit going on this year, but I'd like you to try and work your way through these outside of Monday nights as well," Madam Pomfrey said somewhat sternly.

I nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem. Bit of light reading before bed." I smirked faintly.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, then cleared her throat, obviously less than comfortable with the next topic of conversation. I looked from the impressive pile of books back to her questioningly.

"Yes?"

"There is the matter of Professor Snape," she said softly, and I had to restrain a wince.

"What about him?" I asked with forced calm, though I knew exactly what about him.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been… rougher with his servants than he has in the past," Madam Pomfrey said delicately. "Torture is more common than it was last time, particularly for failure, or simply for a lack of productivity. Now, these injuries are things you will likely see in the coming war and need to be able to treat. What I'm asking is, do you think you're capable of seeing Professor Snape in such a state and still helping? I'm willing to call you in when he needs help – it's actually to my advantage to have someone he trusts there while I treat him – but I need to know you won't go to pieces on me, Potter."

There was more steel in Pomfrey's voice than I'd ever before heard or thought her capable of. But she had to be, I considered, to be not only the doctor to a couple of hundred students and a handful of staff, but be the war medic that Dumbledore had undoubtedly commissioned her to be. I wondered vaguely if anyone else in the school who didn't know what Madam Pomfrey got up to had ever realized exactly what strength hid behind her kind smile and soft hands.

Honestly I didn't know how to answer Madam Pomfrey's question. I tried to imagine Snape being brought in, bloody and twitching like one of those pictures hanging up in his new classroom, and instantly felt ill. I didn't want him hurt – obviously – but I also would very much like to be there and not only learn from the experience but know what state he was in and if he was okay.

"He doesn't trust you?" I asked, to give me a few more seconds to think.

"He doesn't trust anyone," Pomfrey huffed, sounding gratefully peeved by the fact. "He trusts me to keep his skin attached to his meat, but that's about it."

"Because he thinks you're doing it only on Dumbledore's orders," I guessed. "Not because you actually care."

"Because of course no one can _ever_ really care about Severus Snape," Pomfrey muttered irritably, and I didn't think I was meant to hear it. It made me hastily-smother a snort though. Apparently I wasn't the only one who was completely aware of and entirely fed up with Snape's self-deprecating ways. "Not like I've been his doctor since he was eleven…"

She shook her head. "So, Potter, do you think you can handle it? There's no shame in saying no," she assured me. "Even the most seasoned mediwizards sometimes bow out of treating family and friends."

I licked my lips. "I'd like to say yes, I can handle it, but I honestly don't know," I admitted, and Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly.

"Honesty, that's good, and that's the right answer," she confided. "No one knows if they can handle it until it happens. So the next time Professor Snape comes in, I will summon you. You will decide from there if you can stay or go, but you'll have to do so quickly. I may need to work fast and know exactly what resources I have available."

"That's fine," I replied, because I didn't see a better way to answer the question and deal with it. "How will you summon me?"

"By house elf," Madam Pomfrey said calmly. "That's the fastest, easiest way."

I smiled. At least someone else in this castle saw how valuable the house elves could be.

"Are you ready to begin?" Madam Pomfrey asked. I nodded, and reached out, grabbed the books, and plunked them down in front of me. I wondered vaguely what house Pomfrey had been in, because I would swear to my grave that there was a little bit of malicious enjoyment on her face as she lifted her hands from the massive stack.

"Then start reading."

* * *

"Daphne, your intonation is a little high-pitched, watch it," I called out as I walked past her and Nott. The pair of them were repeating a work back to each other that roughly translated to danger. Daphne gave me a dirty look before Nott got her attention back with a soft tap on her shoulder.

"Blaise, let me hear it," I requested. He turned away from Draco and made a strangled hissing sound.

"No, a little sharper on the end," I corrected him, and hissed the word out for him to hear. "Do you get it?"

Blaise nodded and hissed back, and I gave him a thumbs up. "Nice. Come on Malfoy, are you more than a pretty face?"

"Oh, I think we both know that I am," Draco smirked, and gave a hiss. I smirked faintly.

"Hate to burst your bubble, ferret, but you just ordered a pizza," I said drily. Blaise laughed. "Actually you said something about a rock, but hey. Repeat after me."

I found myself in the strangest situation of sitting there and hissing back and forth with him as he tried to get the word down. Draco screwed up his face in concentration, trying to get the word out.

"Close your throat," I advised. "This one is all teeth and tongue."

"My favorite," Blaise said with a flirtatious wink. Without looking I whacked him in the side and nodded to Draco encouragingly. Still scowling, he opened his mouth and hissed again.

I had the advantage here that the better they were getting, the more easily I could understand the word in English. Molly's hissing sounded like nothing but hissing to me, so she definitely needed work. On the other hand, Dominic and Daphne were pretty spot-on. Amusingly enough, they both seemed to have what I pegged as a grass snake accent to their words.

" _Danger_ ," Draco hissed, and I grinned.

"Nice. Keep it up. Blaise, don't let him slack off."

"Aye aye, professor," Blaise said teasingly, and I rolled my eyes as I walked over to Molly and Chastity. Emilia had eagerly claimed a bemused Dominic as her partner.

"Molly, you're trying to put too much flavor in it," I attempted to explain. "There's no flourish to Parseltongue, it's all got a purpose. Try and put your own spin on it and you change the word entirely."

Molly blinked at me. "So… I'm not even saying 'danger' anymore?"

I smirked faintly. "In fact, you've been propositioning dear Chastity for the past ten minutes."

Molly went bright red as Chastity laughed wildly, hiding her mouth behind her hands. She emerged and stuck her tongue out at her friend.

"Sorry Molly, I don't feel that way about you."

"Shut up," Molly mumbled, clearly discouraged.

"Come on Molly, let me hear it," I urged, crouching down next to her. Molly hissed, and she was still saying the same thing. I said it once to her, slowly, and Molly's face perked up.

"I think I get it now!" she said, and hissed again. The word was garbled, but it was 'danger.'

"Smoother," I urged. "And a little more force on that last little bit. Chastity?"

Chastity hissed at me, and I reached out, squeezing her jaw and forcing my fingers into her teeth a bit. She dropped her jaw obligingly and I patted her cheek.

"Open your mouth up inside," I urged. "You've got it, but you're choking the sound out by keeping your mouth so small on the inside."

Chastity hissed again, this time with her mouth more open, and it came out well. I nodded in approval.

"Alright, you two are good, keep going," I urged.

The next group I stopped at was a pair of fourth years. Killian Sherburne and Dermot Fairclough. Fairclough was a black-haired Irish boy with a thick accent that was not at all helping matters, while Sherburne's blonde-haired South London self was mangling the word almost as badly.

"Well that's gonna be a problem," I announced as I approached them. "Your accents are doing you no favors."

Fairclough scowled. "I know," he replied shortly. "But I can't quite make it come out right."

I scowled and bit my lip thoughtfully. Behind me, I heard Daphne's smooth, cultured, grass snake accent and it hit me what to do. I turned to Fairclough and hissed at him. The dips and rises were a little more extreme.

"Try it like that," I urged.

He looked skeptical again, but he hissed, and his eyebrows shot up when he managed to get the word out decently.

"What's that?" he demanded. "Why's it different?"

I smiled. "You've got a smooth snake accent, my friend," I informed him. "Go on, Sherburne, you try it like that too."

Sherburne looked eager now that Fairclough had some success, and sure enough he was able to get the word out a little easier. The accent matched better with their natural words and it helped keep them from hanging too long or not long enough on certain parts of the words. I nodded proudly as the two began to hiss back and forth to each other in their smooth snake accents, looking much more confident now that they'd worked out how to manage getting their tongues around the noises.

"What was that you were telling them?" Daphne asked as I walked past her and Nott again. "About an accent?"

I grinned. "What, you didn't think snakes had accents too?"

"I can honestly say the thought never occurred to me," Nott said bluntly, and I snorted.

"Didn't to me, either, honestly, until I got home and started accidentally calling them to me while I worked this out," I admitted. "I've only ever talked to adders before, but this summer I got to chat with grass snakes and smooth snakes too and I noticed some differences. You sound like a grass snake, Greengrass."

"I suppose that's acceptable," Daphne said, looking mildly smug. "They're the largest of the three, if I recall?"

"Do I have an accent?" Nott asked curiously. I looked at him contemplatively, remembering the sound of the hiss.

"I dunno, you may match up better with another snake I haven't spoken with yet, but mostly you just sound pretty standard," I explained. "If I had to pick one of the three you're closest to… probably an adder."

"We should get you more snakes," Daphne mused. "I mean from a personal standpoint I'd like to know what sort of accent I've got. But more than that I assume you've got more than danger written in that book of yours. I'm betting you've gone further than just scribbling down a lexicon."

"You're not wrong," I admitted. "It would be good, but when do I have the time to study snakes in more depth, honestly?"

"Everyone needs a hobby," Nott quipped, and I snorted.

I gave them a couple more words to work on – danger, run, strike – and let them hiss at each other for a little longer before I closed the meeting for the night.

"Good progress today, everybody," I encouraged. "You're all doing really well. Better than I thought. You're not quite Parselmouths yet, but you're a lot closer than most people." I grinned at them. "Keep practicing, though I think it goes without saying that you should practice where no one can hear you all hissing at each other. My brother's the only one who would understand, but it would definitely draw the attention of someone else.

"Lastly, those of you who haven't turned in a copy of your summer research, I'll need that before next Tuesday. I'm going to try and put it all together and distribute it so that we can all reference it for our own personal studies." I shrugged. "I think that's it. Goodnight," I hissed, and was greeted with a mangled version of the hiss back. Still, it was better than it would have been before tonight, and I took that as a win.


	88. Saturday Trip

Wednesday was the day in potions where Harry finally hit one of the recipes in the copy of the Half-Blood Prince's book that I'd doctored. I watched out of the corner of my eye and smirked faintly when I saw Harry miss one of the steps I'd adjusted and made note of later in my own book. Grinning to myself, I bent over my cauldron.

This was fun, this was easy, this was what made me relax. My shoulders felt looser than they had in days and the faint sticky heat of cauldron steam billowing up into my face was like stepping into a spa. I loved the scent of the herbs, the flash of the knife, the smooth motion of the stirring rod. I even loved the squish of organs when I cut them up. I sighed in pleasure as I scooped out a few measures of crushed beetles into the cauldron and Blaise looked at me sideways.

"Potter, I know you like potions, but Merlin, get a room."

I grinned lazily. Blaise's comments were not enough to get me down right now. "Some say our love is unnatural, but if it's wrong I don't want to be right." I blew my cauldron a kiss and Blaise rolled his eyes, nudging Nott, who was sharing his cauldron.

"She's finally flipped, mate. It's happened," he informed him.

Nott shrugged and continued to shred alihotsy leaves. "We knew it would eventually."

"You leave her alone," Daphne huffed. She was sitting back and absently filing her nails while I brewed our potion. "She's keeping me in Os for the year."

"Not fair, Greengrass. You have to share her at some point," Blaise whined. "Let someone else mooch off Potter for once."

"Mummy loves you all equally, children," I cooed, my voice syrupy sweet, and Blaise wrinkled his nose.

"Never call yourself mummy again. It's too horrifying a thought, a little you running around in the world."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with this idiot, Theodore," Daphne commented, raising her hand and checking that her nails were perfectly rounded. "It's such a shame…"

"Hey, I'm wonderful and you know it," Blaise countered, before balancing a rat spleen on his stirring rod and flicking it towards Daphne. She shrieked and dodged, and it was only by sheer dumb luck that one of the Ravenclaws at the table behind us moved in front of their cauldron when they did and kept the spleen from sailing in. Completely unaware of the rat spleen now stuck to the small of their back, the Ravenclaw kept brewing while we smothered wild laughter.

"Now now, what's the joke over here?" Slughorn asked, waddling his way over to our knot of Slytherins.

"Zabini said he could brew better than me," I smirked. "I told him not even in his dreams."

Slughorn chortled. "You and your brother have certainly inherited your mother's talent with a cauldron," he replied, amused. "From what I can tell you're on your way to yet another perfect potion, Miss Potter."

"Thank you, sir," I said, although I wasn't quite thrilled that Harry was being equated with our mother. Harry just didn't have the patience to get the ingredients just so, or the love for the art to try and improve.

"Let's see what Mr. Potter has come up with," Slughorn said, ambling over to the Gryffindor table. He looked down at Harry's potion and Harry looked up at him hopefully. Slughorn's face fell slightly, and I smirked. Harry's potion wasn't quite the crisp mint green mine was. His was murkier, with a yellow undertone. Mine was outstanding, and his was… acceptable.

"Not as good as some of your others, Mr. Potter, but a decent brew nonetheless. We all have off days, eh, my boy?" Slughorn said, clapping his hand on Harry's shoulder as he commiserated.

"Right, sir," Harry said, looking slightly disappointed. He'd gotten used to being Slughorn's golden boy, it seemed, and he wasn't happy to have not gotten the usual raving reviews of his potion. At his side, however, Hermione was looking incredibly vindicated and I scowled at her. Why should she be so pleased that Harry didn't get any praise? It wasn't like Slughorn had a whole lot to say about her potions most days anyway.

As class ended, we bottled samples of our potions and took them up front to be graded. I handed mine in and headed out the door right behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry saw me walking behind them and paused, waiting for me.

"Good job on that potion today, Rena," he greeted me. I paused by his side and grinned.

"Thanks Harry. Half-Blood Prince wasn't quite up to snuff today, was he?" I asked knowingly. Harry choked, Ron's eyes bulged, and Hermione looked absolutely horrified.

"How do you know?" Harry asked blankly.

I snorted. "Oh please, you suddenly get amazing at potions when you get someone's old book, and then I look over and see you making adjustments not in the directions? Adjustments you haven't read enough about to know to make?" I raised an eyebrow challengingly. "It wasn't hard to figure out, so I broke into your dorm to get a look at the book. Real genius, that Prince fellow," I said fondly.

Ron went bright red with embarrassment and anger. "You broke into our dorm?"

"Oh don't get twitchy, it's not even close to the first time I've done it," I snorted, waving a hand dismissively, and Ron looked even more affronted. "Trust me Weasley, I'm not even remotely interested in sneaking peeks."

Harry looked at me edgily. "So you're not… mad?"

I was lost. "Why would I be mad?" I asked in confusion.

"Well, you've always been the best in potions and now I'm making grades like you," Harry reasoned. "I'm sort of… stepping on your toes, aren't I?"

"I don't own the potions classroom," I scoffed. "You want to make good grades, go ahead. Even this Prince guy won't get you better grades than me," I said with complete confidence. "Frankly, I'm proud of you, Harry."

"Proud?" Now it was Harry's turn to be befuddled. "Why?"

"Because," I said drily. "You got an advantage handed to you on a silver platter and you haven't been such a big _Gryffindor_ that you told Slughorn how you're doing that well." I rolled my eyes. "I mean, it's almost _Slytherin_ of you, Harry, I approve."

Harry's brilliant green eyes were wide behind his glasses. Clearly, he'd never thought of it that way. "Is it?" he asked faintly, his voice sort of strained.

"You think if Zabini got that book he'd have marched up front and let Slughorn erase all those lovely little cheats?" I shook my head. "Get real. You're making your baby sister so proud." I pretended to wipe a tear from my eye.

Hermione, who had been standing silently this whole time, finally exploded. "How can you support this?" she demanded. "Who knows who this Prince fellow was? Making changes to approved recipes? What's to say all of his 'little cheats' worked? Harry could blow himself up! It's dangerous, and frankly I think he's being reckless." She sniffed. "Not to mention it's academic dishonesty. Harry's taking credit for someone else's work."

I sniggered. "Boo hoo, I extorted a History of Magic essay out of a Ravenclaw two weeks ago." Hermione swelled with rage. "At least Harry's not hurting anyone, and he's getting better grades. He'll need to pass potions to get into Auror training. Or don't you want him to become an Auror?" I pouted at Hermione mockingly and she made a disgusted tsking sound.

"Don't try and flip this around on me," she huffed. "Did you learn nothing from the diary back in second year? Who knows what sorts of things could be in that book!"

I groaned and sagged back against the wall. "Oh Merlin, like that's _even_ the same thing!" I said sarcastically. "Come off it Hermione, you're just jealous Harry's making better grades than you in a class. Green's my color, sweetie, it really doesn't suit you," I simpered. "Besides if it makes you feel any better, I know who the Half-Blood Prince is, and you can trust his work."

"You do?" Ron asked curiously.

"Who is it?" Harry asked eagerly. "Does he still go here?"

"No, he's long graduated," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "But he's a big-shot in the potions world these days, I know enough about him to work out who it was."

Hermione sniffed. "I don't believe you."

"Bully for you," I congratulated her. "Great thing is that I still know whether you believe me or not."

"Then tell us!" she challenged. "Prove it!"

"I'm not telling you, because you should be able to work it out yourselves," I snorted.

Hermione crossed her arms and straightened up smugly, tossing her bushy-haired head. "One more secret you're keeping from your brother then, eh, Lorena?" she asked smugly, and I narrowed my eyes, pushing off the wall. I took a couple of threatening steps towards her and Harry quickly slid between us.

"Come on Rena, let it go," he said, putting his hands on my shoulder. I stood on my toes – when did Harry get taller than me? - to look over his shoulder at Hermione, who was still standing by Ron and looking pleased with herself for the tiny bit of leverage she had on me.

"Do not try to blackmail me, Hermione, or you won't like what you get paid back," I warned her, before shoving Harry's hands off my shoulders and sweeping down the hall.

* * *

Saturday I left the apprentice's lab in travelling robes with a deep-hooded cloak. My wand, a list of what I needed, and my money were tucked in my pockets. I also had the Polyjuice Potion with the hair of the Muggle whose identity had become my cover tucked away in the pocket of my cloak. I raised my hand when I reached Snape's door and knocked firmly.

"Come in, Potter."

"It's like you know, sir," I commented absently as I stepped into the office and approached Snape's desk.

"It's like Dumbledore told me you were scheduled to leave at noon," Snape sneered, pointing the end of his quill at the clock on the wall that showed two minutes to noon. "Well, are you ready?"

I nodded and pulled out the Polyjuice Potion, tossing it back and making a face. The Muggle woman was definitely better than some people, but I still didn't enjoy downing her. Scowling at a reflective cabinet behind Snape's desk, I pulled out the patches Madam Pomfrey had whipped up and placed them over the scars on my cheeks. With my makeup done in a more natural style than I usually favored, I looked like a different person.

"You are to return by three," Snape informed me. "Your day pass is only for three hours, and the headmaster was hesitant to allow you even that long."

"What could I possibly accomplish in three hours?" I asked innocently.

"I suspect world domination, though I may be underestimating you."

I sniggered as I approached Snape's fireplace and plunged my hand into the pot on the mantle that contained glittering Floo Powder.

"See you later, sir," I said, and clambered into the fireplace. I threw the powder at my feet and cried, "Leaky Cauldron!"

If I wasn't so used to pulling aerial maneuvers on my broom I probably wouldn't have handled the Floo Network as well as I did. I knew people occasionally turned up at their destination painted on all sides with vomit and other unmentionable things, and it was generally not advised to Floo after having eaten a big meal if one had a sensitive stomach. My first trip through the Floo Network, the one that had landed Harry and I in Borgin and Burkes, had ended with both of us sliding out of the ash and landing on the ground in a heap. Now I was able to leap lightly out and land with only a bit of a stumble, flapping my robes to knock the ash and grime off.

Tom the barman nodded to me from behind the counter, but like the last time I'd been here the Leaky Cauldron's front room was far less animated than it used to be. There were a couple of Yorkshire witches holding a whispered conversation in the corner, a man nursing a Firewhiskey at the bar, and three more fellows scattered around at separate tables having lunch, eating like they were scared their meal would run away.

I didn't bother to linger, instead heading out back and raising my wand to tap on the right brick above the dustbin in the back alley. The bricks slid back and I stepped through into Diagon Alley. Again like before people were moving about their business with heads down and feet hurrying, clearly eager to get back to the safety of home. I blended right in with them, head down, hustling my way to the apothecary.

The bell rang cheerfully when I stepped inside, and the sound was so jarring compared to the general tone of the shopping district that I immediately reached up and caught the clapper, stopping it mid-chime. Scowling at the bell, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

"How may I- Aha!" The old man obviously remembered me from the last time I'd been in and he was hoping for another massive sale just like the one before. He was going to get his wish, too, I'd gotten permission to buy whatever I needed without guilt, and I needed massive amounts of Stasis bottles and ingredients for my Basilisks and the Order member's potions.

"I'm going to need a crate of Stasis bottles," I informed him and I could see the Galleons in his eyes. I would have been a bit twitchy about ordering that many if I hadn't just gotten a huge influx of cash from the research grants. Smiling faintly, I watched as the man bowed his head to me respectfully and beamed.

"Oh, yes ma'am, of course! I'll bring a fresh crate out of the back for you!" he said happily. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"I'll be selecting my own ingredients," I informed him shortly. "And I'll need use of your fireplace – I've still got errands to run and I can't be carting all of this up and down Diagon Alley."

"Oh, of course!" the man offered, whistling between his teeth as he headed for the door behind the counter. "It's in the back, but I don't see a problem letting you back there. Such a good customer…"

I wrinkled my nose at the blatant toadying, though admittedly my pride was being rather nicely stroked. Instead I turned to the barrels, baskets, boxes, and vials of ingredients. I took in a deep breath, savoring the smell, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.

The old man, who introduced himself as Ulises Draper, followed behind me as I worked my way around the store. Instead of a regular receipt book he had an entire length of parchment, happily scribbling down the prices and amounts of items I was gathering. He regularly dipped his quill into the bottle of ink floating beside him as we made our way all the way around the store, buying large quantities of every single item I selected. He was nearly giddy as we loaded the ingredients up into another crate.

He was a little hesitant, obviously expecting me to balk at the price, but I didn't hesitate as I reached into my pouch of coins and hauled out fistfuls of Galleons. I grinned to myself, pleased with the money pouch that was the recipient of my first successful Undetectable Extension charm last week. The amount of money I pulled out couldn't possibly have fit in a regular pouch, but fit it did, and the man was clearly anticipating the largest commission of his life as he locked the money up in the safe behind the counter. He initialed the parchment with my inventory on it and presented me with a copy.

"Fireplace is back there, just let me know when you're done," he said, jerking a thumb at the door behind the counter. I walked around and pushed the door open, peering around curiously. As expected, the back room was filled with essentially the same thing as the front. Things that could stay in regular storage were in neatly-labeled boxes on shelves. Others were held under temperature spells and felt slightly cool as I passed. More valuable things were kept in a locked cabinet, and I could see unicorn hair glinting in the dim light of the back room.

The fireplace was at the end, and the man had left my crates beside it as a courtesy. I approached the fireplace and reached to grab one of the crates, grunting as I heaved it up onto the hearth. I grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and chucked it in.

"Professor Severus Snape's office, Hogwarts School," I said, and grunted once more as I shoved the first crate in. It was wooshed away to land safely in Snape's office. From there, he'd agreed to send it all down to the lab with a house elf for me. I repeated the process with the second crate and straightened up, brushing my hands together.

I waved the Ulises as I left and he waved back as I left. From the apothecary, it wasn't far to Potage's Cauldron Shop and I pushed open the door, stepping inside. There was a very frazzled-looking witch holding a brass cauldron with the bottom eaten out of it, ranting at the woman behind the counter.

"I'm telling you, it just ate right through!" she whined to the clerk, who looked about two second away from drawing her wand and hitting the woman with a good 'Silencio.'

I rolled my eyes and stepped up to the counter, pressing a finger to the ruined bottom. Predictably, my finger tingled from the hint of acid remaining behind.

"Hey, sod off!" the angry woman protested, yanking the cauldron out of my reach.

"It's not this woman or this store's fault that you were stupid enough to try and brew an acidic potion in a brass cauldron," I sneered at her, not at all impressed. "Frankly, if you don't even know that much, I think it's a mercy you won't be brewing for a while."

The woman gaped like a fish. "Well… how would you… how dare you?" she demanded angrily, face going red in rage and embarrassment. "Who asked you anyway?"

"I only do one good deed a day, and today is this poor clerk's day," I informed the woman, before narrowing my eyes. The intensity was somewhat lost for the lack of wild, flaming hair and the scars but years in Slytherin meant that I was still scary enough to make a Hufflepuff wet themselves even in a different person's face. "Now I'd advise you to leave before you make an even bigger fool of yourself," I growled at the woman, stepping closer to her. I towered over her petite form – thank you James Potter for being a tall blighter. She gulped and clutched the ruined cauldron to her chest.

"M-My mistake!" she squeaked, and fled the store.

The other customer in the store, a fellow in the back examining a selection of small one-batch cauldrons, gave me an approving look and a familiar smirk when the woman scuttled out. Ex-Slytherin, I'd bet my life on it. The clerk breathed a sigh of relief with the woman gone and smiled at me thankfully.

"Bless you, she's been here for nearly half an hour," she explained.

"Wanting to blame someone else for her own idiocy," I said with a snort and rolled my eyes. "And you happened to be the 'someone else.'"

"I didn't even sell her the cauldron," the clerk confided in me. "It was the other girl that works here."

"Tch. Well, there's no reasoning with some people."

"True enough," the clerk agreed, before clearing her throat and asking cheerfully. "What can I help you with today, ma'am?"

"I need two pewter standard size 2s," I informed her. "And d'you mind if I use your Floo to send them home? I've still got some shopping to do still."

"Not a problem," the woman assured me, waving her hand. This didn't surprise me. Places that sold bulkier goods usually allowed customers to send them to their own homes via Floo. It was a good way to collect an extra charge for the item.

The woman pointed her wand into the back room and Summoned the requested cauldrons. They floated out and landed neatly by the fireplace out in the main room. The clerk quickly jotted up a receipt and quoted me thirty Galleons.

"I knocked off the Floo charge for helping me with the harpy," she confided with a wink, and I grinned as I handed over the money, the hope of that being precisely the reason I'd done it. "Hope they work out for you," the woman said cheerfully as she put the money in the till and waved me towards the fireplace.

"I don't doubt I will," I assured her, approaching the Floo. This one was out in the open, so I whispered the destination before popping the cauldron's in and sending them off to Snape's office. I'd finally found the spell I needed to carve a divot in the floor of the lab for a fire under the cauldron's without just blasting a hole in the ground, so I was ready to set up two more cauldrons.

I left Potage's and headed off towards Flourish and Blotts to pick up a book for my Basilisk's notes. This was the quickest of my errands as I just darted in, grabbed one with a nice dusty green leather cover, paid for it, and left. From there I headed to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Again, this was an easy in and out as I just had to grab a nondescript bag, nothing terribly feminine, pay for it, and leave.

Next was a bit trickier, and I headed to The Junk Shop. This was the most deserted store I'd seen yet, with quite literally no one in it, not even behind the counter. I heard faint shifting behind the curtain covering the back room, however, and guessed that whoever was on duty had given up a while ago and gone to take a load off.

That suited me just fine, as I was able to pick my way through dusty aisles of furniture, old chess sets, glittering crystal vases, and a crate overflowing with a truly alarming about of doilies. Wrinkling my nose and pushing away the thought of Umbridge, I walked around a large cabinet with runes carved into it – aesthetic, not functional, given that half of them didn't exist – and into a corner where the glitter of glass caught my eye.

Sure enough, packed in one corner were wall mirrors hanging up, full-length mirrors leaning against the wall, standing mirrors clustered together, and a veritable dragon's horde of mirrors scattered along a long table. Hand mirrors, some in tarnished silver frames or oxidized copper. There were also compacts, and it was those I gravitated towards. Again I couldn't pick something too girlish, because the fellows wouldn't carry it if it was backed with enameled flowers like the first one I saw. I tried to imagine presenting such a thing to Draco or Blaise and watching them stare at me in disbelief.

I picked through the options, shifting mirrors aside carefully so as to avoid breaking any of them, and picked through the compacts that I could find. The winner was a simple, unadorned silver compact, which greatly appealed to my Slytherin sensibilities. It was a bit tarnished, but thanks to Molly Weasley I knew more household spells than I ever thought I would, including one to polish silver, so that wasn't a problem. A wave of my wand showed that it had no enchantments on it that would interfere with my own or keep me from replicating it, so that was a bonus.

I picked it up and approached the counter, where there was still no sign of the clerk. There was a little bell by the register though, so I picked it up and rang it, waiting. There was a scrambling from the back and out popped a girl who looked right out of school, and expression of fear on her face. It relaxed slightly when she saw me, so clearly she'd been worried I was her boss coming to bust her.

"How can I help you?" she asked. "Sorry about that I was, er, doing inventory."

"Right," I said skeptically, and put the compact on the counter. "How much for the compact?"

"Three sickles," she rattled off, and I was impressed by that at least since nothing in here was priced. I passed the money over and tucked the compact into the bag over my arm that already held the book and pouch. Nodding to the girl, I headed out of the Junk Shop and down towards the one store that still looked like the old Diagon Alley. My spirits lifted at the sight of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, but almost immediately faded when I saw the forlorn storefront of Ollivander's down the block.

I paused in the shadow of Sugarplum Sweets, contemplating the shop. It surprised me that it was untouched, considering it was the Muggle equivalent of a gun shop abandoned in the middle of a civil war. One would think it would be picked over, but there was no sign that anyone had interfered with it. Perhaps the Ministry had taken the wands out of the shop for that very reason and that was why no one had bothered it?

I was suddenly seized with curiosity and I walked towards the shop before ducking down the tiny alley between it and the next shop. There was a side door. I paused thoughtfully before raising my hand and closing my eyes. You could sense magic if you closed your eyes and concentrated, a faint tingling in the air. This was easier for Muggleborns, who hadn't grown up with magic and weren't used to the faint hum in the air. There was a ward on the door, but it didn't feel aggressive. It felt slow, sedate.

As an experiment, I poked my wand at the knob and muttered, _"Alohamora."_ I wasn't concerned about using magic outside of Hogwarts. All the Ministry tracked was where a spell was performed, and considering that this was Diagon Alley, a Wizarding street, magic here wasn't even remotely uncommon. It was for that reason that children with at least one magical parent had an advantage, because the ministry would assume any magic in the house came from the parents. Harry and I, with the closest thing to magic we had being Mrs. Figg, were the only culprits in any magic in our area. Thus, we were blamed for any acts of magic, even Dobby floating a pudding.

The lock on the door clicked open and the door swung inside. Eager now, and incredibly curious, I grabbed a rock off the ground and tossed it through the door gently, not wanting to break anything. Nothing happened, but that was no guarantee I wouldn't be in for a nasty shock if I stepped inside. I flicked my wand and Summoned a rat from the gutter where it was squeaking. The mouse squealed as it went flyng through the air, but again it landed inside without any trouble. I Summoned the mouse back out, placed a spell on it to turn it pink, and then pitched it back in. For a third time, nothing. So whatever the ward was, it didn't react to objects, organism, or magic crossing the threshold.

Bemused, but as certain as I was going to be that the ward wasn't going to hurt me, I stepped over the threshold, holding my breath. Nothing happened, no Caterwauling Charm went off. Nothing. I grinned.

My question was answered, however. The Ministry hadn't taken the wands, they were still there on the shelves, innocently waiting for some little eleven-year-old to come in and buy them. I smiled, remembering when I'd first come in here to get my own wand and Ollivander's rather batty leacture about the 'wand chooses the wizard' and I'd never get as good a result with another person's wand as I would with my own…

I froze.

But I would get a result.

Disarming was the tactic in a duel that could end a fight more quickly than almost anything else. Most wizards, when confronted with the los of their wand, simply froze helplessly. That's why I'd tried to impress on the DA and my Basilisks the importance of not freezing, why I'd showed them all how to throw a punch and a kick, how to squirm out of and perform some basic holds. So that if they were ever caught wandless, they weren't necessarily helpless. It was why I was working on wandless magic.

But if a person had another wand on them – not _theirs_ but just _a_ wand – they could still fight. A backup wand concealed in, say, a bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it that also already held emergency potions and, hopefully, Shield garments? Then even if they couldn't hit the broad side of a hippogriff with their fists, they still had a fighting chance - by which I meant a chance to fight.

Still, I felt incredibly guilty about robbing Ollivander about what was essentially a pretty respectable chunk of his life's work. It wouldn't put a dent in his stock at all, but it would be a noticeable loss. Biting my lip, I approached the counter to look for parchment and quill. I'd leave a note keyed to Ollivander so that when he came back – if he came back – he'd know who to come to for the wands. Dumbledore could get them back from the Order and I would gather them up from the Basilisks and they could all be returned. Or, if he preferred, I could simply reimburse him. Wands weren't cheap, but they weren't particularly expensive either because there would always be a demand for them.

I was surprised to find a note already on the counter, signed by a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Curious, I began to read. The gist of it was not to worry about the fact that the money was missing from the register and the safe, as it had been taken to Gringotts and put in Ollivander's account.

 _A ward was placed over the shop's entirety to prevent anyone with less-than-honorable intentions from entering. This way, should you return before an official from our offices has been dispatched to lower the ward, you will be able to enter your shop and home without trouble._

That, at least, explained why I could get in. I hadn't meant anything bad when I'd crossed the threshold. Of course, now I was contemplating thievery, but I was already beyond the ward by this point, so it didn't matter. It also explained why no one from the Ministry had been alerted – no one wanted to be bothered by a mouse that meant nothing more than getting out of the cold worming its way in. It was the logical, if lazy, approach to the situation and it hadn't stopped a curious sixth-year at all. I expected Ollivander had his own wards that were usually erected when he left the shop and went up to his home for the day, but the Death Eaters would have shattered those taking him and Ollivander wasn't here to recast them.

I pulled a bit of parchment from under the counter, along with a quill and ink, dipping the quill in the ink, I began to write.

 _Mr. Ollivander,_

 _You may notice that some of your wands are missing. You will know their exact specification, but I'm afraid I do not. I don't want you to worry, I am perfectly willing to give the wands back to you or pay their cost, whichever you prefer, but I would like you to know why they've been taken._

 _There are a few groups operating against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and they are losing. However, a certain rather brilliant member of one such group came up with the idea of an 'emergency kit' as it were. Potions, spells, and the like that would help operatives out of a sticky situation. A sticky situation like, say, being Disarmed in a fight._

 _I did not come into your store with the intent of robbing you, I was merely curious as to the state of the place, but the idea presented itself and it was too much of a good one to pass up. As I said, the wands are not gone, and any that cannot be recovered from whoever they were distributed to will be paid for in full._

 _I do not know if you will ever read this note. You were taken by Death Eaters months ago now, and no one even knows if you're still alive. I hope you are, sir. But given the circumstances of your vacating this place, I don't expect you'll be terribly upset that your wands are going to be used in the fight against You-Know-Who. I hope you do read this sir._

 _Yours_

 _Lorena Potter_

I folded up the letter and slid it into an envelope. I found a stick of wax and melted it with the heat from my wand. I pressed the crest on my signet ring into the wax and charmed it so that it would only appear to the owner of the place. To anyone else it would be invisible.

That done, I approached the shelves and, taking a deep breath, began to pull down box after box, cramming them into my money pouch. I had no idea how many people Dumbledore would distribute these kits I was making to, so I simply added ten more onto the number of Order members I knew plus my Basilisks before I was satisfied that everyone should be covered. Closing the drawstring on the pouch, I locked the door and left the way I'd come.

Barely able to restrain my glee at the idea, I headed back up the street to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, downing a shot of Polyjuice as I went to keep my disguise from slipping. I pushed open the door and was instantly enveloped by whizzing, banging, and the sound of explosions as the products on the shelves showed off what they could do. In here was the only shop where I'd yet found smiles and I was pleased to see that the war still hadn't touched one place.

"Excuse me," I said, catching the arm of a man in the magenta staff robes. "Could I speak with one of the Mr. Weasleys, please? Doesn't matter which one. I have a message from an old friend."

"I'll fetch him for you," the man said and hustled off. I waited by the door, smiling slightly at the nearby cage of puffskeins and remembering how enamored of them Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had been.

"I heard from Franklin that you have a message for me," said a voice behind me and I turned to face Fred, who was looking me over with a certain flirtatiousness. "Is it a dinner invitation? Because I have to say, that would really make my day coming from a lady like yourself."

I widened my eyes in false innocence. "Oh, but it wouldn't be appropriate for sir to see his student like that!" I cooed, and Fred pressed a hand to his heart. His face lightened two shades and his eyes blew wide.

"Blimey!" he swore. "That you, Rena?"

I nodded smugly and he looked me over a little more critically. "What's with the disguise? And shouldn't you be at school?"

"Got a day pass to come and get some ingredients," I explained. "I've been doing some brewing for our flaming friends. And I wanted to finalize the details on that order we discussed last time I was here."

"Let me grab George and we can talk in our office," Fred said. He gestured for me to follow him into the back, where George was chatting with a customer.

"Of course, the Zonko's wands are alright," he agreed with a skeptical man holding a joke wand. "But you've got to admit, these look a bit more like a real wand, don't they?"

"I prefer Zonko's myself," I called out, and George whipped around, looking affronted. Fred raised a hand to steady him and said,

"It's our snaky little student, don't get your knickers in a knot."

"Excuse me," George said, separating himself from the man instantly and approaching me with a grin. "Rena?" he asked, still looking a bit uncertain, and I winked. "Blimey, what are you doing here?" he asked, enveloping me in a hug. I squeezed him back.

"The old man gave me a day pass to get some ingredients for the brewing I'm doing for his fried chicken friends," I replied. "I thought we could finalize our part of that kit I'm putting together."

"Oh, right!" George said.

"I told her we'd talk in our office," Fred explained.

"Look at you two, all respectable, having an office." I tweaked Fred's collar teasingly. He fluffed his robes self-importnatly.

"Well you know, the market was there and waiting for two such enterprising-"

"-and brilliant."

"Right you are, George. Enterprising and brilliant gentlemen like ourselves."

"Are you two enterprising and brilliant gentlemen ready to work out a deal?" I asked, linking my arm through theirs and letting them guide me to the door to their office. They had desks on either side of the room and, against the opposite wall, a long counter top covered in various paraphernalia, from brewing and alchemy equipment to spellbooks and, of all things, a rat in a cage.

"That's Absalom, he's our test subject," Fred informed me, nodding to the rat.

"He seems to be levitating," I commented, watching as the rat slowly bobbed in midair. Rats didn't have the facial features to be terribly expressive, but it was easy to tell that Absalom had seen some things in his time as the Weasley's guinea pig.

"I still wish you'd let us give these things to you for free," Fred offered. "It still wouldn't wrap up the thousand Galleons seed money you and Harry gave us."

"But this isn't for me, it's for my people and Dumbledore's people," I replied, sitting down on the chair opposite what was Fred's desk going by the name plate. Fred sat behind it and George perched himself on the edge, facing me.

"You've got people," George grinned at me in amusement. "Look at our little Rena, raising her own personal snaky army."

"She's grown up so fast," Fred said, faking a sniffle.

"I've missed you two," I said fondly. "Not that I'd give up the memory of you two flying out on Umbridge for anything, mind, but still."

"Ah, Dumbridge." George sighed nostalgically. "Those were some good pranks."

"They were indeed," I agreed. "But unfortunately, it's a bit more serious at school these days."

Fred sighed and looked at George. The two exchanged knowing glances and I knew they'd just had a whole conversation in that silent way siblings did.

"George and I talked it over," Fred explained to me. "This is what we came up with. You write down a list of what you wand and how much, and we'll get it together and send it over."

I raised an eyebrow. "And the price?" I pressed.

George sighed. "We wanted to go with taking seventy-five percent off-"

"-but we figured you wouldn't go for that," Fred finished. "So we settled on half-price."

I nodded. I wasn't pleased I was taking even that good a deal – they were a new business and with the amount of things I'd be ordering they were going to be taking a hit.

"That works," I submitted. "Parchment and ink, please?"

Fred passed it over and I prodded George in the thigh with the tip of the quill to get him to scoot over.

"How much are we talking?" Fred asked curiously. "And what sort of things?"

"What all is going in this 'emergency kit' of yours?" George asked.

"Dittany, Skele-Gro, Polyjuice Potion, murtlap essence, antidote to Veritaserum, antidote to common poisons. Each will have a pair of your Shield gloves, a couple of Decoy Detonators, and some of the Instant Darkness powder. I've also been developing some mirrors to help members communicate easily that only they can use." I hesitated for a minute before admitting, "And a spare wand."

Fred flinched. "And where did you get that many wands?" He looked at me incredulously.

I bit my lip sheepishly. "I… may have just robbed Ollivander's."

"Rena!" George hissed, and he wasn't amused by my antics this time. "Are you mad?"

"I left a note!" I defended myself, passing my completed list over to Fred. "And I'll get the wands back or pay for the ones I can't when he gets back. I don't intend to short the man. And I expect he'd be perfectly willing to help fight You-Know-Who."

"If he's still alive," George muttered darkly, and we all knew that the likeliest answer was no, he wasn't. He'd been gone months now with no sign of him.

"If he's still alive," I echoed as Fred began to total up the amount for the items with the discount. He passed me the paper with the total written at the bottom. I did some quick mental math and narrowed my eyes.

"This isn't just fifty percent," I said warningly, but Fred held up his hands.

"That's all we'll take from you," he said firmly. "And not a Knut more."

I was still scowling, but I knew as well as anyone that once the twins set their minds on something they weren't going to back down for anything and there wasn't much use trying. I was still frowning at Fred and George alternately as I passed over the money. Fred counted it out while George explained,

"It'll take us some time to get all this together, but we'll have it within a week. Where should we send it?" he asked.

"The Floo in Snape's office, he's taking my deliveries these days," I replied, knowing I'd be in for a very suspicious Snape summoning me to his office to open the box when it arrived.

Fred snorted. "And how'd you manage that?"

"He likes me," I replied simply.

George rolled his eyes. "You're his little prodigy."

"You say the sweetest things," I said, and patted his knee as he stood up.

"Leaving already?" Fred asked, looking surprised and disappointed.

"Sorry, but I've only got until three and I've got one more errand to run before I report back," I explained as Fred handed me a copy of the receipt. I tucked it into my pocket with the rest of them and smiled.

"I'll see if I can drum up some excuse to come back for a chat," I assured them. I stretched my arms out and got an armful of Weasley twin hugging me fondly.

"Take care of yourself, okay Rena?" George muttered, and the platitude had a bit more meaning behind it these days.

"I will," I promised, squeezing them both tightly.

It was after two more hugs and a kiss on both cheeks for each twin that I managed to get out of the shop and into the street again. I sighed and adjusted my robes. This would be the errand that I wouldn't be talking to Dumbledore about by any means, and I certainly wouldn't be turning in a receipt for.

I held my bag close to my side and kept my head raised, eyes alert, as I made my way down to Knockturn Alley. This time I was confident of where I was going, and Inigo's Inks came into view, looking just as run-down as it had the last time I showed up. I pushed the door open and there was no bell to silence, just the same skeletal, tattooed man behind the counter. He looked up from a magazine he was boredly paging through and grinned lazily when he saw me.

"Well well, my friend with a taste for the metallic. Come to commission something else shiny?"

"Not shiny," I replied calmly. "But larger than some. You'll be getting a nice pay day, don't you worry your… well, face."

He stuck out his tongue as he ventured from around the counter, a lewd grin on his face. "Where do you want it this time, honey?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you make that joke with every customer?"

"Just the pretty ones. With spice. I like that in a woman." He winked. I wrinkled my nose and looked pointedly at his ink-stained and be-ringed hands.

"And I prefer a man with personal hygiene."

"You oughta be nice to me, or I'll overcharge you."

"Try it, see what happens," I challenged as we walked to that little table in the corner. It was still spread with parchment, quills, and colored inks, and I swore it looked like most of them were in the exact position they'd been when I was last there this summer.

"A white lily," I replied. He raised his eyebrow, but grabbed a pot of white ink and got to work. I watched as he drew out the new design and added comments on the size, the angle. He let me give critique there, but when I tried to tell him how to do the shape of the petals, he gave me a dirty look.

"Who's the artist here?"

I rolled my eyes but fell silent, and I was every bit as pleased with what he came up with as he held it up for me to see. The white ink wasn't quite as visible as the other pieces against the creamy parchment, and it would be much the same on my skin – far subtler than the other tattoos I had. But I didn't mind that, not really.

I turned around and lifted up my hair, pointing to the back of my neck. The man came around the table to press the paper to the skin there and I asked shortly, "Is it right side up?"

He snorted. "Hey, you think I'd screw this up? I'm pretty sure you're the type who'd come for me in my sleep, and not in a fun way."

"Damn right," I replied, and felt the now familiar tingling pain of the ink burrowing under my skin. The man pulled the parchment away and passed me the compact. I opened it up and angled it so that I could see. The edges were slightly red from the fresh ink but the effect was lovely, dainty, and delicate. The tattoo could be easily hidden by letting my hair down or exposed by pinning it up. The sweeping, delicate design of the lily's petals was actually very complimentary to the slope of my neck, making it look longer and more elegant, and unexpected but not unappreciated side effect.

"How much?" I asked, and he gave me the price, this time knowing that the high price of a tattoo wasn't enough to make me balk. He eagerly collected his Galleons and waved me off. I went, venturing back through Diagon Alley and into the Leaky Cauldron. Tom nodded at me as I approached the fireplace.

"Headmaster Dumbledore's office," I muttered as I pitched in the powder and was whisked away. Dumbledore looked up from his desk as I stepped out of his fireplace and shook ash onto the rug.

"Did you have a successful trip, Miss Potter?" he asked mildly. I nodded and approached his desk, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my receipts, slapping them down on top of the paper he was working on.

"Should have the first mirror ready for you before the week's out," I said bluntly, before turning on my heel and walking out.


	89. Chess Match

_I stood in the middle of a dungeon room, one I'd never seen before, not that it meant much. There were dozens of rooms down in the dungeon that went unused. Empty rooms in the main part of the school were far more popular for secret meetings because the dungeons belonged to Snape and the Slytherins these days. This place was obviously an old classroom, because there was a raised stage at the front of the room. It held not a desk, but a large, wing-backed chair in which a handsome, pale-faced boy lounged, one finger resting parallel to his lower lip, a gold ring glittering in the torchlight. On the floor below him, a group of Slytherins sat in more uncomfortable wooden chairs clustered around him._

 _A small hand wrapped around mine and I looked down in surprise. It was Tom Riddleas I'd first seen him, young, wearing clothes donated to the orphanage, and holding a book far too mature for someone of his age. My heart hammered – this was new. The boy who'd appeared to me while Voldemort possessed me had never before accompanied me in these dreams, it was always just me standing and watching Tom at whatever age he was in the memory, occasionally seeing it through his mind._

" _This was the first time we were in total control," young Tom said, looking at his older self lounging in the chair with an expression of longing. "We were in charge."_

 _The Tom in the chair finally shifted and folded his hands together in his lap._

" _You've all been called here for a reason," Tom said softly. "You share beliefs, beliefs that I too hold, beliefs that should be reality." In a flash, his wand was in his long-fingered hands and being turned over and over in his fingers, the gesture both completely lackadaisical and incredibly intimidating. I could see by the way the eyes of the other boys in the room fixed on the wand warily that they too knew what kind of power Tom held even as young as he was, and that they treated him with wary respect._

" _Those of us with pure bloodlines, whose birthright is the most untainted of magic, are held back by those of our society who are dirtied by Muggle blood," he spat out. "Muggleborns, they take jobs that should rightfully be ours, they marry among our number and pollute us. They are an accident of nature, should be treated as the freaks they are, yet they are considered in some way superior because they_ overcame _their birth." He sneered the word, clear that he thought it was undeserved._

" _What are you getting at, Riddle?" asked one of the boys, and I recognized the clever, dark eyes in his face._

" _I'll tell you what I'm getting at, Nott," Tom said, inclining his head to the boy. "We, my brothers, will leave Hogwarts and all of us are set for greatness in the future. Nott, you have a job in the Ministry waiting for you thanks to your father, as do you, Bulstrode, and you, Parkinson. Malfoy," With a start, I realized that the light-haired boy to Tom's immediate right, a place of special honor, was Draco's grandfather, "you will become the head of one of the most profitable wizarding companies in the world. I like to think my own talents will serve me well." He smiled, his expression smug, completely confident that his talents would open doors._

" _All of us will be in a position of power, a position of wealth, or a position of influence. Some of us, all three," Tom said with a faint upward quirk of his lips, and chuckles spread around the room. "We will be in the position to affect change upon this world, to strike when no one expects it."_

" _Strike?" asked Malfoy, raising an eyebrow._

" _Strike against the current order, against Mudblood-lovers like Dumbledore who would elevate them while pushing we of noble birth down. Against the Mudbloods themselves who would take what is rightfully ours and feel smug for doing it."_

 _The room was tense as they all understood what Tom was proposing. Many of the boys shifted uncomfortably, but it was easy to tell some were already won over. I saw a greedy gleam in Bulstrode's eyes, saw Crabbe and Goyle's ancestors share cocky grins. Some, like Nott and Malfoy, kept their features carefully shuttered, knowing that to betray their opinion one way or another would be to invite judgment from the others in the room who might or might not agree._

 _Malfoy licked his lips. "Riddle," he began. "With all due respect, you say 'we of noble blood'… yet you are not one of us."_

 _Several people looked at Malfoy like they couldn't believe he had the guts to say that._

" _No, you are right to say it, Abraxus," Tom allowed, smiling at him somewhat patronizingly. "My own blood has been polluted. And yet I still say that I come from noble stock, for I am the heir of Slytherin." And with that he gave a strangled hissing noise. He must have stationed them there beforehand, because all of a sudden there were adders crawling from under the furniture shoved back against the walls, through cracks in the stone, some seemingly appearing from out of nowhere. The Slytherin boys whipped their feet up as the floor came alive with writhing bodies._

" _Call them off, Riddle!" yelled Parkinson, who was nearly crouching in his own chair, staring at the floor in horror. "Merlin, call them off, we believe you!"_

 _Tom hissed at the snakes again, telling them to calm down and retreat from the circle of chairs but to stay in place around the room, a silent threat to all of the Slytherins._

" _So it was you who killed Myrtle last year," Malfoy said softly, eyes lingering on the snakes._

 _Tom inclined his head. "An accident, but I cannot regret the loss of a Mudblood." He wasn't even remotely ashamed, although some of the Slytherins were eyeing him in muted states of stunned disbelief. They were shocked both by the fact that he'd killed someone and that he'd admitted to it so easily._

" _I would see my ancestor's desires met," Tom said quietly, so that the boys in the room had to hang on every word, which they did. "Not just at Hogwarts, but the wizarding world at large."_

" _Tom," Nott said slowly. "What you're talking about… will mean war."_

 _Tom sighed. "Yes, change never comes without conflict. We will have to convince those who, like Dumbledore, believe all who have magic are the same, and if they will not be convinced, we will snuff them out."_

 _The vision blurred, the voices no more than scattered words coming through static. The only thing solid was the boy standing next to me. He turned away from the fuzzy form of his future self and looked up at me._

" _They were all made to see the truth," he explained. "I promised them what they all wanted, whether it was power or influence or violence or money or just simple racism. That's how I got them all to follow me. My army, to destroy anyone who would try to disagree with me. Who would try to hurt me…"_

 _The last was said softly, a child's voice instead of an adults. Tom wrapped his free arm around himself tightly and looked at his feet._

" _Power is the only way to make sure that no one can hurt you," he said softly. "If they can't overpower you, then you're in charge. Always."_

 _I looked down at him sadly. "But you're alone. Because then they're not friends, they're pawns."_

" _I don't need friends," Tom continued softly. "I wouldn't dare be that greedy. I just want one… and that's you." He looked up at me happily, a genuine smile on his face, and my heart broke. I was the only friend Tom Riddle had ever had, and I was only friend to a tattered memory of him._

" _Weak!" hissed a voice, and I whipped around. It was Tom Riddle, older, the same age he'd been when he was lording over the other Slytherins. He was glaring at the boy by my side. "You are weak to rely on others to protect you and keep you safe, to love you," he sneered, drawing himself up proudly. "You will learn."_

" _But… but I have her," Tom said, pressing close to me and tightening his grip on my hand. "Just one… that's fine, right?"_

" _No!" his older form shrieked at him, looking half-mad. "Stupid boy! If you let her in, she will hurt you! She will destroy you! She will become a weapon for your enemies to be used against you! She will be the instrument of your destruction!"_

" _N-No she wouldn't…" Ton said, but he was visibly faltering. He looked up at me uncertainly. "Y-You said you wouldn't hurt me."_

 _I nodded to him and looked up, facing down the future Tom Riddle, who looked down his nose at me in return._

" _You will not corrupt this part of yourself!" I proclaimed to him, reaching down. I picked the tiny Tom Riddle up and placed him on my hip, his book crushed between out chests, my arms wrapped around his back and holding him to me firmly. "He is mine to protect, mine to shield! I won't let him become you! I won't let him become Lord Voldemort!"_

 _The Tom standing across from me sneered. "You can't stop me," he hissed, his body shifting, growing taller and thinner, changing into the red-eyed body he inhabited now. "It already happened!" He reached out and swiped for his younger self, trying to tear him away from me. I turned, presenting my back, and his fingers raked like claws through my skin. I collapsed to my knees from the pain, but I kept Tom held tightly to me, shielded. I bowed my head over him, hiding him with my own body._

 _He put his hands on my cheek and smiled at me longingly. "If only I'd had you… Tom Riddle might still be me, and I might still be Tom Riddle."_

* * *

"Hagrid!" I yelled , hammering on the door. "Hagrid, this isn't funny! I'm gonan go hoarse standing out here yelling!"

"Then go back up ter the castle why don't you?"

"Damn it, Hagrid, open the door and let me in or I swear I'll light the roof on fire and smoke you out!"

"I'm a teacher!" The door banged open, revealing Hagrid in a flowery apron with a ruddy red complexion from yelling through the door at me. "Yeh can't threaten me, Potter, or I'll see yeh in detention!"

"Go ahead, who're you gonna give me to that I wouldn't enjoy?" I challenged. Snape was the usual threat, but everybody knew he liked me and therefore wouldn't make me suffer the fate of dewinging beetles or gutting frogs like someone else in detention might have to.

"Filch!" Hagrid said triumphantly, and I scoffed.

"I'll escape in ten seconds. Now come on, let me in, I can explain…"

"Yeah, yeah," Hagrid muttered, but stood aside and let me come in. Fang came charging at me. Years ago he would have knocked me over with a rush like that but I braced myself and managed to stay standing when he reared up and put his paws on my shoulders, licking across my face and undoubtedly doing a number on my makeup.

"It's good to see you too, boy," I cooed, scruffing around his ears before pushing him off. I looked around the cabin as Hagrid stumped past me and lifted off a kettle from inside the fireplace.

"I wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures," I told him as I sat down at the table. Hagrid plunked a mug of tea down in front of me and Fang laid his head in my lap, drooling all over my robes. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some bacon I'd snagged from the breakfast table, tossing it to Fang, who eagerly scampered across the room for it. "But honestly? I don't think I could keep up with the coursework."

"Yeh've never had trouble before," Hagrid grumbled, sitting himself down across from me. I sighed and reached up, rubbing my temples.

"Hagrid, I'm doing a lot this semester. I'm not even playing Quidditch this year," I admitted, and Hagrid's head snapped up.

"But L'rena, yeh love Quidditch!"

"I know, but I don't have time," I explained simply. "Hagrid, I'm doing so much beyond classes this year. I'm brewing for the Order," I informed him at a whisper. "I'm learning Occlumency with Snape, Dumbledore is teaching me wandless magic, I'm still practicing my Animagus transformations, and I'm working on training up a group of students to defend themselves."

"I thought yeh weren't doin' the DA this year?" Hagrid said in confusion, but I shook my head.

"Not the DA, my own group separate from Harry's. Some carefully-selected Slytherins who can be trusted. You see, I've got so much on my plate I just… I didn't want to take Care of Magical Creatures and then do badly in it," I admitted somewhat sheepishly. "I don't care what the Ancient Runes professor thinks of me, but I don't want you to see my grades slip."

Hagrid's eyes softened. "Ah L'rena, knowing' all that, I wouldn' think less of yeh. Yeh're doin' a lot." He patted my hand with his shovel-like one. "It's just… it woulda been nice if one of yeh'd…" Hagrid trailed off, snuffled, and then burst into tears. Alarmed, I laid both of my hands over his worriedly.

"Hagrid, what's wrong?" I demanded in concern. "Is it you? Fang? Something in the forest?"

"It's Aragog!" Hagrid wailed. "He's… he's dyin'!"

My eyes widened. I'd never met Aragog – I hadn't joined Harry and Ron for their little sojourn into the Forbidden Forest back in second year and I didn't want to – but I knew that Hagrid adored the monstrous spider, and I knew that he'd had him since before he was expelled from Hogwarts. Aragog was what got Hagrid expelled in the first place, the creature Tom Riddle had blamed Myrtle's death on even though he couldn't possibly have Petrified a person.

I shuddered at the memory of him and asked, "What do you mean, he's dying? What's wrong with him?"

"He got ill over the summer'n… 'n he's not gettin' better!"

"Do you want me to try?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't offer with everything I had on my plate but also knowing that I'd hate myself if I didn't.

"No, his tribe's gettin' a bit… bit testy since he's gotten ill. I don' think it'd be safe fer yeh to go there now," Hagrid said, and I was guiltily grateful he'd turned me down as he blew his nose into a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase. "Bless yeh fer offerin' though."

"How'd you get Aragog, anyway?" I asked, trying to brighten Hagrid's mood. It worked, he smiled slightly and I watched him get all misty-eyed and far away.

"When I was in school, Pr'fessor Kettleburn invited Newt Scamander ter come and speak ter his class."

"The Next Scamander?" I asked, suddenly feeling incredibly jealous. Newt Scamander was almost a hundred these days and he was slowing down by all reports, didn't go trekking through jungles or boating down the Yangtze looking for creatures. He had pretty much settled in to spend the last few decades of his life with his family.

"Yeah," Hagrid said, and I could see his face glowing. "Pr'fessor Kettleburn had told him about me, see, and after class he asked ter talk teh me. I was terrified," he admitted. "But he said he thought I was just the sort o' person who could handle it, and he gave me Aragog."

"Newt Scamander gave you Aragog?" I repeated slowly, still not quite able to believe it.

"Yeah, great man," Hagrid said throatily, and I knew that it had meant a lot to Hagrid to have a famous wizard treat him like that, show him that degree of respect, when most people saw him as a bumbling oaf, particularly after he'd been expelled.

"Well, have you thought about writing him?" I asked curiously. "He might have some idea what to do for Aragog."

"No!" Hagrid said quickly, shaking his great head. "Great man, Mr. Scamander, don't want ter bother him."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind," I reasoned.

"No, he's made it clear in interviews he wants ter be left alone with his fam'ly these days," Hagrid insisted, shaking his head more vehemently. I nodded like I agreed, but privately I was making a mental note to write Mr. Scamander on Hagrid's behalf as soon as I got back up to the castle. I knew it would break Hagrid's heart to lose Aragog, and I couldn't imagine a man like Mr. Scamander – or his wife, Hazel, who was a nurse and great lover of animals herself – would want to see Aragog die.

"Alright, it was just a thought," I said, patting his hand. "I'm sorry Hagrid, I really am." I glanced at the clock and winced. "And I'm sorry about this too, but I've got to go, I've got a meeting with Dumbledore."

"Go on," Hagrid said, waving his hand at me and blowing his nose with a trumper-like honk. "He probably wants to talk ter yeh about somethin' important."

"I'll try and come down again sometime,' I promised Hagrid, standing up. "And I'll look into it and see if I can find anything that might help Aragog."

"I don't want yeh troublin' yerself, yeh've got enough on yer plate without my trouble too," Hagrid said sternly. I grinned.

"Okay, but I'm still gonna do it."

Hagrid chuckled, and I considered my goal of lightening Hagrid's mood a little a success. "Of course. Go on, I don' want yeh ter be late fer the headmaster."

I bit Hagrid goodbye, scruffed Fang around the ears once more, and headed off towards the castle. The password had changed to Fizzing Whizzbees. I gave the password to the gargoyle and headed up the stairs, knocking on Dumbledore's door.

"Enter," Dumbledore said, and I saw that like last time he'd surrounded the delicate machines in shields in case my wandless magic went wild. I rolled my eyes at the old man's paranoia – it wasn't like I was going to go on a rampage and smash his precious instruments. I strolled up to the chair and sat down in front of Dumbledore, smiling serenely.

"Wanna hear about Tom Riddle?" I asked. Dumbledore had obviously been planning to make me wait, he hadn't even looked up from what he was writing when I walked in and approached his desk, but this had his attention.

"You had another dream?" he asked sharply, and I nodded.

"It was the first time he called all of the Slytherins together and was overt about what he wanted to accomplish – subjugating Mudbloods and Muggles," I explained. "He gathered them all in an empty room down in the dungeons. He knew what they wanted. Whether it was wealth or power or influence or just an excuse to be cruel, he knew," I breathed. "It was amazing, really, the kind of charisma he was capable of."

"And that's all?" Dumbledore asked tartly. "A meeting? Are any of these men still alive for us to target?"

I scowled. I hadn't intended to tell him about the end of my dream, the way both versions of Tom Riddle had addressed me. It was new and personal and no way was it meant for Dumbledore's judging eyes.  
I could see his expression now, like he was just waiting for me to sprout fangs and whip up my sleeve to flash a Dark Mark.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said coldly. "I'll tell the Powers That Be that the dreams I'm getting aren't specific enough for you, shall I?"

"I made this agreement in the hope that you might be able to provide useful information, Miss Potter," Dumbledore countered. "You cannot blame me for being disappointed that you have yet to come up with any."

I shook my head, smiling bitterly. "You're amazing."

Didn't he see that this was important? This was the moment when Tom Riddle fell away and Lord Voldemort was born. A lord was nothing without subjects, and that was the time when he had gathered his subjects around himself and ensured their loyalty. That was the moment he became _Lord_ Voldemort. Without his men, he never would have been able to gain even half the power he'd had last time. He would have just been a madman screaming hatred on the fringes of wizarding society, ignored except to mock. What I had seen last night were the death throes of Tom Riddle.

"I'll try and have more important dreams in the future," I told Dumbledore sarcastically. "In the meantime, you have something to teach me?"

* * *

My lesson with Dumbledore hadn't gone very well after that. He was short and snippy with me, not that I blamed him, seeing as I wasn't terribly polite to him either. He'd passed judgment on how I'd progressed at levitating objects wandlessly, gave me a couple of pointers, and sent me off with an expression that made me certain he was glad to see the back of me.

I trooped down to the apprentice's lab and went in. My bubbling cauldrons along the wall were now up to five. To make sure there were no mistakes, I'd taken to using a removable Sticking Charm with the name of the potion over the cauldron, crossing off steps as I did them. Five cauldrons was a tricky amount to manage, even for me, and I didn't want to have to pitch an entire cauldron of ruined potion.

The one on the end, of murtlap essence, was finished with its stewing by that point, so I doused the fire under the cauldron and dragged over a crate of Stasis vials. I placed a stool by the cauldron, picked up my ladle, and began filling the bottles. I had enough murtlap essence for the bags by the end of this brewing. The antidote to Veritaserum and the Polyjuice would be done by the end of the month. Before the week was out, the antidote to common poisons would be done as well. After that it was a matter of finishing off the Blood-Replenisher, which should only take two more weeks, and then I'd be able to put my emergency kits together.

"Two weeks," I said aloud, and glanced over my shoulder to the counter, where the bag I'd bought and the mirror were sitting among pages and pages of notes and diagrams, as well as designs I'd carefully traced from books to make up for my less than stellar art skills. Within two weeks I needed to have the mirrors and bags finished. The bags weren't hard, it was just a matter of replicating it a couple dozen times and casting the Undetectable Extension Charms. It was the mirrors that would be rough, because there were multiple layers of spell work involved and they had to be made in two separate batches of the Order and my Basilisks might cross streams.

"You smell tired," Silas hissed, winding his way up the leg of the stool, up my leg, and draping himself around my shoulders. He watched, his head resting over my heart, as I slowly and rhythmically bottled the potion and sent the completed ones over to the racks above the counter to be labeled. Sadly, not everyone was as good at potions as I was and I didn't want someone downing murtlap essence to try and heal blood loss.

"I've made ridiculous amounts of potions in the past couple days," I said wearily. "I've also got my enchanting projects to work on. I think I've got an excuse." I groaned aloud and rubbed my forehead. "And I've still gotta made the books for my Basilisks."

"Sure boss, but you know, you won't be of much use to anybody if you work yourself to death," Silas hissed, and I smiled faintly.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," I said, reaching up and stroking the top of his head fondly. "How's Sasha doing?"

"She's been scoping out your old dorm the past couple days," Silas reported. "Says that the Parkinson girl seems happy you're gone. But she's furious about the fact that her father's locked up."

I scoffed. Parkinson's father had been caught at the Ministry just like Draco's. She'd been giving me dirty looks and hissing threats in the hallway since the year started, but she hadn't tried anything yet. Clearly, last year's lesson was still sticking with her, and I smiled proudly at that. Still, there was no guarantee she wouldn't find her courage at some point and try something. I'd have to start wearing stronger Shield charms when I was out in the school.

There was a faint pop and I turned on my stool to see Dobby standing there with Tippy at his side. Dobby was holding a plate of turkey sandwiches and Tippy had a jug of tea and a goblet.

"We's brought Lorena some food!" Dobby said quickly, levitating the tray up towards the counter, but pausing when he saw that it was covered in papers.

"Miss Lorena is very busy!" Tippy said, leaving her load hovering in the air and bouncing up onto the other stool. She began gathering up my notes into neat piles, careful not to get anything out of order, clearing a space for Dobby to set the tray down.

"That's the general consensus," I agreed. "But thankfully I've got a schedule down so that I can half-way keep up with all I'm doing. As long as I focus on something every day, I can keep going."

"Lorena hasn't been eating!" Tippy said, still standing on top of the stool in her tea towel toga. She wagged a finger at me scoldingly, her other hand planted on her hip. "Elfses notice!"

"Lorena likes the food, doesn't she?" Dobby asked, looking horrified with the idea that I might not.

"Oh, of course I do Dobby!" I said quickly. "I love your food, I just don't always have time to eat."

"Lorena must eat!" Tippy said, stomping her foot and making the stool wobble slightly. "Lorena must stay healthy!"

"I'll try and eat more," I promised her, before wincing and adding, "Now please come down from that stool, you're making me nervous you'll fall."

Dobby grinned. "So nice Lorena is, caring about safety of Tippy!"

"Tippy will come down," Tippy said, and clambered down from the stool, nodding her head and making her bat-like ears wag as she did. "Tippy doesn't want to worry Lorena."

"Thank you Tippy," I said gratefully. Tippy nodded and went to the small cot I had jammed in the corner, which was currently a mess of sheets and pillows. Tippy clucked her tongue and snapped her fingers and the bed began to make itself. I winced as the house elf gave me a pointed look.

"I know, I know, I'll try and take better care of myself," I said quickly before I could get another lecture.

"And Silas too!" Dobby announced. "Hilly tried to send an egg for Silas, but Lorena says Silas is getting fat. Dobby stopped her!" he said proudly.

"Egg-block," Silas hissed at him in annoyance. I patted his head to calm him.

"It's for your own good, you know, or soon you won't be able to get in the pipes," I scolded him. "You're getting spoiled." Silas snapped teasingly at my fingers.

The door to the lab suddenly opened and Draco stepped inside.

"Hey phoenix, I think I'm a bit early but you never said… a… time…" He trailed off at the sight of Dobby in his outlandish amalgamation of clothes and Tippy, who was standing supervisor over my bed as the pillows fluffed themselves and then settled in place. Silas was frozen pretending to wrap around my throat and choke me.

"I can come back?" he said uncertainly.

"You're fine," I assured him. "I've just got to finish bottling murtlap essence and we can play."

"Eat!" Tippy urged from her post by my bed. "Lorean must eat!"

"I'll eat, Tippy, I swear," I said, throwing up my hands in exasperation. I looked at Draco, who was still looking cagily at Dobby, who was just as uncomfortable. "You want anything before they go?"

"N-No I ate," he said, shaking his head. "Er… hello Dobby," he greeted, and I smiled. A few years ago he would have just shoved Dobby aside and strolled in, but now he was making an actual effort to try and be nice to him. It might have just been for my sake, but I liked to believe that he'd actually grown up.

"Hello ex-Master Malfoy," Dobby greeted quietly. "Is you well?"

"I is – _am_ – well," Draco corrected, and I smothered a laugh. Sometimes after having a conversation with the house elves I found myself mimicking their speech patterns as well. It was good to know I wasn't the only one.

"Good," Dobby said, nodding and smiling happily. "Dobby is glad. Dobby and Tippy will leave Lorena to her guestses."

"One more thing before you go," I said quickly before they could Disapparate away. "How's Kreacher?"

Tippy sighed and Dobby shook his head.

"Kreacher is very upset with Lorena," Tippy explained, fisting the ends f=of her tea towel in her spindly fingers. "He says Lorena is not good Mistress. He calls…" She gulped and shook her head frantically. "Tippy can't say those things to Lorena!"

"What does he all me, Tippy?" I urged. "I want to know. And it's not you saying them, I've just asked you to repeat them. I know you don't mean them."

"Tippy doesn't, Tippy doesn't!" Tippy agreed. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes as if bracing herself, and then yelled, "Kreacher says Lorena is terrible mistress and Mudblood-lover and blood traitor and Kreacher says Lorena is shame to her last name and Kreacher says he hopes for-" she hiccoughed "-he hopes for clothes!" She clapped her hands over her mouth miserably and shook her head.

"Kreacher says terrible things about Lorena," Dobby said, and for the first time since I'd known him he actually seemed angry. "Dobby tells him to stop, but he doesn't. Dobby tells him Lorena is good mistress and Kreacher is very lucky, but Kreacher doesn't listen."

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, not sure what else I'd expected.

"Alright, thank you both, you're free to get back to your chores. Thank you for the food," I said, and Dobby nodded, taking Tippy's arm. She was still shaking from repeating Kreacher's words as they Disapparated.

"Never a dull moment, is there?" Draco said slowly, moving further in the room. "Oh, and _how_ did you get a house elf, by the way?"

"In inherited Black House in London," I explained wearily. "Kreacher, sadly, came with the property. I sent him to Hogwarts to work. Set up the board it you want," I added. "I've just got to finish bottling the murtlap essence."

Draco nodded and picked up the chessboard from where it was sitting on top of my trunk. I left it out to be ready when he showed up. He set the board on the last little bit of clear space on the counter and poured the pieces out of the bag and onto the board. Animated, they immediately began scurrying to the appropriate places, with only a minor scuffle between a couple of pawns as to what color was going on which side. Their kings quickly separated them and the knights herded them into place with their swords.

"What is this?" Draco asked, and I looked around, peering at the papers he'd picked up. I saw the outline of the mirror I'd drawn and realized what he was looking at.

"Oh, that? Communication method," I said absently as I bottled more murtlap essence. I swore if I never had to brew another batch of the stuff it would be too soon. Sweet Merlin, but I was getting sick of dealing with murtlap tentacles.

"Communication," Draco repeated slowly. "How?"

"Eh? Oh, the spells on the side explain," I said, waving a hand dispassionately as I continued to work over the cauldron. "You say a name and it 'calls' the person. That one in red ink will make it heat up in the person's pocket so they know. The thing at the bottom took me ages, I had to work out a derivative of the flesh memory spell used on Snitches so that the mirrors would be tied to a specific person and no one else can use them. It's a bit tricky, as I'll have to wear gloves to move them after they've been enchanted, but it should beat anyone using a glamour or Polyjuice."

Draco looked from the paper to me with his jaw loose and his eyes wide. He shook his head, smirking faintly, and asked, "Have I ever told you that you're brilliant?"

"You could stand to mention it more," I said smugly as I finished stoppering the last bottle and sent it flying to the rack on the wall with a wave of my wand. I cleaned the cauldron with a spell and straightened up, stretching out the kinks in my back from sitting hunched over the cauldron too long. My spine cracked and I sighed in pleasure as Draco made a face.

"Eat," he said firmly when I sat down beside the board and ignored the food. "Don't disappoint the house elves."

"Yes mum," I replied cheekily, picking up a sandwich in one hand and a pawn in the other hand. Draco had given me white, and the first move. He was sweet. He was going to crush me, but the gesture was appreciated.

"You really have moved in down here, haven't you?" Draco asked, looking around at the bed and my trunk, the bookshelf that was starting to sag a little under the stress. I nodded, taking a bite of my sandwich and hastily swallowing as Draco directed his pawn forwards.

"It's safer for me here, as you, me, and Snape are the only ones who know the password. And Dumbledore, probably," I added after a second thought. "But Silas would let me know if he came in." I fed Silas a bit of turkey skin. "Pawn to G4."

My pawn slid forwards as Draco looked at the serpent still draped around my shoulders and hissed a greeting. His hello was a little forced, with an odd stutter to it halfway through, but it was distinguishable for what it was.

"You did it, boss!" Silas said proudly. "Give him five years and he might be able to say it right."

I flicked the snake in the nose in rebuke and nearly got bit for my troubles. I fed him another bit of skin as an apology and Silas settled his head against my chest again, contented.

"What just happened?" Draco asked blankly. "Pawn to B4. I didn't catch any of that."

"You wouldn't have," I told him. "Silas was just congratulating me on figuring out how to teach Parseltongue."

"Not all I said," Silas huffed from around my neck. I gave him a pointed look and raised an eyebrow and he fell quiet without a treat this time.

"He's starting to get a bit too big for his skin," I informed Draco in English. I glanced at the adder fondly. "But I do love him."

"Do you take him with you over holiday?" Draco asked curiously, and I snorted, shaking my head.

"Oh, Merlin no. My aunt Petunia won't even let domesticated animals in her house, much less a snake."

"You never had a pet?" Draco asked curiously.

"No," I admitted, shaking my head. "Dudley got a turtle for Christmas once and through it through the roof of the greenhouse. Someone saw and took it away, not that the prick really missed it. That was the last time there was anything close to a pet in our house."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the mention of Dudley. He knew that Dudley used to hit Harry and I, though these days he was too terrified to. "I need to meet this cousin of yours, one day."

"That's sweet," I cooed, putting a hand over his. "But don't go getting sent to Azkaban for hexing Muggles on my account, okay sweetheart?"

"Draco mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like, "I'd only hex him a little," before clearing his throat and calling, "Knight to G4."

I cursed as a pawn I'd forgotten about was taken, the first piece lost in the game. Draco swept the pieces from the board smugly.

"You always did forget the pawns on your right," he recalled. "Which is weird, because you're right-handed."

"And you still like using your knights to attack from behind your front line," I grumbled, dropping my chin in my palm and surveying the board. I smirked as I considered. "Maybe after all this is over I will take you to meet the Muggles. After all, you're mine, you should meet my family at some point."

"The way you said that makes me think you plan for it not to be the most civilized of meetings," Draco commented absently as he waited for me to make my move.

"Oh, I hope not," I replied with a grin, and prodded a bishop out onto the field.

We played two games, and Draco predictably won both of them. I'd improved since first year, obviously, but I still wasn't good enough to really play Draco. He'd been doing this since he was in diapers and I was still a relatively novice player, considering I hadn't had the chance to play regularly in… well, pretty much since the last time we'd gotten along and used to play each other.

"You've gotten better," Draco judged as he stood up, preparing to leave for the night. He raised his eyebrows and smirked self-importantly, "Not good enough to beat me, though."

"Watch it, or I'll take back what I said about you having matured," I threatened teasingly. Draco caught my hand in his, pulling me closer. The gesture seemed without thought, so easily did I find myself drawn to his side, and I found myself struck once again by just how crazy this would have seemed even a year ago.

"You were right," Draco muttered, his face buried in my hair. "I did need this. Thank you, phoenix."

"No problem," I assured him, humming happily as he nuzzled at the red strands. "Consider it a standing offer for Sunday night chess games. While you're in here, it's just us. No war, no Dark Lord, no Order. Just you and me."

"Perfect," Draco breathed, and placed a finger under my chin, bringing me up to his level for a goodbye kiss. I went happily, rising onto my toes to meet him. "Oh, and by the way," he murmured against my lips.

"What?"

"I expect one of those amazing mirrors of yours," Draco said, sniggering slightly. I drew back and scowled, unamused.

"You're only using me for my brain, aren't you?" I demanded, and he continued to laugh.

"Well, you're only using me for potions ingredients," Draco countered.

"It's good to know our relationship is mutually beneficial." I asked with a snort.

"Isn't it though?"

I sent Draco off with a last kiss and a wave and called Dobby to take the dishes back to the kitchen. I cleared the chess set away and left my notes sitting out. I should have just enough time between classes and dinner tomorrow to get the mirrors engraved and spelled. From there it would be a matter of dumping them in bags and setting them aside in groups for the Basilisks and the Order. Once the potions were finished brewing at the end of the month, I'd have the bags ready to go.

I changed into my pajamas and settled into bed with Silas curled up under the covers by my feet for warmth. I heard Sasha slide out of a hole in the wall and join him as I flicked my wand and turned the lights off. For the first time in a long time, I went to bed satisfied with the day.


	90. Injuries and Intruders

I didn't have long to bask in a satisfied night's sleep. It seemed like only a moment later, there was a tiny hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake.

"Mph, what?"

"Miss Potter, Miss Potter!"

The voice was the familiar squeak of a house elf, but this particular squeak seemed more familiar than most. I fumbled for my glasses and shoved them onto my face, picking up my wand and lighting the tip.

"Hilly?" I said blearily as I recognized the house elf. "Whazzit?"

"Hospital Madam says Miss Potter must come!" Hilly cried nervously. "Master of Potions is hurt!"

"Master of-?" For a moment I wondered why in the hell I was being woken up at midnight for Slughorn, but then it clicked. Not Slughorn, Snape, and I was awake immediately. A feeling like ice ran down my spine and I threw off the covers, terrified but trying to be calm. Who knew what sort of state Snape would be in? Was the conscious? What had happened to him? Cruciatus? A beating? Something worse? Was he poisoned? Was it Voldemort, or one of the other Death Eaters?

My mind was spinning out of control and I had to bring it in, I knew that. Scolding myself – Snape was the one who taught me Occlumency, the last I could do was use it to keep my head so I could help him – I stood up and stretched out my hand to Hilly.

"Take me," I ordered, and Hilly nodded, clasping my hand tightly between hers. We Disapparated and reappeared in the Hospital Wing. There was only one bed occupied, at the far end of the ward, where I could see Madam Pomfrey bustling to and fro over a bundle of black cloth. I sprinted the full length of the ward to stand by Madam Pomfrey's side and stared down in horror at my potions master.

Snape's face was paler than normal, sweaty and clammy like he was running a fever. By the way his jaw was clenched and his eyes were shut tight, I could tell it was pain, not sickness. The horrible sound of grinding teeth could be heard as he fought the pain. The lines on his face seemed deeper with his feature's contorted like this. Every few seconds, his muscles seemed to seize and release and I recognized with a horrible swoop in my stomach the muscle spasms that was an after effect of the Cruciatus.

Added to that was the fact that Madam Pomfrey had stripped off the many layers that usually covered his torso. I'd never seen my Potions professor with seemingly less than four layers covering him, and now I knew why – it was a psychological defense. The more layers he wore, the less likely it was that someone would see what was underneath, and I could see why he might want to keep that hidden.

There was thin, and then there was _thin_. Snape was the second kind, the kind I used to be, that came from malnutrition, which made no sense, because he ate regularly at mealtimes. The house elves wouldn't have stood for anything else. I could count his ribs, and more than that, I could have fit my fingers in the hollows between them. There was only a sparse spray of hair across his chest, which was somehow even paler than the rest of him.

What shocked me most were the scarring and the wounds. Snape's chest was a mass of scars. There were the thin, silvery marks that had come from long ago and nearly blended in with the rest of his skin. There were starbursts of mottled skin that came from spell burns. Newer wounds were ropes of purplish-pink scar tissue. These marks covered his chest and stomach, and I had a horrible feeling his back was probably worse. There were silvery circles on his arms that I knew with a surge of rage came from the tip of a cigarette. The Dark Mark laughed at me from his forearm. Overlaid over all of this was a smattering of bruises and a large, fresh cut across his chest that was undoubtedly the reason Pomfrey had stripped his clothes off – to get at it.

"Potter!" Pomfrey snapped, and realized I'd been standing there staring dumbly. At the sound of my name, Snape's eyes opened a slit to focus fuzzily on me. They snapped shut again as another seize hit him and his teeth ground together more as he fought the pain.

Pomfrey grabbed my shoulders and turned me to look at her square in the face. Her eyes met mine and I knew that it was now or not at all as she asked intently, "Can you handle it?"

Could I? I'd been frozen in shock at first, but that was because I hadn't expected it, didn't know what I was looking at. Now I did – Snape was hurt, he needed help, and no one, particularly not Poppy Pomfrey, was going to stop me from helping him. Snape would never believe that anyone cared about him just because they said so. Actions, that's how he communicated. Well, I'd said it before, but here was the chance for me to prove it.

"I can," I said determinedly, and Pomfrey's eyes sparked with pride.

"Then run and fetch me some dittany and some Blood Replenisher."

I nodded and turned on my heel, running for the potions cupboard. Madam Pomfrey, thankfully, was nearly as anal about the organization of her potions as I was, and I was able to find the right bottles after only a second of looking. I snatched a vial of each and headed back to the bed, holding the vials out to Madam Pomfrey.

"Here you are, Severus," Pomfrey said, taking the dittany and nodding to Snape, clearly urging me to give him the Blood-Replenisher. "We'll have you patched up in no time." Pomfrey began to drip the dittany onto the cut across Snape's chest. I watched with half and eye as it smoked and bubbled. The layers of skin and muscle that had been separated as cleanly as if by a scalpel drew back together and became covered in another length of scar tissue that stood out against the hard, bony angles of his chest.

"Come on sir," I urged, unstoppering the bottle and bringing it to his lips. "Drink it all."

Snape obligingly unlocked his jaw and parted his lips. His eyes slit open and I thought I saw a bit of pink show in the pained pallor of his cheeks. He was embarrassed to have me see him like this, and I didn't blame him. I'd have been embarrassed too if things were reversed.

"Regret trying to learn mediwizardry yet?" Snape asked after he swallowed the potion with a grimace. His voice was shockingly rough and hoarse. He'd been screaming, and I had to fight not to see Parkinson's sneering face looming over me or feel the phantom of the Cruciatus prickling under my skin.

"Hell no," I replied bluntly, pulling the bottle away from his mouth and setting it on the bedside table. I looked up at Madam Pomfrey expectantly. She was running her wand over his torso, healing up the bruising and scrapes with murmured spells as she worked up from his stomach and then down his arms. "What's next?" I asked expectantly. "What do we do about the Cruciatus?"

"Nothing," Snape croaked, staring at the ceiling, and I looked from him back to Pomfrey in horror. She nodded at me sadly.

"Nothing?" I demanded incredulously. "What do you mean, nothing, you're _shaking_ sir!"

"An unavoidable side-effect," was the weary response as Snape closed his eyes tiredly. He looked twice his age as his body loosened and he seemed to fade into the bed a bit. "Nothing to be done."

"The Cruciatus has always been intended to cause pain," Madam Pomfrey explained to me softly. "Most who want to cause pain aren't terribly interested in mopping up the aftereffects. No after care spell was ever invented when it was in vogue, and rare as it is in civilized society now, I doubt one ever will be."

"But he _can't stop shaking!"_ I repeated, because Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to understand that if Snape was in a shape like this than a normal person would have been screaming. The potions master could take more than any ordinary person could hope to bear and keep their sanity intact, but even he was struggling with the pain. It made me afraid, to see him like that.

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to respond, but Snape stopped her.

"Leave us, Madam. I'll talk to her."

Madam Pomfrey looked at him sternly. "You should be resting…" she said pointedly, but Snape shook his head.

"There is no rest for the wicked, I believe that's how the saying goes."

Madam Pomfrey's mouth puckered, both at the words and at being sent off, but she knew, just like anyone who'd spent any kind of time in his presence, that Severus Snape was not a man to be argued with once he'd set his mind on something.

"I'll be coming back with Dreamless Sleep," she warned, before moving off, drawing the curtains behind her as she left. Immediately, I drew up the chair next to Snape's bed and sat down, looking him over and trying my damnedest not to seem affected by all the damage he had suffered.

"How do you do it, sir?" I breathed. "Why?"

"There is another popular saying, I believe. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"The hell with them!" I said viciously. "None of them know what you're going through for their sake! They treat you with hatred and disdain and you're… you're…" I choked on the words, but they managed to make their way past the tightness of my throat. "You're dying, sir." I was horrified to realize that I had tears building in my eyes.

Snape's thin lips curved up in a humorless smirk. "You noticed?"

"Sir, you can't hold weight," I said, gesturing to his bare torso. "You eat, I know you do."

"The Cruciatus curse has damaged my nerves… the beatings, my organs. There's only so much magic can heal when the same injury is inflicted over and over."

"And you… The _scars_ …"

"Scars are nothing but what you let them be," Snape countered. "You know that better than most, Potter."

"But sir." My voice was agonized, I'd never heard myself sound like this before. "It's not just physical. What you're doing to yourself. Your mind, I… how much more can you _take?"_

"Long enough to see the Dark Lord fall," Snape replied, looking up at the ceiling. One hand curled against the sheets under him and I quickly drew my wand, casting a spell so that the sheet appeared on top of him instead of below. His muscles were still clenching against his will, I could see them coil and release under his skin, but the sheet covered up to his collarbones, hiding the worst of the damage. He seemed thankful for the return of at least one layer.

"And after that?" I challenged, and Snape remained worryingly quiet, simply closing his eyes as if the effort of keeping them open wasn't worth it anymore. He let out a sigh and I pressed, feeling my stomach drop to the dungeons. "Sir?"

"I don't expect that will be much of a concern," he answered softly, and I understood immediately what he meant. He wouldn't be here after the war. He fully intended to die, to give his life for the cause. He was fighting, hurting, bleeding, dying, for a world that he believed he would never see. The absolute sacrifice that my professor was willing to make staggered me. I felt humbled, and horrified.

"No," I said raggedly. "No, you will survive this war."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer, but he didn't open his eyes. "You've always been a realist, Potter, don't pick now to try out optimism."

"It's not optimism!" I snarled, and lunged out of the chair, grabbing Snape's shoulder and leaning over him in the hospital bed. His eyes sprang open and he looked at me in shock. A faint flicker of pain crossed his features as I felt the muscles in his shoulder curl and relax under my hands, but I didn't ease up. Not now.

"If I have to walk through the veil in the Department of Mysteries and drag your ass back from the afterlife, _you. Will. Survive,"_ I growled down at the man in the bed. "After all you've given up… all you've sacrificed… all you've had etched into your skin… all the hatred you've had to endure… You will live to see a world where you are called the hero that you are, Severus Snape, or I'll take Voldemort's place and tear the world down for what it's done to you."

Snape's expression was some mix between pain, disbelief, softness, and anger.

"Miss Potter?"

I let go of Snape and whipped around. Madam Pomfrey was there, staring at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression on her face. She had heard, the last of it at least, and doubtless she wasn't entirely thrilled with what she'd heard. The Slytherin mask came easily and I sneered at the matron.

"Don't tell Dumbledore I said that, alright? He'll get twitchy," I scoffed, and turned on my heel, striding from the infirmary.

* * *

The two adults watched the Hospital Wing door swing shut with a bang as Lorena Potter stormed from the Hospital Wing, gone in a wave of flaming hair and a flashing of emerald eyes. Madam Pomfrey stared after her, wondering if in all her years she'd ever had to treat a patient with quite the resilience of the girl… then she recalled who was lying in the bed next to her.

When she looked over, she saw Severus Snape staring at the door with an inscrutable expression on his face. To anyone else, his expression would have been one of boredom, but Poppy Pomfrey had been treating this man since he was eleven years old. She'd watched him build his walls, so she knew how to get around them to see the absolute adoration he felt for the girl who'd just stalked out, as well as the disbelief and discomfort that he'd managed to inspire such fierce loyalty.

"Let it never be said that Lorena Potter misses an opportunity to be dramatic," Snape murmured, before letting his head rest back against the pillow.

Pomfrey would have quite liked to hit the man before her around the head and shoulders with her apron, but he was healing, and it wouldn't be right. So instead she settled for giving the frame of his bed a good kick and jostling him around a bit.

"You are an absolute dingbat," she announced, and was rewarded with a bemused look.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Not pardoned!" she replied, knowing full well how childish she was being. "That girl adores you, Severus, she worships the ground you walk on-"

"-then she has very poor taste in idols."

Pomfrey kicked his bed again. "You really think that a girl as bright as her would admire someone who wasn't worth it?"

"I am no hero, Poppy," Snape said warningly, narrowing his eyes. She rolled hers in reply.

"Unless they've changed the definition in the past couple years, yes, you are. She sees it, I see it, so would half the Order if they'd get their heads out of their cauldrons for long enough to pay attention!"

Snape sneered, predictably. "As if any of them go near a cauldron."

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at him. "You're deflecting."

"Prove it," he countered, and closed his eyes. Pomfrey threw up her hands helplessly. There had never been much point in arguing with Severus Snape, and that continued to be true.

"You have spent so many years trying to keep that girl safe," she continued, because if she wouldn't talk _to_ him, she could certainly talk _at_ him. He was trapped in a hospital bed for the next few hours. "She desperately wants to return the favor and do the same for you."

Snape's eyes sprang open and a fierce protectiveness, the kind Pomfrey had never before seen, washed over him. "She will not get anywhere _near_ what I deal with in this war."

Pomfrey shook her head. "As if you could stop her, Severus," she said, shaking her head and chuckling fondly. "She wants so desperately to help you bear your load and-"

"It's mine to carry."

"-Maybe you should let her," she continued, undaunted. Snape shook his head and she caught the hastily-smothered flicker of pain as his neck gave a loud crack at the motion. "You told her that you intend to leave, the one person she's always been able to rely on and come to. You told her to plan your funeral, Severus." She sighed. "How did you _think_ she would react?"

And then, because it was far easier to walk away and let him think on what she'd said than to sit there and try to convince him she was right, Pomfrey set down the vial of Dreamless Sleep on the nightstand by his bed and walked away.

* * *

 _Dear Lorena,_

 _Bless you my child, because you're doing a hell of a lot better than I ever did in school. I could barely manage to keep my assignments caught up, and you're doing that and more. Of course, I couldn't schedule my way out of a paper bag either, so that probably helps. I have to say, I'm impressed with all you're managing to find the time to do. You're eating and sleeping right? Ah, never mind, stupid question, Severus will make sure of that._

 _I know he's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. What are his classes like? Having met him personally, I can't imagine he's going any easier on you just because he's finally teaching a subject he's like. Honestly I don't think I would have been able to survive him if he'd been my teacher. I got through school by pulling the 'poor blind girl' excuse and my teachers lapped it up._

 _What you told me about his trip to the Hospital Wing… I knew something had gone wrong. I always do, you know. I woke up in the middle of the night the other night with this horrible hole in my gut. I thought something had happened to you. I sat down and dictated the beginnings of a dozen letters, but I didn't finish any of them. I convinced myself I was being paranoid. Apparently I wasn't, was I? There's a first time for everything._

 _You've told me before about this Cruciatus curse, and I can't understand how a person could suffer it as many times as he apparently has. The scars you described to me… you and I both have our share, and none of them were gained just from falling off our bikes and skinning our knees. But to have that much pain etched in your skin… It turns my stomach, I've got to say._

 _In your last letter, you said you were worried about your Draco. Don't be…. Well yes, do be, but don't let it consume you. When you let the worrying creep up behind you, it'll wash over you and drag you down before you know it. He needs support right now, not a mother hen, and it sounds like that's what you're doing thus far. Good for you. You really are a mature girl, and I'm not just saying that because I'm biased. You're being exactly what that boy needs, and if he's worth your time, he'll do the same for you._

 _I'm proud of you, you know. The highlight of my day is when I get a letter from you and I can sit and listen. I feel like I know half your Basilisks by now. I want to meet them someday, but I know that's impossible. Eh, what's life without a few pipe dreams? You're doing right by them, and I know it might feel like a lot sometimes, but you're doing good, honey, you really are. So many people would have been drowning by now, but you're keeping your head above water. You haven't ignored it, and you haven't devolved into a gooey puddle of fear. You're standing tall and doing what you can, and that's all anyone can possibly ask of you._

 _I'd tell you more about my time here, but honestly, it's not half as interesting as what's going on in your world. I sold a truly alarming amount of yarn to an old lady who reeked of cats. I helped explain how to make chain-maille to a neurotic who makes jewelry to calm down. One of my cousins is coming to town to visit an old friend from college and intends to stay with me – joy. Somehow, none of this sounds as exciting as teaching an underground society a heretofore unwritten language._

 _Love,_

 _Amity_

I grinned as I stuffed the letter back into the pocket of my robes and pushed open the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The Basilisks had all gathered and I called out a command to the sinks. They began to grind back and down, opening up the pipe that led down into the Chamber. I did it without thought these days, leaping down into the yawning mouth. The first time we'd been down there, people had been yelling in fear and staggering out of the pipe. Now people laughed and whooped as they soared down the shaft and hopped up easily from the end of the pipe.

We made our way along the tunnels and into the Chamber proper. I grinned as I took up my usual spot at the front of the room by the statue of Slytherin and looked around.

"Before we get started," I called, and all eyes turned to me. I saw Daphne raising an eyebrow at me from where she stood between Nott and Blaise. The former's eyes were lingering on the bag I had swinging loosely in my hand.

"We need a way to talk outside of here, and I don't just mean outside the Chamber, I mean outside of school," I began, pulling open the neck of the drawstring bag. I pointed my wand inside and muttered a spell. Like they were on wires, a line of mirrors with a coiled basilisk etched into the top paraded out of the bag and into the air, hanging in front of my various students. They watched them come, glittering in the light of the lanterns soaring overhead.

"Go ahead, take them," I urged, and they all reached out and pulled the mirrors from midair. The mirrors flashed with green magic the moment their fingers made contact.

Blaise opened his mirror and stared into it. He patted his hair mockingly before looking up and me and squealing, "Hey Potter, is my mascara running?"

I smirked and pulled my own mirror out of my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up to my face. "I don't know, _Blaise_ , is mine?" I asked.

Blaise scowled in confusion. "What? I-" I waved into my mirror and the movement in his own caught his eye. He jumped in surprise. "Whoa!"

"These mirrors are now keyed specifically to you," I explained as everyone began to open their mirrors and peer inside curiously. "No one else will be able to use them. They've been enchanted to call other mirrors in the web. All you have to do is say the name of the person you want to call and they'll appear. The person you're contacting will feel their mirror heat up to let them know someone wants to talk."

"Wicked," breathed Fairclough, nudging Sherburne and grinning.

"These aren't to be used for conversations during class," I told them, looking pointedly at the two fourth years, who grinned apologetically back. "They were pretty annoyingly complicated to make, and you get them confiscated, fair warning, I will hex your knees backwards, don't think I won't."

"This is a brilliant little bit of magic," Nott observed. "Have you applied for a patent?"

I rolled my eyes. "Amongst the eleven hundred other things I have to do, no I haven't had time. I'm not overly concerned, to be honest, because if I find out someone's stolen my idea I know exactly which sneaky sods to come for." I glared around at all of them suspiciously, drawing laughs from the crowd.

"You mean snaky," Sherburne quipped, drawing more laughs.

"So we can talk to each other during the summer?" Molly asked, seeming fascinated by the mirror. "Face to face?"

"Exactly," I approved. "Hopefully, this will help with your projects too. If you find something you think would help another person doing homework or working on your own research, call them up and give them a reference. If something's going on and you need help, call someone and we'll come running.

"And speaking of your personal projects," I said, and reaching into my bag again, bobbing my eyebrows. "Christmas isn't over quite yet, kids, Potter Claus still has more gifts."

Blaise gagged. "Please never call yourself that again."

"Noted," I agreed over the laughter as I reached into the bag up to my elbow and began to move around to everybody, passing out the completed books. I'd finished them just before I came, which was why I hadn't gotten to Amity's letter until just now. The Basilisks took the books with the same symbol as on the mirror pressed into the front of the leather, murmuring curiously.

"Are you going to engrave everything you give us?" Daphne asked drily as she paged through it.

"Hey, I went through the trouble of learning a spell to press images into material, I'm going to get my money's worth," I huffed. "Now, if you'll open it up to the table of contents, you'll see your names and the projects you've been working on. And if you go from there…"

"These are all our notes!" Chastity exclaimed excitedly as she turned to her page, and Emilia hastily flipped to look as well.

"Exactly," I said, nodding approvingly. "All of the material you gave me, I've compiled and put together in this book. There's a sheet just behind the Table of Contents that explains how to use it as far as spells go. It'll never run out of pages or get any thicker. The instructions will tell you how to add a sheet to your section. Anything you write or do in your copy of the book will appear in everyone else's. They're linked, like the mirrors. And at the back of everyone's section there's a comment page. Anything you think of, any reference material you find, any ideas you come up with, you can write them in and initial them as yours."

Nott stepped forward, turning to his page in the book and presenting it to me. "It's left something out here."

I blinked and stared at him. "Hey, I put in everything you guys gave me. It's up to you to keep it up to date. And please do," I added sternly, giving everyone a once-over.

"I've found a combination of symbols to press into the gold that I think will work," Nott announced, and there was a hint of unquenchable pride glowing in his eyes. He beckoned with his free hand and Emilia and Chastity hustled forwards, grinning like loons.

"And we found the spell we're going to need to press the shapes in!" Chastity explained, bouncing on her toes in excitement. "We can do it!"

Blaise started up a round of applause for the first truly completed project we'd had come through the group, and the sound echoed around the Chamber, interspersed with some cheers and hollers. Chastity and Emilia flushed proudly and Nott subtly glanced back at Daphne, glowing when he saw that she was clapping as enthusiastically as Blaise.

"In that case, before we get to our Parseltongue, everybody hand your rings over to Nott before we go so he and the girls can get them engraved." I gave Daphne a pointed look. "See, I'm not the only one decorating everything!" She rolled her eyes in response and joined the mob swarming Nott, Emilia, and Chastity to congratulate them and hand over their rings.

"You look like a proud mother," Draco whispered in my ear, moving to my side. I looked down at my hands. Sirius and Remus's ring glittered on my left hand, the basilisk scale on my right. Soon, the later would be etched with the work of three of my little snakes. I swelled at the thought. I was proud of them.

"I am," I admitted, and he smiled. While everyone was distracted, he wrapped an arm around my waist under my robes and pressed a quick kiss to my temple.

"You really built something here, phoenix. You should be proud," he whispered into my hair before retracting and moving to hand over his ring.

Pride wasn't the word to describe it, I mused as I watched by Basilisks hand over their rings for etching. There was so much more than that. I felt a pang in my gut as I realized that I'd built what Slytherin was always meant to be – a place where ambition and development were encouraged. A place of unwavering loyalty. I didn't have any doubt that, should it come down to it most of my Basilisks would step in front of the others to block a spell. I could see Sherburne stepping up to defend Daphne, or Blaise whipping out his wand to help Molly. They had become the loyal little nest of vipers, feeding off the ideas and innovations of each other and growing stronger.

"Alright!" I said, shooting off a couple of green and silver sparks from my wand to silence the chatter. "Back to work, we can pat Nott and the girls on the back and tell them they're brilliant later."

"Now and later would be acceptable," Nott commented mildly.

I rolled my eyes and began to instruct them on the newest set of words and phrases. Today we were doing 'come to me' and 'go away.' I stood in front of the group and hissed the words a few times so that they could hear them. I pointed out the key features of the hisses, the ups and downs and lilts, and left them to practice, walking around among them to correct pronunciation.

"Drag out that last sound," I warned Blaise as I walked past, before approaching Sherburne and Fairclough and giving them the accented version of the words for them to practice so that they could hear it. The boys nodded at me gratefully and started hissing back and forth, their words a little more lyrical than the others but still obviously the same word, even a not naturally born Parseltongue.

"Potter," Daphne said, hailing me as I walked past, grinning faintly.

"Yeah?"

"Tell him that his intonation is off," Daphne huffed, nodding at Nott pointedly. He rolled his eyes.

"It's _fine_ , Greengrass."

"Hiss for me," I ordered, and contemplated somewhere in the back of my head how strange it was that the sentence actually made sense. Nott rolled his eyes once more and hissed, and I had agree with Daphne.

"The word sort of curls up at the end," I tried to explain, and hissed it out myself, making the shift in pitch more dramatic to call attention to it. "And it's less an S sound, more of an… aggressive H."

"What does an 'aggressive H' sound like?" Blaise sniggered. I reached over and whapped him around the head, drawing a laugh from Draco before turning back to Nott. He hissed, and I nodded approvingly.

"There you go," I congratulated him. I nudged Nott in the side with an elbow teasingly. "You'll be getting all the adders soon."

"Joy," Nott commented mildly, before turning back to a rather smug-looking Daphne. "I was just thinking I had a severe lack of poisonous reptiles in my life…"

"Potter," said a sharp voice suddenly, and I turned around in surprise as all hissing suddenly stopped. Fairclough was staring towards the entrance to the Chamber, a scowl on his face and one hand raised and pointing. I whipped around and my eyes widened when I saw Harry standing there, looking befuddled. As always, he was flanked by a twitchy-looking Ron and Hermione, who was shrinking behind the other two boys in fear of the nest of snakes.

"Harry," I greeted slowly. I knew he could get in here, of course, but as far as I knew he'd never had any desire to come back down here after the incident second year. I didn't blame him, after all. He'd been poisoned by a basilisk here. "What are you doing here?"

Harry gestured vaguely behind himself, eyes slowly roving over the assembled Slytherins. His eyes narrowed when they got to Malfoy, of course, and widened in surprise at my three younger girls.

"I heard hissing through the pipes. Lots of it. I didn't know… what I was hearing… We came to check…"

I stepped closer, standing between my brother and the basilisks. I heard them move behind me, clumping together and turning to present an entirely united front against the Gryffindors who'd intruded on our space - a combined force ready to back me up. I didn't mind Harry being down here, not really. But Hermione and Ron? They had no business here. Particularly Granger.

"We were practicing Parseltongue," I replied calmly, watching Harry closely. "I've been teaching my Basilisks."

"This is them, then?" Ron interjected rudely. "Your snake pit?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Ron, get out before we throw you out. You shouldn't be here. And take Hermione with you. She doesn't belong here."

"I have just as much right to be anywhere in the school as you do!" Hermione protested. Her voice echoed weakly in the Chamber. "I'm a student, same as them."

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so you'll stop complaining when I break into Gryffindor Tower then?" I asked, smiling passively. I turned back to Harry. "I've been teaching them the language. They've got as much right to it as we do and it's the equivalent of a secret language. After all, you and Snake Face are the only other ones here who can actually understand it. We can communicate in the field with no one the wiser."

Harry was nodding slowly and looking impressed, while Hermione seemed deeply offended. "That's completely different!"

"It's really not, Grander," Daphne commented coolly from behind me. "This is Slytherin space. For whatever reason, the other Potter can get in, but you don't have the skill."

"No one was talking to you," Ron snapped out in Hermione's defense.

"Funnily enough, I don't recall anyone talking to you, either," Nott replied coldly, stepping to Daphne's side supportively.

" _Quiet,"_ I hissed, and the Basilisks obligingly fell silent. Harry's eyes widened as he heard the hiss under the word and realized that they had understood.

"I didn't know it could be taught," Harry breathed, looking deeply impressed as he glanced past me to my students. His stare soured on Malfoy again, but he still looked proud, and it made something that had been frozen inside me for so long I'd stopped registering the cold warm up a bit.

"Lorena figured out how to write it out and teach the sounds to us!" Chastity piped up, looking at me with clear adoration. Harry nodded, still looking impressed. He opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione cut him off.

"How old are you?" she demanded of Chastity, who blinked and gave her a sneer worthy of the man immortalized in stone behind her.

"Twelve, got a problem?" she demanded.

"You're training child soldiers!" Hermione snarled, looking at me in horror. "My god, Lorena, what are you thinking?"

I tilted my head, looking at her questioningly. "I'm thinking that Voldemort has proven in the past that he doesn't care even a little bit about how old a person is. He'll kill you either way. Young or old, people need to be able to defend themselves. I would never force any of them into a battle if they didn't want to fight."

"Don't say his name!" Ron snapped, ears going red, and I rolled my eyes. "I've told you before!"

"Grow a pair, Weasley," Draco drawled, but there was steel under the usual sneer. He most assuredly did not like Ron talking to me like that. "She can speak how she likes."

"And since when do you speak for my sister?" Harry countered, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. The emerald was heating up, a sure danger sign.

"Since last year," Hermione muttered, and Harry looked around at her blankly. I scowled and in a flash my wand was in my hand and Hermione gasped and clutched her throat as I nonverbally Silenced her. Ron stepped forwards furiously.

"You take the spell off her now!"

"When she learns to hold her tongue," I replied coolly, staring Hermione in the eye, expression unforgiving.

"Lorena?" Harry said uncertainly. "I'm trying to trust you here, but you're making it difficult." His hand was on Hermione's back supportively as she mouthed words at me furiously.

"Hermione knows something about me, something I'd rather you not know just yet," I explained, still not looking away from Hermione. I arched an eyebrow smoothly and smirked as her helplessness to remove the spell seemed to hit her and she slumped slightly, her mouth closing. "Rest assured, I'm going to tell you," I promised him. "Just not yet. And Hermione's been delighting in leveraging it against me the past few weeks. I'm getting tired of it."

"Yeah, cause 'Mione's the manipulator here," Ron said sarcastically, and got himself a _Silencio_ for his trouble.

"Look, you've seen us," I told Harry as he stared at me in helpless amusement and frustration as his friends mouthed at me angrily on either side of him. Ron shot me a rude gesture and got one back in reply as I continued, "You know where we are. But I'd advise you not to come back, especially not with those two. Loyalties and prejudices bein what they are, I think you can agree it's a recipe for an explosion."

Hermione whacked Harry in the arm and gestured at me angrily, clearly expecting him to stick up for them, but he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Sorry guys, but she's got a point. No way are you going to get along with Slytherins."

I smiled in satisfaction as Hermione's jaw dropped open in disbelief and Ron's ears turned as red as his hair.

"I'll walk you out," I said, and gestured for them to follow me. Pausing by the door, I glanced back over my shoulder.

"I expect to hear hissing when I get back," I sing-songed to my students, and they rolled their eyes and got back to work as I led the Gryffindors back through the tunnels. Hermione and Ron sulked along behind us as Harry and I walked abreast. When we reached the spot where the cave-in used to be, Harry looked at me.

"I saw the lanterns," he commented. "The basilisk skeleton and skin. And these torches, they're new. Did you do all that?"

I nodded, feeling a bit smug. "Before I got the Basilisks together I came down here and did a bit of redecorating. The cave-in had to be cleared and stabilized, first and foremost, and then there was the fact that we could hardly practice by wand light. The basilisk remains had to be dealt with, and I didn't want to pitch them."

"It's pretty impressive spellwork," Harry commented, and I saw Hermione roll her eyes over his shoulder.

"Nah, just a liberal application of Permanent Sticking Charms," I said with a faint grin, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck. I realized I was doing that same gesture Harry had done only a few moments before and quickly lowered my hand.

"What are you doing letting Malfoy down here though?" Harry demanded suddenly, eyes narrowing as he stared ahead, like Malfoy was walking in front of him. "I've told you what I think he's up to."

"Friends close, enemies closer," I quipped, and sighed. "Actually, Harry, I've spoken to Malfoy extensively and I genuinely don't think that he's on Voldemort's side. In fact, I'm certain of it."

"You can't know-"

"I can if I've been inside his mind," I corrected, and Harry looked at me in shock.

"What?"

"I offered to teach him Occlumency. As a Slytherin, of course he wanted to learn. Gave me the perfect time to have a poke around inside his head. He may be acting like as much of a prick as usual to keep up appearance," I smirked faintly, "but he's not on Voldemort's team."

"He could have fooled you," Harry said vaguely. I gave him a dirty look, but it was clear he didn't even really believe Malfoy fooled me.

"I'm not saying he might not do something," I said mildly, and silently apologized to Draco for letting Harry stay on his tail. It suited our purposes though. If people could testify to Harry's obsession with what Malfoy was doing, it would shift the blame off Malfoy if there were Order members there to meet his attack. "But I personally don't think he will.

"Here's where you get off," I said, pausing by the tunnel that led back up to the bathroom. "A simple Levitation Charm will get you back up. Remember Ron, it's Levi- _O_ -sa, not levio- _sah._ "

Ron gave me the same rude gesture again as I removed the spells on him and Hermione. Ron stomped towards the tunnel and was getting himself out in a flash and Harry followed quickly after seeing the way Hermione was looking at me. This was the girl who'd slapped Malfoy – I suddenly felt annoyed with her for that – and they knew not to get in the way of her wrath. Me personally, I didn't find her all that threatening.

"You do that again," she growled at me, brown eyes glittering furiously, "and I'll run straight to Harry, I don't care."

"You will care when I get through with you," I replied sweetly, and took a step forwards. Hermione stood tall and even threw back her shoulders as if to say she wasn't moving. I smiled, amused, and took another step. Her bravado faltered slightly. The third time I stepped, her foot slipped a few inches back.

"Gryffindor bravery," I said, rolling the words around in my mouth. "Funnily enough, I've never been very impressed by it." I smiled, but my eyes were hard. "Don't threaten me Hermione. I'd rather not have to hurt you. I actually do sort of like you. but there's more at stake here than you petty vendettas. You tell Harry, and you'll set off a chain reaction that could potentially hurt or even kill a lot of people I care about." I narrowed my eyes. "And then nothing and no one will be able to keep you safe from me." I stepped closer, Hermione stepped back, and her spine pressed up against the wall. Fear leaked into her eyes as she realized she was trapped and my smiled widened into a baring of teeth. "Do you believe me?" I asked, leaning in so that my nose was in inch from hers. Hermione nodded slowly, her jaw loose, eyes fixed on me.

"Good!" I chirped, and drew back, my smile genuine once more. Hermione seemed dizzied by the sudden shift. "Don't bang your head in the tunnel on the way up!" I chimed, and took off down the tunnel.

The moment she could no longer see me my smile fell and I reached down, pressing a hand tightly to my stomach where delight in the power I'd just wielded roiled with horror at my skill with it. I traced my hand up to my throat, where that lump sometimes rose around Voldemort.

"I can't judge you too harshly, Tom," I murmured to myself as I walked down the tunnels back towards the Chamber. "I'm tempted too."

I stepped into the Chamber, where knots of students had broken up and were murmuring to each other. It was just like when McGonagall stepped out for a moment, the class exploded into whispers.

"I don't hear hissing!" I called as I stepped back inside and peered around sternly, hands on my hips. "I should hear hissing!"


	91. Occlumency Reflections

"I swear, I may actually marry one of the Weasley twins," I grinned as I dug through the crates of merchandise I'd ordered. I'd come to Snape's office for my Occlumency lesson, only for him to point with the tip of a quill towards the two large crates sitting by his fireplace.

It had surprised me, having seen him in the Hospital Wing only a few days ago, shuddering and bloody, to see him up and about like nothing had happened the very next day. It made me proud to see that he could stand up and do what needed to be done, to push through the pain. It made me sick to see how easily he could do it and know that his insane tolerance for pain was a learned skill.

"Don't let young Malfoy hear you say that," he commented absently as he dipped the quill into ink and continued to scrawl across the paper. He'd barely looked up from it since I entered. Curiosity seizing me, I straightened up and crept closer to his desk, going up on my toes and peering at the paper. It was a letter, that was easy to tell by the structure, and I had just enough time to register the red Howler paper before Snape waved his hand over the paper and Vanished the words on it, giving me a dirty look.

"Are you writing to Amity?" I asked in shock, guessing the only person I could think of who Snape would send a Howler to. Snape scowled thunderously, his silence answering my question, and I couldn't restrain my grin or my comment as I said, "You go sir, way to make a friend."

"I can put you in detention."

"Yeah, but I'd enjoy it or escape, so it wouldn't really work and you know it," I said cheekily, digging in my pocket for a hair band and yanking my hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of my face as I bent back over the boxes. My ponytail flopped over my shoulder and I scowled in annoyance at the spill of red as I slowly dug through the layers of Shield cloaks and counted them out.

I heard Snape stand up, but didn't think anything of it as he walked over, assuming he was merely curious about what all I'd ordered. But then his hand connected with the back of my head and forced it down at a somewhat painful angle.

"Uh, sir?" I squeaked as my chin dug into my collarbone. I finger prodded the back of my neck, where the graceful white lily, almost invisible against my pale skin unless the light hit it right, was inked.

"What is this?" Snape demanded sharply.

"Er… tattoo?" I mumbled, still not quite able to talk for the way my head was bent. Snape released his hold on me and I straightened my neck, rubbing the back of it. I turned around and gave Snape a dirty look. "Rude, sir. Very rude."

"You're too young to have tattoos," Snape said shortly, glaring down at me. I straightened up quickly, just so he wasn't quite so looming a presence. "Where did you even find someone willing to-" his eyes closed as he realized. "Knockturn Alley."

"Bingo," I said, grinning slightly. "Don't worry thought, I took precautions. The guy who did it thinks I'm a thirty-year-old brunette."

Snape's mouth was pinched tightly together in disapproval, which I thought was at least slightly hypocritical seeing as he had a tattoo as well. Then again, did the Dark Mark technically count?

"Well, I suppose I should be grateful you though to disguise yourself," he granted.

I was offended. "What, you thought I'd just stroll down Knockturn Alley with my scars out singing God Save the Queen?"

Snape gave me a look. "And I suppose it's only one rather unobtrusive one after all…"

I laughed uncertainly. "Right. One. Yeah."

Snape's eyes narrowed menacingly. "Potter…"

"Okay, but they're all really good-looking, came out great, exactly what I wanted, and they're all pretty small, and one of them's almost as hard to see as the lily for mum," I blabbered to try and defend myself. Snape's features softened slightly at the mention of the memorial but hardened again almost immediately.

"Show me."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Show. Me."

I frowned. "Alright, alright, geez," I grumbled, and drew my wand, Transfiguring my shirt into something sleeveless. It was, after all, fall in Scotland, so I hadn't exactly been running around in vests. It just surprised me that Snape hadn't seen them yet, honestly. I hadn't thought about it, but really Harry and co were the only ones who knew, along with Lupin and an enraged Mrs. Weasley.

"This one's for my students," I said, gesturing to the Basilisk that wrapped around my bicep Ouroboros-style. I turned my head and flipped my ear forward so he could see the phoenix feather.

"An homage to our esteemed headmaster?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"Yeah right, it's for my Animagus form," I replied with a snort. I offered my forearm and Snape caught me by the wrist, snorting slightly when he saw the animal footprints walking their way up my arm.

"I notice that filth Pettigrew doesn't get the distinction of having his animal form represented," Snape said, looking pleased.

I shifted. Well, Merlin. I was going to have to explain. I didn't want anyone thinking that I had anything relating that rat inked in my skin.

"Not Pettigrew," I muttered. Snape's grip on my wrist tightened. He stared at me, eyes narrowed, and I began to pointedly stare at one of the jars of ingredients floating in liquid on his wall, determinedly not meeting his gaze.

"Not Pettigrew?" he repeated. "Who?"

"Well, you know. You were at school at the same time, used to follow them around trying to get them in trouble. I liked the idea of keeping it at four. And no way was I getting any kind of tribute to that bastard inked on my skin. So, uh… yeah." I tapped the human footprints. "That'd be you, sir."

Snape's expression as inscrutable for a second. I stared back at him hesitantly, wondering if he was angry about me including him in my little art project. Snape stared back, dark eyes glittering. He blinked once, twice, then turned away and beckoned me to follow him.

"Time for your lessons, Potter, you can go through your spoils later," he said calmly.

I nodded and stood across from him, my wand raised. I took a deep breath and focused on keeping my barriers up. My shields were still nowhere close to Snape's level, but compared to my first lesson, I had far and away improved. I could last long minutes against the professor, so he'd taken to sharpening his attacks and letting off unexpectedly, hoping to surprise me into letting my shields falter so he could punch through.

That was the pattern tonight as well. For five long minutes, we stared at each other and I didn't feel so much as a brush at my mind. Snape stared back, the hint of a smirk on his face as he saw me getting slowly more and more frustrated.

"Patience," he mocked, and I opened my mouth to reply.

That was when he struck, and I really should have expected it. A series of three sharp slams hit my defenses. They wavered, cracked, but I managed to fortify in the spit second before the fourth softer blow came, more an attempt to slide through my hastily-sealed cracks than a true attack. Snape's smirk widened, and he attacked again, this time picking a crack and driving a nail into it. I flinched and felt a headache start at my temple, but held firm. Then that nail started to bore in and I scowled. I half-wanted to complain, but nothing would make Snape stop and talking would only distract me and give him the opportunity to break through.

I imagine my walls thickening and strengthening at the point where Snape was focusing. A foot of solid titanium, unbreakable, impenetrable… and then the assault faded and was tripled against another crack. I shouted in surprise and pain as my head throbbed and then I was falling through my own memories – Snape had broken through.

 _Hermione winced and looked at me uncertainly. "Is it really… that dangerous for you?"_

 _I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You can't tell anyone about this," I told her firmly. "Not Harry, not Ron, not anyone."_

 _Hermione's eyes were wide and she nodded frantically. I grunted and laid back across Ginny's pillow contemplatively, staring at the ceiling._

" _Last year, not long before Christmas, Parkinson cornered me in a hallway. Brought along two enforcers to be her muscle. She broke my nose and my glasses and then she got her goons to cast Cruciatus."_

 _Hermione gasped and when I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye she was staring at me with absolute horror and pity, her hands clasped to her mouth._

" _Oh my god… Lorena… How did you… Why didn't you tell anyone?"_

"How very girlish of you."

I was doubled over panting, my hands braced on my knees. I didn't hit the ground much anymore, but my knees ached at the memory of all those times I'd come back to myself to find that I'd collapsed. I got myself together and straightened up, wincing.

What had happened? That scene was back in the summer, not too many months gone, and Hermione and I had actually been getting along better than we usually did. Now, only a few days later, we were at each other's throats, and I honestly didn't remember who started it. With a chagrined expression, I had to admit it was probably me making one too many snotty comments that had set her off.

"You're looking horribly guilty, Potter, what have you done?"

I sighed and dragged a hand across my forehead wearily. "I've been an ass, sir."

Snape looked me over calmly. "Is that supposed to be a surprise?"

It was meant as a joke, but it actually did sting a little bit. I wasn't the friendliest person or the easiest to get along with, I knew it. I could cite a foul childhood or exclusion by my peers or a near codependence on my brother as a child, but that was just excuses. The truth was that it was easier for me to sit there and spit poison in a person's face than it was to wipe it off, and I was just taking the easy way out.

"Whatever pit of depression you're about to sink into, Potter, I'll ask you to wait until the end of our meeting," Snape replied, and he didn't pull any punches, smashing brutally through my only-half recovered defenses. It was easy for him, with my emotions clogging up my mind the way they were, to break in. Once more I was falling back through the years.

" _Oh, Lorena," Hermione greeted thickly, trying to scrub the tears off her face. "I was just-"_

" _Being upset about Ron being a prat?" I suggested. Hermione nodded weakly, her tears starting again. She buried her face into her knee again, her shoulders shaking. I sighed, sliding down a step so I sat next to her. I wrapped my arms around her._

" _L-Lorena?" Hermione asked uncertainly as I dragged her closer, letting her lean her head on my shoulder._

" _Shh, it's alright," I cooed, rubbing her back supportively. "Ron's an idiot, we all know that, shouldn't let it get us down. He's just jealous he didn't get a date as gorgeous as you. He'll regret it soon enough and I'm going to hex him in the morning to make sure of it, okay?"_

" _Are you," Hermione hiccupped, "trying to comfort me?"_

" _Yeah," I admitted. "How'm I doing?"_

 _Hermione gave a watery chuckle. "Not bad," she approved, and let her head rest on my shoulder. I felt tears trickle down my arm but didn't protest. "I just don't understand why he couldn't let me have this," she said softly. I sighed._

" _He's a guy. He doesn't get what it's like to finally dress up and be pretty when you've been told most of your life you're not. Even when you know you're not necessarily ugly, you hear it enough, it starts to sink in, like it's always been true, like the sky being blue."_

 _Hermione sobbed. "How did you-?"_

" _You think you're the only one?" I asked wryly. "For you, it's your bushy hair and your teeth – though I noticed you've gotten those fixed." Hermione flushed and smiled secretively. "For me, it's my scars."_

" _I-It's not that noticeable, really," Hermione sniffled, trying to comfort me now. I snorted._

" _I've got a big-ass S on my face, Granger, it can't be anything but noticeable. But it doesn't really matter, because you've got your brain, and when all these pretty girls without two thoughts to rub together get out of school and realize that looks won't get them everywhere, you'll already be standing where they want to be."_

 _Hermione was still crying, but her sobs were starting to subside into a steady stream of tears, and even that was starting to slack off. I looked up, staring around the Entrance Hall. The couples had mostly gone, and the last few people were starting to filter out of the Great Hall as curfew approached._

 _Ungodly pink robes exited and I saw Pansy stumble out tiredly on the arm of Malfoy. Pansy looked like she was incapable of seeing anything but her bed at that point, but Malfoy glanced up. We locked eyes. His shone with something as he looked at me, then they flicked to Granger. I hugged her tighter protectively and turned to carefully stroke her hair, making sure not to catch my fingers in any of the pins holding up her hairstyle. When I looked up again, Malfoy and Parkinson were gone._

" _Go on, get some sleep," I urged Hermione as she gave one last sniff, her tears stopping. "Have a hot bath first or something," I suggested. "Ron may be an idiot, but I guarantee there were some parts of tonight that weren't bad, right? I saw you getting twirled by a certain muscular Quidditch player."_

 _Hermione flushed vividly. "Yeah, that was… that was nice."_

" _That's it," I urged, standing up and tugging Hermione to her feet. I reached down and snagged her shoes, passing them over. Hermione hung the strappy heels off two fingers. "Focus on that."_

 _Hermione stared at me. Her makeup was smudged and her hair was falling down, but she was smiling slightly. "You know," she said softly, "sometimes I really do wonder why you're a Slytherin. You're not like the rest of them."_

 _I smirked. "You forget my charming personality traits, like my unceasing sarcasm and insults."_

 _Hermione shook her head. "I think, sometimes, that you're not nearly as bad as you make out to be."_

Once again I was doubled over panting with a fine sheen of sweat on my forehead and a throbbing in my forehead.

"Whatever has you and Miss Granger at odds," Snape noted coolly. "I would recommend you get it sorted before our next meeting or you'll be no use to anyone."

Hermione told me once that I wasn't as bad as I made out to be. She'd been the one who actually saw that and called me on it. Harry and Draco were the only ones who'd ever done that before. Harry had been with me literally as long as I'd been on this earth and Draco was… well, whatever. The point was, the smartest witch in our year had picked it out and shoved it in my face.

"Damn," I muttered, and rubbed my forehead.

"And what sparked that particularly profound comment?"

"I'm gonna have to get emotional."

"Ah."

* * *

The room of Requirement was our room, with the walls covered in bookcases and a fire roaring. Draco and I stood across from each other on the rug, shoes kicked off and resting by the table. I opened my eyes as I withdrew from his mind, this most recent dip only after several minutes of testing and trying and using strategies Snape had used against me to try and break through.

"I think you're better than me," I admitted as I brushed my hair back from my face and moved towards the couch. Draco scoffed as he joined me.

"Yeah right – you've been doing this for months longer than I have."

"Hmm," I admitted. "But you had the benefit of a psycho who didn't care about giving you a headache teaching you the summer months."

Draco stared at me incredulously as he sat down and draped an arm across the back of the couch. Without thought, I drew my legs up under me and leaned against his chest, staring contemplatively into the flames.

"I'd prefer to have someone sane teaching me," Draco replied somewhat tartly, and I winced.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant that Bellatrix's methods may be cruel, but they're effective." I shook my head and sighed. "Sorry."

"No, I know what you mean," Draco replied quietly. "It surprised me, how quickly I was improving, and in a way I was almost grateful. She thought she was training me against Dumbledore, but really she made me stronger against him." Draco's eyes darted to his left forearm and away like they did when he thought about Voldemort. He smirked self-deprecatingly. "And then I'd remember the headaches and skinned knees."

I gave a 'ha' of laughter and curled closer, tucking my arms across my stomach and continuing to stare into the flames. "Do you have any ideas about how to get the Death Eaters in yet?" I asked quietly, knowing it was guaranteed to lower the mood and wishing I didn't have to ask.

Draco sighed. "Yes. You know that Vanishing Cabinet that the Wealsey twins shoved Montague in last year?" I nodded. "It's got a twin in Borgin and Burkes."

I blinked and sat up, looking at him in understanding. "That's what you were talking to him about this summer," I realized, and he nodded, staring into the fire.

"I've been playing with it a little, doing experiments," Draco muttered. "And you can't even send an apple through it safely the state it's in now. I'll have to figure out how to repair it. But enchantments are hardly my strong suit…" He looked at me pointedly.

I blinked. "What, they're not mine either."

Draco's hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out the mirror, holding it up so that the silver flashed in the light. "Oh really?" he challenged. I sighed and lay back down against his chest.

"Do you know how long I've been working on those?" I mumbled into the soft fabric of his shirt, coiling my fingers in the fabric above his hip. "Since the beginning of summer. I've spent most of my spare time on Fridays doing research. I'd originally planned to work on my Animagus transformations, but that hasn't really happened… Point it, I'm capable of enchantment. Doesn't mean it's easy."

Draco chuckled and his arm fell off the back of the count to wrap around me. "You sure make it seem that way."

I shook my head. "I put effort into making it look simple. I put effort into a lot of things I maybe shouldn't…" I trailed off. That was more than I'd meant to say, more than I'd even really thought about. Snape's lesson had sent me into a minor mental tailspin and I'd only barely gotten myself together in time for Draco's lesson. Now that I wasn't trying to break into his mind, it was coming back.

"If that doesn't sound like something that needs to be addressed," Draco whispered, and squeezed a little before urging, "Come on, you've been quiet since I walked in. What's on your mind?"

I sighed. "Oh, the same thing that's sort of been swirling since that first encounter with the Mirror of Erised." I sat up and drew my legs around so that I was sitting with my knees facing Draco, my hands fiddling in my lap. "It was during my meeting with Snape earlier. I've come to the conclusion that I'm a bitch. And I'm not just playing one on TV, I actually am one. And it hurts, ya know?"

"And what made you think that?" Draco asked slowly.

"Granger, actually," I said with a faint laugh. "Do you remember when you came out of the Yule Ball and I was sitting on the stairs with her, and she was crying."

He thought a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, I do. She'd pulled her shoes off and you were looking so… I dunno, I don't really want to say maternal, but… just caring."

I nodded, smiling faintly. "It's encouraging you don't think of me as a mother, at least," I quipped, before my smiled fell. "She said something, that she thought I'm a caring person I just don't let people see."

"Well that's true," Draco agreed immediately, and it was the speed with which he agreed that got to me. Like he really didn't see anything wrong with that, like he had complete faith that I was a good person, and I felt tears building behind my eyelids. I shifted so that I was lying on Draco again so that he couldn't see the waterworks trying to make an appearance.

"We've been at each other's throats lately," I explained.

"I noticed you weren't getting along down in the Chamber."

"I don't even remember what started it anymore, because when I was at the Weasley's this summer and she was there we were actually getting along really well. I don't remember what started it, but the sad part is that I know it was probably me. I know I probably said something I shouldn't have and she took it personally, and I know I should apologize. And it's crazy to think that I don't remember but I know it was me that stepped out of line."

Silence hung in the room for a moment, unbroken except by the fire crackling.

"Do you want me to talk or just let you think it out?" Draco asked softly.

"Bless you for asking. Just let me rant for a minute?"

"Alright."

I grinned and continued. "I've played the bitch for so long I feel like I really am. I don't act like I care about anyone. With the Basilisks… did you know Emilia has a crush on Dominic? I want to sit her down and talk to her because I know her mother's never told her anything, but I don't know how. I feel like I don't know how to talk to people if I'm not acting like a genius and treating everyone else like idiots."

"You are," Draco pointed out, and I scowled.

"No, you know, I'm really not? In Muggle school I got decent grades, but they weren't stellar. I'm not a genius, I'm just dedicated. You've never seen me at a single Common Room party unless it was after a Quidditch win, have you?" I challenged. "I don't have fun, Draco, I study. You should know, you used to tease me about it often enough. I get good grades, I can make things like that mirror, because I dedicate every spare second I have to learning.

"This world…" I sighed. "It's so amazing. I don't know, I don't think the people who grew up in it can see, but for someone who grew up in the Muggle world, there's so much about it that is fascinating. When I first walked into Diagon alley I felt so overwhelmed, and I wanted to know everything. It's… it's not that I innately know these things. I sought them out. People give me more credit than I deserve.

"And Hermione's the same way, I know she is. By all rights, we should get along pretty well, but we don't because I don't know when I should keep my mouth shut and when I should open it, just like Sirius. I don't know how to talk to people like a normal person anymore.

"Also, I'm whining about my emotional issues to a guy who's trying to save his and his family's lives, so there's that."

Draco patted my shoulder as I fell silent and he gave a sigh.

"Lorena, first of all, don't feel bad about talking to me about things. I want to hear what's on your mind-" That was when the first tear dripped onto his shirt and I winced as he paused. "Wha-" He grabbed me by the shoulders and sat me up. I smiled weakly around the tears that were silently running down my cheeks.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked, and Draco gaped.

"No, you don't get to joke your way out of this one, phoenix," he said sternly, and crushed me too him in a hug. I nestled my head into his shoulder with a sigh. "The fact that you care so much about being a good or bad person shows that you are, I think. Someone who was bad wouldn't give nearly as much of a damn as you do. And… alright, yeah, you're not the friendliest person I've ever met. But that's not a bad thing. It's not much as far as advice goes, I know, but if you want to change something about yourself… do it. I dunno what else to tell you."

"I know," I agreed with a sigh. "I don't know why this is getting to me so much, it's not even that time of the month…"

Draco stiffened and when I looked up he was looking vaguely horrified. I chuckled, his expression lifting me mood. I wiped at my tears and patted his cheek fondly. "Calm down, breathe, sweetheart. Breathing is important."

He shuddered. "Well, there went the tension at least," he mumbled into my hair, and I laughed again, straightening up. He grinned at me. "And there's a smile." He took my face between his hands and stroked under my eyes with his thumbs, wiping the last of the tears away. His eyes narrowed. "Aha. I thought your makeup looked thicker than usual." He prodded the bruised skin under my eyes pointedly. "You're exhausted, that's why this is eating at you." I hung my head. "Busted."

"I've almost finished the emergency kits for the Order, I want them ready to deliver to Dumbledore tomorrow, that's all," I assured him. "I'll start sleeping better after that, I promise."

Draco looked at me sternly. "You'd better. It's going to be embarrassing if I have to send house elves to make sure you're sleeping or come myself."

"Please don't," I begged. "I already have them popping in at all times with trays of sandwiches, I can't handle them monitoring me anymore."

"There you go, the house elves prove you can be kind," Draco offered reassuringly. "They wouldn't care near as much if you acted like a jerk to them."

"Fair point," I allowed, and shook my head at myself, feeling foolish. "Sorry, I've utterly trashed the mood for the evening."

"Don't worry, I don't expect everything to always be sunshine and roses," Draco promised, and I grinned. "After all, we're not Hufflepuffs."

* * *

I had a crate floating behind me as I approached Dumbledore's office. It was after dinner, I had a spare hour until I needed to join the Basilisks for dueling practice. I'd have to check with Nott and the girl's how the engraving of our rings was going, and check the book to see if we had any new entries. Sherburne had made a contribution to Daphne's project with a book he'd found in the library, I wanted to see if she'd gotten to it yet.

"Cockroach Cluster," I told the gargoyle, and it leapt aside. As I rode the staircase up to Dumbledore's office I had to wonder if Dumbledore actually liked all of these candies he used for passwords or if he was just yanking our chains.

"Enter," Dumbledore called when I knocked, and I pushed open the door and walked inside. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk and looked up as I stepped inside, eyes landing first on me and then on the crate floating behind me. His eyes lit with interest, like a child being presented a new toy, and for once I actually saw what people thought was so endearing about the man.

"You have completed your little project then?" Dumbledore asked, pulling his own wand and conjuring up a table in the middle of the room for me to let the box drift down onto.

"More than one of them," I said, and reached into my robes, drawing out my own bag. "I'll show it all to you using mine, but I'd advise you not to go digging around in more than one of them. The mirrors, like I said, will be keyed to flesh and if you accidentally brush one then it's yours." I opened the drawstring neck of the bag and dumped my bag onto the table carefully, wary of bottles rolling off and getting away from me. I lined them up carefully and added the mirror, then out spilled the Shield gloves, hats, and cloaks from Fred and George, the Decoy Detonators, Instant Darkness Powder, and, with a little trepidation, I laid out the extra wand.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed when he saw it and he looked from the wand to me pointedly.

"Yes, okay, I robbed Ollivander's last time I was there, but in my defense, I left a note and offered to pay for the wands or collect them once the war's over," I said quickly. "And besides, considering who's got him now if he's even still alive, I don't think he'd mind."

"Probably not," Dumbledore agreed. "But personally I'm more interested in how you got into Garrick's shop in the first place."

"Trial and error," I admitted. "It took me a second to realize, but I was able to just walk right in. After I read the letter left by the Ministry, I realized why – the spells only block people with bad intentions. When I first walked in I just wanted to see if I could. It was only once I was inside that I realized the possibilities. I mean, Ollivander's is the wizarding equivalent of an abandoned gun shop during a civil war."

"Not the comparison I would have used, but I suppose," Dumbledore allowed. "I won't be able to make sure you keep your promise, Miss Potter, but I would advise you do. Garrick may be old but he's a rather powerful wizard in his own right."

I was offended. "I fully intend to, otherwise I wouldn't have signed the letter by name. Hell, I wouldn't have left a letter at all." I took a deep breath, calming myself. "Alright, that aside… the mirror came out exactly the way I hoped it would. This batch here should connect the whole Order easily, and I've included instructions on how to use them in each bag as well."

"Good," Dumbledore murmured, picking up the mirror and turning it over in his good hand and his blackened one. His lips moved faintly, barely visible, and I wondered what he was doing until it clicked – he was running his own analysis of the spells on the mirror. I saw Dumbledore wince slightly as the mirror fell into his dead hand. "Very good," he pronounced the spell work, and set it back down. "And the potions?"

"Pain-Relief, Blood-Replenisher, Antidote to Common Poisons, Veritaserum and its antidote, Polyjuice, Skele-Gro, essence of murtlap and dittany," I rattled off, pointing to all the bottles in turn. "That should be good for most anything that happens." I hesitated. "Does your hand hurt, sir?"

Dumbledore blinked and looked from the potions to me. "Were it anyone else asking, I would simply answer, but since it's you, I feel compelled to inquire as to why you ask?"

"I saw you wince just now," I explained. "And I wondered. Nothing nasty, just… concerned."

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow and I could tell he was having a hard time believing that I was concerned about him. I was too, honestly. But once I stopped thinking about the fact that I didn't like him, it was remarkably easy to care.

"In that case, yes, it does occasionally pain me." Dumbledore admitted slowly.

I nodded and turned back to the table, pointing to the Weasley items. "The cloak, hat, and gloves are all spelled with Shield charms, they're supposed to be worn together for maximum protection. Fred and George's Jinx-Off set." I smiled proudly. "And here's the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Just toss it and it's lights out, handy for a quick getaway. And this here, it's a Deco Detonator. Drop it and it will run off and cause a commotion somewhere else, give you a distraction. You might want to try a circulation potion."

"Very good, Messers Weasley have done an impressive job, I…" Dumbledore blinked and narrowed his eyes at me. "I might want to what?"

I stayed focused on the table as I cleared away the contents of my own bag. "A potion to improve circulation. They're not too hard to brew. Basically, what you're dealing with is sort of like gangrene. It's a magical curse, yeah, but boosting your circulation might help slow the tissue death and maybe relieve the pain in the areas already affected."

I could feel the famous twinkling blue eyes on me like lasers.

"Don't look so surprised, sir," I said softly. "Despite what you may think of me, I don't actually like seeing people in pain."

Dumbledore stood silently for a moment and watched as the bag disappeared into the pocket of my robes. I straightened up.

"Will that be all, sir?" I asked formally.

Dumbledore was still just staring at me as he nodded and I all but fled from his office.


	92. New Recruits

It was Saturday and once again I was brewing. With the emergency packs distributed to both the Order and the Basilisks I was free to play a little more, brewing up some of the potions Daphne had dug up and Iliya had sent to add to them as well as my own stores. The one I was working on currently was a finicky little thing that was supposed to clot internal bleeding, and it had been giving me fits all morning with its complex stirring patterns.

The door to the apprentice's lab slid open and in stepped Hermione who was looking like she couldn't decide between curiosity and running for a professor as she stepped inside. Her eyes roamed over all of it, from the counter sprayed in liberal amounts of notes and potions ingredients to the small cot in the corner, the books on the shelves, and the pieces of parchment hanging over the steaming cauldrons with instructions visible through the mist.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked warily, looking around for any sign of danger before sitting down at the counter. I flicked my wand in her direction and the notes hastily collected themselves into neat stacks and slid into the drawers, which slammed shut. Hermione jumped slightly.

"This," I said, straightening up and using my wand to secure my ponytail into a bun, "is the apprentice's lab. It's been my home the past year."

"This is where you've been hiding out and brewing," Hermione whispered, and she looked grudgingly impressed. "Why did you ask me down here?" she demanded.

I had sent Artemisia off with a letter early this morning to Hermione, simply stating a request to meet and instructions for how to get into the lab. No details beyond that.

"Because we need to talk," I said simply, sitting down on the second stool. I folded my hands and placed them on the counter, tilting my head sideways and observing Hermione. She narrowed her eyes and stared back.

"Talk about what?" she asked slowly.

"Do you remember why we're fighting?" I asked her bluntly, and she blinked in surprise.

"I… I'm pretty sure that you… or I… erm, no," Hermione admitted somewhat sheepishly, cringing as her cheeks went pink. "I don't, actually."

I nodded. "See, I don't either. I realized that the other day. And considering how I feel about revenge, if I can't even remember why I'm mad at you it must be that critical. So what I'm proposing is a truce, for our sakes and for Harry's."

"Truce," Hermione repeated blankly. "No more threatening me in the Chamber of Secrets?"

I sighed and rubbed my nose between my fingers. "Look, I'm sorry about that. Sometimes it's just easier. The fact is that for us it would be like… it would be like if you found us fooling around with Gryffindor's sword. That's not ours, it's yours. Our 'sword' just so happens to be a sewer chamber," I finished with a grimace.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Alright, I can see why Gryffindors don't really have a right to it. And we _wouldn't_ like it to see Slytherins playing with the sword, you're right."

"Exactly!" I insisted. "So see, it's not so much a Muggleborn thing as it is a Gryffindor thing. We've all got our relics and we'd like to keep them to ourselves."

"I get that," Hermione agreed. "But this thing with… with Malfoy." She looked at me uncertainly, like she was waiting for me to summon a nasty spell that would eat her face. "You have to tell Harry. He's been watching him like a hawk. He thinks Ron and I don't notice, but we do."

"Course you do, subtlety isn't my brother's strong suit," I said, waving my hand dismissively and dropping my chin into my palm with a wince. "It does make things a little trickier with Harry trying to stalk him, but not impossible."

"Harry has a right to know!" Hermione argued. "He's your brother, and he's convinced that Malfoy's…" She caught her breath before finishing a bit more sedately, "He thinks Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Hmm. He would be right."

Hermione's eyes shot open wide and she nearly toppled off her stool in shock. "But he's… and you're still with him! How can you… you know for sure then? But he's so young! I just don't see how…"

I calmly blinked at Hermione until she gathered her thoughts and took a deep breath. Finally, she looked at me and just said, "Explain."

"Over tea and biscuits," I replied. "Hilly?"

With a crack, Hilly was standing there in her tea towel toga with her droopy ears and big eyes. Hermione gave me a dirty look for summoning the house elf, but I just addressed Hilly.

"Hilly, would you mind to bring us some tea and biscuits?"

"Yes, Lorena!" Hilly chirped, and was gone in a flash.

"You're endorsing slavery," Hermione said tartly the moment Hilly was gone. I huffed a laugh and shook my head.

"Hermione, everything you've ever read about house elves comes from either bleeding heart witches or racist purebloods. You're not getting a very clear picture considering now house elf has ever authored a book about their lives. They don't serve because they have to."

"Years of enforced obedience has brainwashed-"

"They are not brainwashed," I snorted, and rolled my eyes. "I think the house elves see the things that happen here at Hogwarts with more clarity than anyone else because they genuinely have no ties to any particular group beyond the school as a whole."

With a pop, Hilly was back, swaying slightly under the weight of a tea tray balanced on her head. Hermione gave me a pointed look as I picked up the tray and set it on the counter.

"Thank you Hilly, this'll do nicely," I replied, and paused when I saw the two eggs sitting in a dish on the tea tray. I smield at Hilly. "For Silas and Sasha?"

Hilly nodded shyly. Ever since she'd hit Silas with the frying pan she had been absolutely in love with the adder and that had extended to Sasha. I was half-convinced that Hilly was single-handedly responsible for the fact that both of the snakes had gained weight since they came out of the Forest and joined me here.

"I'll leave it for them," I promised her, and Hilly beamed, curtseyed a thank you, and vanished a gain.

"Who are Silas and Sasha?" Hermione asked blankly.

The adders really did have fabulous timing, I mused as they slid out from a crack in the wall. Or, more likely they'd been huddled under the floor near the stones heated by the fires under my cauldrons and were coming out because they heard Hilly and smelled eggs.

"That would be Silas and Sasha," I replied, nodding to the two long shapes. Hermione turned to look and gave a shriek, dragging her legs up onto the top of the stool and again nearly toppling herself as she tried to get her feet beyond lunging distance.

"Calm down," I told her sternly. "They're not going to hurt you. They're sweethearts. Aren't you?" I hissed at the snakes, and Silas paused in his slithering before hissing back,

"Yeah, sure, just fork over the goods, boss?"

I snorted and picked up the dish, setting it on the floor in easy reach.

"Silas and Sasha are my eyes and ears," I explained to Hermione, who was slowly uncurling from the top of her stool and watching in fascination and a bit of horror as the snakes unhooked their jaws and began the process of swallowing a chicken egg. "They keep me apprised of what's going on in the areas of the castle I can't get to or what's going on while I'm in class."

"That's… that's brilliant," Hermione admitted, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You're not the only genius around here, Granger. Back on topic, Draco." Hermione's expression instantly sobered. "Yes, I'm sure he's joined. I've seen his Mark. He was forced to. With Lucius in jail, it falls to Draco to lead his family and all that entails. To Voldemort, that means joining his ranks. And he had Narcissa to hold over him."

"That's what he told you," Hermione said gently, as if she were trying to break some rough news to a two year old. "That may not be-"

"It is true," I cut her off. "And I know it is. I've been inside his head, Hermione, I've been teaching him Occlumency. Although now that Aunt Bellatrix got her hands on him over the summer there's not much left that I can teach him," I muttered grudgingly. "Albino bastard's almost better than me now." I only sounded a little bit fond.

"But Narcissa Malfoy is a Death Eater," Hermione reasoned. "Why would he hurt her?"

"Actually no, she's not," I corrected. "The only woman in who actually has the Dark Mark is Bellatrix Lestrange. The problem is that a lot of wives get dragged in if their husbands join and people stop seeing the distinction between a loving wife and a crazed pureblood fanatic. In fairness, Narcissa Malfoy is a bit of a snob," I admitted. "But she's a mother and a wife before she's anything else.

"See you don't realize how much you miss about the dynamics and politics of all of this from an outsider's perspective," I explained to Hermione. "I could sit here right now and list you most of Voldemort's inner circle without flinching, but I can also tell you which of them have siblings and wives and kids that do or don't support Voldemort. The problem is that the family name has been so conflated with pureblood fanaticism that members of some of the old families suffer under the weight of them as much as… as much as Ron gets called a blood traitor.

"Our year's Slytherins," I challenged her. "Who do you think is on Voldemort's side? Name them."

"Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Davies, Moon, Greengrass… Malfoy…" Hermione ticked off on her finger.

"Good try, but no," I corrected her. "Daphne and Theodore are mine, actually, and if given the choice, Davies and Moon will stay the hell out. They're not fighters and they don't' want to declare either way for fear of falling out of favor with whoever wins." I gave her a dirty look for Malfoy. "Draco's only doing what he has to do to keep his mum safe.

"See, this is why it's absolutely critical that no one finds out about Draco and I, not until I'm certain we can keep it quiet. If Parkinson found out, she'd run straight to her mother, who would go to Crabbe's mother, who would go to her husband, who would go to Voldemort. Draco's loyalty would be called into question and his options would be either bring me to him or pass information… or die." I winced. "He's in a delicate position, we both are, and you dropping hints to my brother doesn't help. I love Harry dearly, but he's not so good at secrets."

Hermione smiled faintly. "That's not a lie. So you really think he's on our side then? Malfoy?" she asked with a note of finality.

I nodded. "I know he is. He's proved it more than once to me, that he'd pick me over them."

"That he'd pick you," Hermione noted. "Not the Light."

I shrugged. "I'm not asking him that much. All I want is him committed to me. Morality is for Gryffindors to police," I said faintly.

I glanced over at my potion, which was bubbling and turning the greenish-gold shade it as supposed to be, meaning that the next stage was coming up.

"I need to tend to a option," I explained.

"I think I understand a bit better now," Hermione admitted. "There are things that I can't know about what's going on in Slytherin and the Death Eaters."

"Don't take it personally, we haven't let the Hufflepuffs in on our drama either," I said drily as we both rose.

"Are we better then?" Hermione asked slowly, stretching out a hand in friendship. I rolled my eyes and took it, shaking heartily.

"Of course Granger, you think I brought you down here for tea and biscuits to chat about the weather?" I paused and asked, "Speaking of pointless social constructs, are you going to Slughorn's dinner party tonight? I assume you got invited?"

Hermione nodded. "I don't see how it can be that bad," she reasoned. "Harry has detention though, so he won't be attending."

"Probably best," I mused. "We wouldn't want Harry stealing the spotlight."

* * *

Slughorn's dinner party was actually almost tolerable, I mused as I headed back from the party to the apprentice's lab. It had been about what I'd expected – Slughorn had asked all of us about whatever made us special, be it family or research or whatever before spiraling off into a long-winded recounting about all the famous people he'd taught. The way he made out, he was the only reason half these people were successful in their lives. It was actually a bit amusing.

One thing couldn't be denied, and that was that Slughorn did have impressive contacts. He'd been delighted to hear that I had a loose exchange of letters going with Cutler Barnes and offered to introduce me to a few other contacts of his in the potions industry. I gratefully accepted and made a note to buy him a box of his favorite crystallized pineapple, my mouth quirking up wryly and quite how quickly I would be disinvited to Slugorn's dinners if he knew how I knew his brand. Just like it had in the memory I'd seen, Slughorn's meeting had run until just past the curfew. I almost wondered if he did it on purpose, just to see who managed to get back to the Common Rooms without being caught.

My foot caught on something that wasn't there and I tripped, my face slamming into the stone floor beneath me. My nose broke. I tasted blood and saw stars, groaning in pain. My body suddenly went solid and I knew what this was. It had happened before, and fear clawed at my heart though my face was frozen in an expression of pain.

I somehow wasn't surprised when I was flipped over and Pansy Parkinson's face appeared out of the gloom. Her muscle was gone, but Bulstrode had apparently taken on the role, a mean little grin on her ugly face. And, to my horror, trailing after them and looking like she wasn't quite sure if she was on board with the whole thing came Astoria Greengrass.

Pansy loosened the spell's hold on my jaw. Good thing too, blood was leaking through my teeth and I paused to spit a glob of blood from the side of my mouth before speaking again.

"We have to stop meeting like this Parkinson," I growled out, and this time Parkinson didn't seem to be nearly as giddy and confident. Her expression was darker, colder, but no less pleased with her villainy as she approached.

"You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?" she hissed down at me. "That you put my father in prison?"

"Hmm, what did I tell you would happen if you tried something like this again, Parkinson?" I asked, staring at the ceiling and trying to calm my pounding heart. My muscles wanted to coil against the pain I knew would come, but I couldn't. Instead I focused all my energy inward, retreating behind Occlumency shields.

"You can't," Parkinson whispered, and seemed delighted by that fact. "If you do, Dumbledore will know. I've seen the way he looks at you. If you come back at me, then you'll get thrown out of school too!"

"Interesting theory," I whispered, and though I knew that from a logical standpoint Dumbledore wouldn't pitch me out for anything short of going on a killing spree during breakfast there was still some part of me that thought Parkinson was right, that Dumbledore would side with me over her. "Care to test it?"

" _Crucio."_

The pain was the same as it was last time, and Parkinson left my mouth loose, leaning forwards eagerly. Bulstrode leaned forwards in sick fascination as my muscles jumped and coiled under my skin in spite of the body bind.

It was searing agony of the worst kind. I'd thought that maybe, since I'd felt it before, it might be more tolerable this time, or at least make it seem somewhat less severe. I was wrong. The spell tore at my nerve endings and burned my bones and froze my blood in my veins as needles drove into my skin. How, how had Snape survived this being used on him as often as it was? How was it possible for someone to endure that kind of abuse?

"Scream, damn you!" Parkinson yelled, and kicked me brutally in the side. Something cracked, one rib broken, but somehow it didn't seem remotely important compared to the ravages of the spell. " _Crucio! Crucio!"_

I was drifting in the mist of my mind and the pain was mine but also not and because of that I could keep my jaw locked against the screams, tighten my throat and stomp them down. Parkinson wouldn't get what she wanted, I didn't care if she held me here for hours, until morning. Parkinson would not wring a scream from my lips.

"Blood traitor!" Bulstrode grunted and gleefully began kicking me in the side. There was a grinding as the broken rib was knocked out of place and more cracks as bones gave and snapped under her continuous assault. I felt a burning pain in my side and it suddenly felt hard to breathe.

 _Punctured my lung,_ I thought dizzily. _A rib has punctured my lung._

And yet still nothing compared to the Cruciatus in terms of pain. The continuous recasting did nothing to strengthen the spell but they caused it to hit like a lightning bolt over and over, that first moment of the most exquisite pain dragging on and on. It was the same pain, yet somehow worse. Through my half-closed lashes I saw Astoria hunkering in the shadows. Her wand was drawn and aimed at me and her face was frozen in an expression of horror.

Then she went blurry as Bulstrode bent down and slammed her first into my face, knocking out one of my contacts and making my vision half clear, half burry. Somehow the nightmarish filter made it even worse.

"Cry!" Parkinson screamed in my face, spittle spraying across my cheeks. "Why isn't it working? It's hurting you, I know it is!"

I managed to stretch my face into a wide, mocking grin and Parkinson drew back as I directed my eyes at her. My breath came in wheezy gulps and I knew that it was probably a bad sign that I could taste blood on the back of my tongue, but I managed to grit out, "Guess I'm made of stronger stuff than you."

" _Cruci-"_

"What the hell?"

I didn't know who it wasn't, didn't care at this point as my vision started to fade and close. It was getting incredibly hard to breathe and I took comfort in the flash of spells that were going on overhead at least. Parkinson fell next to me when a blast of red light hit her, Stunned. Bulstrode went down next and I heard Astoria scream in fear.

Black robes swayed into view and I looked up. With the caster of the body bind taken out the spell was lifted but that didn't mean I'd be hopping up and sprinting any marathons any time soon. I grabbed a fistful of the robes and tugged as well as I was able. A face looked down at me. Even distorted and dark, I knew him. Hamish something, he was a Hufflepuff, his dad was big in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He was a seventh year prefect.

"Let Greengrass go," I hissed at him.

"What?" Hamish sounded horrified at the very idea. "But Potter, she was."

"No!" I snarled, and dragged harder on the edge of his robes. "She wasn't here. Just Parkinson and Bulstrode. Astoria, go!"

Astoria was a bundle of robes drawn tightly around herself, pressed against the wall by a torch. She looked at me in shock and Hamish in fear before turning and sprinting away down the corridor, heading for the Common Room.

"Are you mad, Potter? They were… that was…" Hamish didn't quite seem able to process what he'd seen, though to his credit he'd reacted well.

"I'd appreciate it if you could take me to the Hospital Wing." I grimaced as blood welled up between my lips in a bubble and burst. "Unless I'm much mistaken, I'm about to bleed out internally."

And then the blackness closed over me for good.

* * *

"Everything… bloody… hurts…"

"Rena?"

"Who wants to know?"

I opened my eyes a crack and almost immediately shut them as the sunlight hit them. It was day, so it had been at least a good eight or nine hours since the attack. And I'd know that smell anywhere, the mix of herbs and fresh linen. I was in the Hospital Wing once again and honestly, I think this might have set a record for the longest it had taken me to get sent here.

Someone slid my glasses onto my face and I opened my eyes again slowly. Harry was sitting on the edge of my bed with a worried expression on his face, and sitting on the other side of the bed and looking entirely placid in his purple robes was Dumbledore.

"How long?" I croaked, and Harry's face was thunderous.

"It's Monday afternoon, Rena. They let me off classes to stay."

"What?" I demanded, and instinctively tried to sit up to talk to him better. My side gave a horrible throb and I winced. This was deeper than bone pain, this was internal damage. Whatever potions Pomfrey had poured into me must not be quite doing their work yet.

"Damn, they really went all out this time," I whispered.

"This time," Harry said, shaking his head and looking like a kicked puppy. "Why didn't you tell me about Parkinson going after you last year?"

My eyes snapped to Dumbledore, who blinked back at me, entirely unashamed. "You told him?" I demanded angrily. "I didn't want him to worry-"

"It seemed appropriate when I realized that your brother was unaware of your last run-in with Miss Parkinson," Dumbledore replied.

I gave him a dirty look and then groaned as I realized something. "Oh hell, I'm gonna have to poison her again. I promised her death if she ever tried to pull this again."

Harry's face was horrified. "Is this funny to you? Rena, you were just tortured-"

"But I didn't break!" I spat out proudly. "She kept telling me to scream and Bulstrode started kicking me, but I didn't scream. I didn't make a single sound. I didn't cry. Nothing!"

I was proud, so deeply proud that even Parkinson's best efforts hadn't been able to break me. I had stood up to the Cruciatus more than once now and I hadn't been broken either time. I felt wonderfully strong. Snape's words rang in my ears. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger._ Amity's version of the saying could be heard ringing behind it. _What doesn't kill me better run, because now I'm pissed. Something_ about the silliness of the thought made a laugh bubble up.

Harry looked at Dumbledore in alarm. "Professor, does she have brain damage?"

"Three broken ribs, five cracked, broken nose, a punctured lung, assorted cuts and bruises," Dumbledore listed off. "But no, no brain damage."

I let out a hiss through my teeth as my injuries seemed to throb in time with his list to make their presence known.

"Scale of one to ten, what are the odds of you letting me get away with murder?" I asked Dumbledore through tight lips.

Dumbledore looked at me firmly. "That will not be possible."

"One tiny poisoning?"

"Rena, Parkinson's been expelled." Harry's face glowed with triumph. "Bulstrode too. They're done."

I blinked, surprised, and looked at Dumbledore. So the man actually had come through for me. Parkinson and Bulstrode were gone.

"But not arrested," I noticed.

"Mr. McFarlan wasn't in time to hear any spells being cast, so we were unable to prove what spells were used. However, they were definitely using Dark magic on a student and that is grounds for immediate expulsion."

I sighed, reaching up to adjust my glasses. "And now they're heading for Voldemort."

Harry looked from me to Dumbledore in surprise as the headmaster nodded. "Probably so."

"Wait, You-Know-Who?" Harry repeated. "Why would-?"

"They've got a grudge against me, Harry," I explained tiredly. "And now that they don't have school the only way they're going to learn anything is from their parents – who have ties to Voldemort. What sort of stuff do you think they'll be teaching their daughters?"

"I doubt that he would actually let Miss Parkinson and Miss Bulstrode join his army," Dumbledore agreed. "But he would be foolish to turn away anyone willing to work against you."

"And he's not stupid," I said tiredly. I made note of the fact that Astoria hadn't been mentioned at all in any of this. McFarlan had apparently kept his word and left Greengrass out of it. Speaking of, I definitely owed him for getting me up here and explaining the situation.

"Where's McFarlan?" I asked. "I've to thank him."

"Currently in class, along with the rest of your admirers," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the table beside my bed. I shifted, ignoring the pain in my side as I did, and smiled when I saw white tulips and wildflowers and the usual book tied shut with a black ribbon. "I believe he left a note."

Harry was nice enough to get up and sift through the gifts, listing it off for me. "You can go through this when you're feeling better," he told me sternly when I stretched out my hands for one of the chocolate frogs someone had left. "Until then, you need to rest."

"Of all the times for you to remember you're older," I said, but I was looking up at me fondly. He looked down at me, emerald eyes shining behind his glasses.

"If I gave you a hug, would it hurt?"

"Yeah, but c'mere anyway."

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat in the Malfoy's library. This was his favorite place in their manor and the seat in front of it had become his unofficial throne. For once, though, the back of the chair was turned to the fire as he looked down at the two girls, not even old enough to be out of school yet, who were kneeling at his feet. Lingering outside the circle of warm light from the fire were the girl's parents. Mrs. Parkinson was wringing her hands and looking stressed, while Mr. Bulstrode looked red-faced with fury.

"You took it upon yourselves," he whispered. He didn't need to yell. He knew that everyone in the room was hanging on every single sound that left his mouth. "You took it upon yourselves to attack Lorena Potter?"

The girls were silent. Voldemort let them stew in their own fear for a moment as they tried to work out whether or not the question was rhetorical. It was, as it happened, and he opened his mouth to continue at the same time as the Parkinson girl suddenly decided to loosen her lips.

"She struts around Hogwarts like she's so special. People love her, even the other houses. They think she's like… like the champion of Slytherin, but she doesn't know _anything!_ It's her fault my father is in Azkaban, and she's the one who poisoned me last year, the halfblood filth-"

Voldemort's eyes flashed at the same time as his magic and Parkinson fell silent. Her hands flew to her throat in surprise as the silently mouthed words but no sound came out. Fearful eyes looked up at him before remembering their place and returning to staring at the ground. Against the wall, Mrs. Parkinson made a squeaking sound.

"Do you think I care?" he murmured to the girl. "Your petty schoolgirl squabbles are less than nothing to me. What matters to me," he said, his tone going darker, more dangerous. He leaned forward in his chair, spidery fingers clutching the arms of the chair, "is that you touched what is mine."

Bulstrode gave a deep groan at that. She at least knew enough to keep silence, which was actually rather surprising considering that the sum intelligence of the Bulstrode clan was less that could be found in a single Longbottom. Or perhaps her slow mind just couldn't think of anything to say. Perhaps in this case it was almost advantageous to be a moron. The thought made him smile in amusement.

"Lorena Potter," Voldemort hissed at the girls, "is mine. As such, she is under my protection until such time as she is brought to me. My servants all know this. And now I hear that you have set upon her not _once_ , but _twice._ "

Parkinson and Bulstrode both trembled under his rage.

"She poisoned me," Parkinson moaned.

"What a pity she didn't use a larger dose. The question is, what should your punishment be?" he asked silkily. Mrs. Parkinson squeaked again, louder, but didn't move to interfere. She had always been a puppet of a woman dancing to her husband's strings. Vaguely, he wondered if she was even capable of independent thought.

"The Muggle Bible has an interesting saying," Voldemort mused as he settled back in his chair again. "An eye for an eye. I quite like that. Crucio!"

The girls both collapsed into screams, writhing on the floor in front of him. He sat and watched, bobbing his wand absently in his fingers to some mindless tune from long ago, imagining that their writhing was almost like a kind of dancing along to the melody in his head. They shuddered and wailed and twitched and screams, the most beautiful looks of suffering on their faces.

Halfblood filth, Voldemort mused as he watched the girls writhe. He almost felt offended on the Potter girl's behalf. Pureblooded racism was a wonderful platform when gathering the old families, the ones with money and time to devote to him, but he often thought that halfbloods, who could blend seamlessly into any world he chose, almost had an advantage.

As his thoughts wandered his spell began to fade and the screaming trailed off into sobs and whines and whimpers. Mr. Bulstrode and Mrs. Parkinson scurried toward to collect their children when Voldemort flicked a wrist to beckon them. Bulstrode heaved his cow of a daughter onto his shoulder and carted her from the room as if he were carrying a sack of flour. Parkinson was a frail woman, and she was barely able to handle her daughter's weight as she dragged the girl to her feet.

Parkinson was only barely conscious as she sagged against her mother and made the woman stagger. Her lids were almost shut and her skin jumped and twitched like a horse trying to shake off a fly from the aftershocks of the cursing. Her lip was bleeding where she'd bitten it, and it made her words thick as she muttered, "Didn't scream… how?"

"What are you muttering about?" Voldemort snapped at the girl. "You screamed quite nicely."

Parkinson was out of it enough that she shook her head in disagreement. "No' me… Potter... Never screamed… Both times... Never... Didn't cry… how?"

Mrs. Parkinson hurried her daughter from the room as fast as she was able as Voldemort sat and contemplated that idea. A person held under Cruciatus who managed not to scream or cry? Now wasn't that intriguing? Even in his most hardened supporters or his staunchest foes, they had all been reduced to yells and sobs under torture. And yet not Lorena Potter.

It was possible, even likely, that Parkinson simply wasn't very adept with the curse. Yet somehow he knew that wasn't the case. It was the girl, something n her very makeup that wouldn't allow her to give her schoolyard bully the satisfaction. He himself had followed the same principal. When he was young, before he discovered his powers, he had never cried or screamed during a beating. They were very similar, himself and Lorena Potter, he was coming to realize. It almost made him fond of her, and it certainly made him that much more pleased with his decision all those long years ago to leave her for a trophy.

* * *

 ** _Short chapter, I know, but a lot of action! I'm sorry it's not much, I've been sick all this past week and this was all I could get together. As an apology, I'm also posting two new chapters to To Be a Student, and there will be a new chapter of Severity up with next week's update, so check that out!_**


	93. Future

**Bit of a short chapter, but we're about to do a little bit of a time skip into the winter, so I thought it was a good time to end this chapter.**

* * *

After Dumbledore and Harry left, it wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey swooped in with a potion in hand that knocked me right out. One of the only things you could do to fight the aftershocks of the Cuciatus was the knock the person out and just let the pain ride. It sent me into a sleep of vivid images, shifting shapes, and noises that were loud and soft at random intervals.

When I woke up, the Hospital Wing was dark. Madam Pomfrey's door was locked, so she'd already gone to bed. It was very late at night then, or rather, very early the next morning. I should have been the only one in the Hospital Wing, but I heard deep breathing next to me. I turned my head, a line of painful cracks and pops going down my neck when I did.

Wincing, I looked at Draco. The moonlight coming through the window had turned his hair a brilliant white. His eyes were shut, he was asleep. His chin was propped in the palm of one hand, elbow on the arm of the stiff visitor's chair. His free hand rested on the sheets, fingers not too far from mine. I melted internally – he'd fallen asleep holding my hand.

"Sweetheart."

My voice was raspy from sleep as I tangled my fingers in his. Draco shifted and gave a small grunt. Grey eyes blinked open but stayed hooded, like a little boy waking up from a nap. He shifted and his eyes started to roam and get his bearings. When they landed on me, awake and alert, a tired, relieved smile stretched across his face.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice as raspy as mine.

"Like I got tortured," I admitted, and Draco's face darkened. "Which is actually pretty good, considering I almost drowned in my own blood," I offered.

"I've written mother," Draco growled. "I made out like I was furious with Parkinson for making Dumbledore wary while I'm trying to carry out my mission, but this gave me an excuse to finally call off the engagement without questions."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're a free man, now?"

Draco shook his head and his grip on my fingers went tighter, possessive. "No, I've got this wonderful woman… absolute hellion."

"Hellion, hm, I like that," I mused.

"Who said it was you?"

I snorted and laughed, then moaned as it jostled my still-sore ribs. "Oh, don't make me laugh, it hurts!" I groaned, and Draco leaned over me. His free hand came up to push a few strands of hair back from my face. I paused, looking up at him, suddenly aware of the fact that I hadn't bathed in two days and I probably looked like absolute roadkill, yet there he was looking at me like I was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

"When I heard that this had happened again…" Draco whispered, and continued stroking my temple with his thumb. I didn't think he was even aware of the gesture. "Blaise had to keep me from going after Parkinson."

"Good for him," I remarked. "I prefer you here, not Azkaban." I reached up and caught his hand, pulling it down and kissing his fingertips before settling it on my shoulder. "I'll have to send Blaise a fruit basket."

Draco's eyes flicked to my nightstand, where my gifts were shadowed in the darkness. He eyed it and drew back, sifting through the random candy and notes that had been left. He plucked out a small basket full of Honeydukes chocolates and offered it to me. I took it curiously and fingered the tag.

 _It's getting on Draco's nerves, and he's getting on mine. If you could kindly stop getting Cruciated, that would be fabulous. ~Z_

I sniggered again, and this time I didn't care about the pain as warmth slipped through my stomach. It was strange to think that the boy who'd done nothing but send me a platitude card my first Hospital Wing stay was now sending me baskets of chocolate with personalized, private notes. How the years had changed things…

"He beat you to it," Draco grinned as he took the basket away. I snatched a piece of caramel-filled chocolate before it was out of my reach and Draco eyed me sternly.

"Should you really be eating chocolate?" he challenged.

"Where would I be if a little torture kept me from living my life?" he replied with forced lightness as I stripped the wrapper off the chocolate and popped it into my mouth. I nodded towards the white tulips that sat in a long, elegant vase on the nightstand. I looked from them to Draco, smiling fondly.

"My secret admirer has struck again," I noted, and he actually flushed a little bit.

"I didn't know if we'd gone beyond that point," he admitted. "White tulips seems a little… juvenile, now. Would you like something better."

I stared him down, and I actually leveraged myself into a sitting position to let him know just how serious I was. Draco's eyes widened and he moved to force me to lie back down.

"If you ever stop sending me white tulips we will be having words, Draco Malfoy," I informed him, and his mouth quirked up slightly.

"I thought girls were supposed to want a dozen red roses from their lovers?"

"Forget roses, I've got tulips."

Draco laughed softly. "Alright, tulips, forever and always. I swear. Now will you lie back down?" he asked hopefully, and I nodded, letting him force my shoulders gently back onto the mattress. A thought occurred to me, a silly one I'd never even considered asking before, but one that, now that I thought of it, was of almost paramount importance.

"Draco?" I asked softly, and he replied with a soft hum.

"Yes, phoenix?"

"Your mum," I began slowly. "Do you think she'd like me?"

Draco paused and looked at me like he was trying to work out what I would look like through his mother's eyes. He bit his lip and looked out the window.

"I think she would," he finally said. "You're everything she said she always wanted for me. I just… don't know if we'll ever get to that point…"

"Hope," I encouraged him, taking his hand. "It's rather Gryffindor, I know, but have hope."

* * *

It was officially Wednesday, and I was officially stir-crazy. Pomfrey had yet to let me go. I made the mistake of making one comment about how now I knew what it felt like to be Dumbledore's age and she'd gone full mother hen on me, all but strapping me into the bed and dosing me with more pain-relief than I thought should be allowed. I'd have to brew the replacement for it too, I mused, which was patently unfair, and when I raised this point with Madam Pomfrey as an argument for why I shouldn't take it, she had proceeded to inform me that we had a rather capable Potions Master on staff. Two, in fact, and poured the potion down my neck anyway.

My favorite of the two Potions Masters in the castle visited me during lunch on Wednesday, taking the chair Draco had occupied the night before and last night. He couldn't come during proper visiting hours without raising eyebrows, so he'd taken to sneaking in after hours.

When Snape came in I was propped up and reading the book he'd sent me about the gathering of potions ingredients throughout history. There was no real greeting, he just walked in, sat down, and nodded to the book as I slid it closed with a chocolate frog card to mark my page.

"How are you enjoying it thus far?"

"I didn't know there were so many different ways one could dry the same thing," I admitted wearily.

"If you'll pardon the pun, that part is a bit _dry_ in my opinion." Snape's eyes glittered. "It does get better."

"Did you just make a joke sir?" I asked in awe. "Wow, Amity's a good influence on you!"

Snape's face twisted into a scowl. "Ah yes, your mad boss, Miss Raincrow."

"Are you ever going to call her Amity?" I mused.

"Of course not, the fact that I don't infuriates her far too much for me to give it up. Why would you want me to deny the little things in life that give me pleasure?"

I chuckled. "Far be it from me, sir. But I should point out that from an outside perspective it would seem like you're _flirting_ a little."

Snape's stare promised death.

"Which is of course ridiculous," I said hastily, and smothered a shudder.

With the second sense that came from decades spent watching over students, Madam Pomfrey's voice rang from her office and demanded, "Are you intimidating my patient, Severus?"

"No, Madam!" Snape snapped in reply. "I wouldn't dream of it!" Dropping his voice back to normal volume, he muttered, "Nosy bat."

"I heard that, and I'm not the bat in this hospital, you are!"

I snickered, now without pain thanks to an extra day healing for my ribs. Skele-Gro could heal break in a matter of hours, but it took some time to deal with the bone bruising and get the bones back up to full strength.

"Hey sir," I asked before there was a duel in the ward. "Is there any chance you'll help me bust out of here? I feel better!"

"Roughly the same chance as Albus shaving his beard."

"Damn," I swore, and got a sharp look for my profanity.

"I would rather not risk the combined wrath of our esteemed matron and your Miss Raincrow," Snape continued. "I informed her of the events of the other night and received a reply stating in no uncertain terms that if something like it happened again she would descend upon Dumbledore herself."

"Really?" I asked disbelievingly. "And she said it just like that, eh? No cursing? No colloquialisms? I don't believe it."

Snape's lips pursed and I couldn't tell if it was because he disapproved or because he was suppressing amusement as he explained, "To quote directly, it was 'If I hear word of any of this bullshit happening again, I will somehow get my ass up to your stupid magic castle and I will be on your resident Merlin like white on rice.'"

I snorted and dissolved into a fit of laughter while Snape sat somewhat sulkily. Hearing Amity's words in the Potions Mater's deep, smooth voice was absolutely hysterical and I resolved to have him tell me direct quotes from Amity more often. It would do wonders for morale.

"I assume she was referring to the headmaster," Snape interrupted, quieting my fit.

"Yeah, that's what she calls Dumbledore. You should have seen her face when I told her Merlin was real."

Snape nodded and cast a glance at Pomfrey's door. He drew his wand and flicked it. At a guess, I figured it was that intensely useful _Muffliato_ spell I'd found in his old textbook.

" _Muffliato?"_ I asked, and Snape flinched in surprise, looking at me blankly.

"How did you know that spell?"

I smiled faintly. "Shouldn't have left your old textbook behind, sir," I replied with a shrug. "Particularly not with all those interesting hints and such in it. Harry found it when he had to borrow a book the first day of class."

Snape swore explosively at that, looking deeply annoyed at the idea that Harry was learning spells that he'd spent so much time and effort developing. I wondered if it was anything like how Harry had felt that time Snape used the cloak.

"Sir, language!" I huffed, feigning offense.

"This at least explains Potter's sudden skill with a cauldron," Snape grunted, still looking peeved. "It's not his skill at all."

For the sake of pulling Snape out of his annoyance with my brother – and possible saving Harry a loss of points when he had Defense next with a distraction – I asked, "What did you want to tell me in secret?"

Snape's expression immediately hardened into something more closed-off, sharper. The lines around his mouth and eyes seemed deeper than usual and I noticed that the bags under his eyes were puffier and darker purple than usual. He hadn't been sleeping well again and it didn't take much to guess why.

"The Dark Lord demanded that Parkinson and Bulstrode be brought before him," he began, his voice a low hum as he rushed to explain it all before we could be interrupted. "He was furious that they had dared attack you. He said that you were his."

The words sent a chill down my spine. I knew that he felt that way of course, but there was a difference between knowing it and hearing it said. My stomach flipped uncomfortably at the idea as my mind supplied an image of my head stuffed and mounted on a plaque like a stag's, hanging over a mantle while Voldemort sat beneath. I was a trophy to him, nothing more, and Parkinson and Bulstrode had tried to take me off the shelf and play with me.

"Are they still alive?" I asked, trying to work out which answer I would prefer. Dead meant they'd no longer be a problem, but I felt guilty for thinking it. Alive meant that they could still cause trouble.

"They are, but they are in no end of trouble," Snape explained, and I supposed that was the best I could hope for. Alive, but completely screwed. "Their parents are furious with them for being expelled and for bringing the Dark Lord's displeasure on their families. Added to that, Narcissa Malfoy has broken off her son's engagement to Parkinson." Snape looked at me pointedly. "She is, of course, heartbroken."

"Good," I said with a careless shrug. One thing I would never feel bad for was taking Draco from Parkinson.

* * *

"Oi, MacFarlan!"

The Hufflepuff prefect paused and turned around, a group of his friends stopping to see who was hailing him. Fresh from the Hospital Wing, I rushed down the hall towards him.

"Potter!" MacFarlan replied, greeting me with surprising friendliness. "Good to see you up and out of the Hospital Wing."

I nodded and grinned. "Good to be out. Listen, I just had to say thanks for what you did. For taking down Parkinson and Bulstrode…. Getting me up to the Hospital Wing…. Everything," I stressed. MacFarlan frowned, but then his eyes widened as he understood what I was saying. I was thanking him for letting Astoria off the hook for this.

He nodded and shrugged. "Could hardly do anything less, could I?" He smiled. "Just glad you're doing well. Let me know if you need any help. We're badgers, after all." He gestured to his friends, who were all smiling at me as well with surprising kindness.

"Thanks, MacFarlan," I said again, and waved as I trotted off down the hall towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the Hufflepuffs heading down towards their Common Room. I ducked into the bathroom and was unsurprised to see all of the Basilisks there, ready and waiting for our Thursday meeting. I'd missed Tuesday, but Draco had assured me that everyone was there and practicing even without my oversight.

I hissed at the sinks and they descended into the ground. The group was fairly subdued as we slid down into the tunnels, and it was easy to see why. Daphne looked nervous, her expression stressed and her posture tensed. Perhaps the most obvious sign of her discomfort was how close Nott lingered, his hand perpetually at the small of her back supportively as we walked into the Chamber proper.

"Daphne," I said quietly, and it went dead silent as Daphne stepped out of the crowd and approached me, her eyes on the ground. I rolled my eyes at her. "Perk up, buttercup."

Daphne looked up, surprised.

"It's not like you were standing there holding a wand, and it's not like Astoria actually cast anything on me," I told her. "I don't blame you and she's not connected with the attack in any way, so she'll be fine."

Daphne all but sagged with relief and I saw Nott give her back a supportive smile and me a thankful nod.

"Thank god," she breathed, and brought up her hands to rub at her eyes wearily. "I heard what happened to Parkinson and Bulstrode and all I've been able to think was what if Astoria had been caught too…"

"I'll keep Astoria safe as well as I can," I assured her. "Just try and keep her from setting on me in the halls, alright?" Daphne gave a weak, watery laugh, and nodded. I sighed, debated for a second, and then stepped forward and hugged the prissy little pureblood tightly.

"She's safe for now, Greengrass, and I'll try to make sure she stays that way," I muttered into her ear, turning my head so that she others couldn't see. I started to let go, but Daphne's arms snapped up and she crushed me to her, returning the hug and then some.

"Thank you," she whispered back, and released me, stepping back into the group.

"This brings up an important factor, though," I announced, addressing all of my Basilisks. "I was set on in the halls of Hogwarts. Now we've got the emergency kits with shield gear, but we can't wear them always. If worst comes to worst and one of us is caught doing something we shouldn't, we need to be able to defend each other and keep the other Basilisks a secret."

"I would never sell us out!" Dominic said vehemently, and there were nods and murmurs of agreement from around the Chamber.

"No matter what the other houses think of us, we're loyal to our own," Blaise said, and there was an almost heroic sort of gleam in his eye as he said it. More nods, a few scattered cheers. I smiled at my tiny little army, so ready to strike and spit poison on any one who spoke against them.

"I don't think you would, but you might not be given the option to sell us out or not," I explained, and got confused looks. I began to clarify, "There is an art called Legilimency – I don't expect most of you have heard of it, it's ridiculously advanced and not something you'll find in the Hogwarts curriculum. Then again, neither is the Patronus, and look how well you've all taken to that."

I grinned proudly – every one of my Basilisks could do at least a basic shield Patronus, even the younger ones.

"Legilimency is, to make it simple, the art of mind-reading. Some people don't need to ask you questions, they can just dig in your mind and find out the answers for themselves. Out esteemed headmaster is a skilled Legilimens, and so is Voldemort. So is our own Head of House, though to a lesser extent."

Chastity looked horrified. Clearly, she got the danger. "But then, if one of us got caught by our families, our minds might give all of us away!"

"Thankfully, there exists a counter-art: Occlumency, the skill of shielding one's mind. I've been learning it since fifth year, and while I'm by no means an expert, I know enough to get along with and to start teaching you the basics. For the next few lessons, that's what we'll be focusing on, and unlike a lot of the rest of what we do here, you can practice outside. After that, it will be up to you what you focus on. If you want to duel, that's fine. Want to hiss a little, go nuts. Want to focus on blocking your mind, more power to you. I'm giving you freedom in our little get-togethers. And I'll still be here, circulating and answering questions."

"So this Occlumency thing," Sherburne called out, looking curious. "How does it work?"

I exchanged a knowing look with Draco, who smirked in reply.

"Let me tell you."

* * *

It was Sunday, and Draco and I had decided to forgo a chess tournament and my inevitable defeat for a day spent in the Room of Requirement. The fire crackled merrily in the grate and for once we weren't perched on the couch or doing homework. The room had cleared the coffee table and provided pillows, and we were sprawled in front of the fire, me lying half on my side and half on my back. Draco's head was resting partially on my stomach and I absently fiddled with his hair as he stared at the ceiling. Our robes and ties were thrown haphazardly on the couch, shoes and socks off.

"Time is running out," Draco observed, and I looked at him curiously.

"How so?"

"It's coming up on Halloween," Draco said. His voice was strained. It seemed to sound that way a lot lately and I winced in sympathy as he continued, "I'm running out of time to complete my mission."

"You have more than half a year left," I reminded him gently, carding my fingers through platinum locks. He said he was obsessed with my red hair, but I was scarcely better than him now. "You've got a plan…"

"Which is no good if I can't put it into action," Draco countered, giving me a pointed look. "The Vanishing Cabinet is still my best shot at getting the Death Eaters in, but I've got no idea how to go about repairing it."

"It's an enchanted item," I reminded him. "They're tricky on the better days. I'll write you up a list of books that might help, things I've used in the past."

"Would you?" Draco asked gratefully. "That'd help. I'm not sure where to start."

"Hm, of course."

"Still…" Draco hedged. "I'm scared that I… that it really is as impossible as they say it's supposed to be."

"Nothing's impossible," I replied calmly, and added a little more pressure, massaging his scalp soothingly. He closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing into my touch. With his eyes shut, I took some time to observe him without getting caught.

Quidditch had given Draco a decent amount of muscle – not as much as a beater, obviously, but enough to be considered athletic. With him no longer playing and taking care of himself, he was starting to go from lithe to simply skinny. His skin, always to painfully pale, was taking on a grayish cast, as if he were ill. It only looked worse when paired with the dark purple bruises under his eyes.

I reached down and stroked under one eye pointedly. "You're not sleeping," I chastened gently. "You have to take care of yourself."

Draco winced. "I try, I do, but it's like I lay down… and then I can't get it out of my head. It's just pressing down on me and I can't breathe. I lay awake until almost morning most nights, and I can't stop thinking about it… about him… worrying about mum…"

"I'll brew you some Dreamless Sleep," I promised, stroking a finger along the bridge of his nose. "You can't use it every night, but it might help you get back on a decent sleep schedule, or at least get a few nights of good sleep here and there."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Draco groaned, and took my hand, drawing it to his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, his eyes a mix of sad fondness as he busied himself pressing kisses to each one of my fingertips. I flushed under the attention.

"I wish I didn't have to bother with this," Draco murmured against my skin, and I raised an eyebrow.

"I'd hope so."

Draco huffed. "No, not like that, just… This may be some of the last time we get to spend together before everything falls apart. I wish I could be here, _really_ here, with you… not worrying about some mission from him."

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," I replied wistfully. "I wish that too, Draco, but I know what you're doing and why you're doing it. I admire you for it, for doing something you don't want to do to save your mother. I wish you didn't have to, of course, and maybe if I didn't know why you seem distant sometimes I might feel differently… but we've both got things we have to do and I'm content with taking what time we can."

"It's not enough," Draco mumbled, pressing my hand to his chest and pulling me so that my body formed a half-moon around him.

"No, it's not," I agreed. "But it's better than nothing."

"I waited years to get you, Lorena," Draco told me, his voice going intent. " _Years,_ you understand? And now I don't get to really enjoy my spoils."

I arched an eyebrow. "Spoils?" I repeated slowly, giving him time to correct himself. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be like that, you know what I mean. I just… It's terrible but I almost can't wait to kill him, because if I do this whole mission is over." Draco was back to staring at the ceiling and looking torn. I sighed and pulled my stomach out from under his head, squirming around so that I lay next to him. My hand was still clasped in his and pressed against his chest. I could feel his heart thumping under my palm. It killed me to think that someday far too soon that heart might stop beating.

"Don't do that to yourself," I whispered into his ear, nuzzling my nose into his shoulder. "Don't sit here and stress yourself out. You'll work yourself into a panic and do something foolish that'll be no good to anyone. Just stay as calm as you can about the whole thing. I know it's asking a lot," I added. "But it's the best you can do."

"Do you ever think about just running away?" Draco asked, and I tense slightly, looking up at him.

"How do you mean?"

Draco sighed and his eyes closed again. He really was exhausted, and I made a note to myself to get started on a bath of Dreamless Sleep as soon as I got back to the lab.

"I think about it, sometimes," he admitted, sounding horribly ashamed. His brow scrunched in self-loathing. "Some Hogsmeade weekend, I could take the Floo to the Manor, grab mum, and just go. To Spain, maybe, he doesn't have people there. Maybe Italy, we've got a house there. Let everyone else sort this out and come back when the dust has settled."

I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it. This wasn't the time to listen and offer advice. This was the time to let Draco voice his thoughts, get them out of his head and into the real world and clear the air for himself.

"But then I think that's the cowards way out," he continued bitterly. "And I don't… I don't want to be the coward anymore. I want to stay and stand and fight but I feel like I'm risking so much and I'm not guaranteed anything for it. If the Dark Lord wins, I still may not see my next birthday, and neither might mum or you. If the Order wins, who's to say if they'd ever forgive me for killing Dumbledore if I do actually manage it? I might spend the rest of my life in Azkaban."

"I say they'd forgive you," I told him firmly. "And if they don't, then we'll do it. Go grab your mum and head for the continent, live quietly. Running from a fight isn't always cowardly, sweetheart." I stroked his cheek tenderly. "Sometimes a strategic retreat is the best move. And we Slytherins are nothing if not strategic."

Draco cracked an eye open. "You'd come with me? Leave it all behind? Even Harry?"

I paused, considering that. Harry was my twin, my other half, and if I did leave him then it would be like ripping half my heart out – but I would survive. Harry and I were not in the state of near-codependence we'd been in when we were children. Losing him, even just for a while, would hurt like hell, but I would get over it and heal. It was impossible to say which one of them would be harder to lose – Draco or Harry. They would hurt in different ways, for different reasons, and they would scar me in different places.

"I can't answer that," I admitted softly. "I don't think I can know the answer until I'm actually in that position."

Draco chuckled softly. "I can accept that. Have you… ever considered it?" His voice was strained, but in a different way. Not with stress, but with forced casualness, like the answer didn't really matter to him. Which, of course, meant that the answer was absolutely critical.

"Considered what?"

"Us. After it all. If we're both alive. If it's even still possible for us to be together."

I blinked. He was asking… what was he asking? "I don't know… how you mean?" I said slowly. Draco shifted, turning onto his side so that he was looking at me. One arm came around and looped over my waist, holding me tightly. His hand still hadn't let go of mine.

"Five years from now," Draco murmured, setting the scene. "The war's over. The Dark Lord lost. We're both still alive, we're both free. Are we still together, phoenix?"

I inhaled. He was asking if, after all the dust settled and the melodrama and fear and secrecy had been taken out of our relationship, once it was no longer the tempting forbidden fruit, would I still want him? Five years from now… that would mean we'd been together for, what six, seven years total? Most people would be married by that point, or at least planning it. But tying ourselves together that permanently was something neither of us had dared to bring up until now.

Could I see myself engaged to Draco? Marrying him? Honestly, yes. It was even shockingly easy to picture, considering I'd never bothered with the childish dreaming up of married life, of big, home-cooked dinners and two-point-five children and a white picket fence. And yet, when I really thought about it, I could see it.

 _Draco and I, five years older, worn from war but alive, chasing each other around his manor on broomsticks and laughing. Laying peacefully in front of the fire like we were now. Tangled up in sheets together, whispers and promises. Dinner parties with people from his world and mine awkwardly mingling as they slowly realized that they weren't enemies, hadn't ever been. Sitting and reading by the fire with a little platinum-haired girl draped across my lap, dozing. Growing into our sunset years as war heroes and some kind of Romeo and Juliet love story to the masses._

 _A cat,_ I thought dizzily. _We'd have a cat._

"Yes," I finally replied softly. "We're still together. And what's even better? We're happy."

I looked up at him and he looked down at me and we just smiled at each other. Draco looked so relieved, although the stress was still there in his eyes. But I felt warm and safe and almost secure knowing that no matter what sort of hell the coming war would bring, if we both came through, at least one thing wouldn't have changed. Maybe it was a pipe dream, but maybe it could be reality, and wasn't that something to fight for?


	94. Opals

**This chapter is officially dedicated to ZabuzasGirl! Happy birthday, lady!**

* * *

Fall faded into winter and as December came, so came the first Hogsmeade visit of the season. I wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect for multiple reasons. One, the weather had decided to stage a rebellion and icy, biting wind was coming out of the north with all the force of a giant. Second, Draco was stuck with McGonagall because his grades in her class had been slipping, meaning we couldn't even pretend to bump into each other. And third, because of Filch standing by the doors out onto the grounds wielding a Secrecy Sensor and looking delighted.

I gave the caretaker a snarl as he waved the device over me and he seemed disappointed when it didn't blare an alarm. Before he could decide to do another sweep – or six, like the unfortunate Ravenclaw who'd been in front of me – I hustled out onto the grounds. I pulled my coat tightly around me, a Slytherin scarf tied around the lower half of my face. The wind still bit at the exposed parts of my cheeks and I wished I'd worn my glasses to spare my eyes some of the needles, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Zonko's was boarded up, I noted as I arrived. Probably not because it had been raided, but because the shop was run by half-bloods who vocally supported Dumbledore. They'd probably decided to run for it like more than one family had, to return after the dust settled. Honestly, I couldn't blame them. If I weren't who I was I probably would have done the same.

I headed for Tomes and Scrolls and pushed the door open, stepping inside. The elderly man behind the counter smiled at me in greeting and I nodded in reply, loosening my coat to keep from sweating through my clothes in the much warmer shop. I tugged my scarf loose and headed for the top floor where the more advanced books were kept. Scanning along the shelves, I soon found what I was looking for – the small section on Animagus transformations. Several of the books I already had copies of from my original research, but I found a promising title in _Troubleshooting: I've Got Horns, Now What?_

Being as it wasn't critical – my form was entirely too bold to be of much use for disguises or stealth – my transformations had fallen to the back burner a bit, but I was finally ready to get back into it now that the medical potions I was brewing were progressing along nicely and the mirrors and bags were finished. It had been a while since I'd tried, but a few attempts the night before proved that I still had it. I was hardly a full-fledged phoenix yet, but I was making progress. My face and legs were starting to shift appropriately, but my torso was still a problem, probably due to all the internal organs. They were the trickiest bits to change. I was usually left looking like a very red Big Bird.

I carried the book down to the front and checked out, taking the brown paper-wrapped book and tucking it into my coat. My next stop was the apothecary for a few ingredients, and then into Honeydukes for a slab of chocolate. I'd been working hard lately and a bit of chocolate on hand sounded like the perfect response.

The place was jam-packed, probably because it was warm and smelled of toffee. I slipped through the crush and headed for the chocolate bars, picking up two large bars. I started to head for the counter, but paused and walked back. After looking for a moment, I caught sight of a bar of mint chocolate and grabbed two of them as well, smiling slightly. It would be nice to keep some of Draco's favorite on hand for our chess games, and one bar would go to him as a sort of pick-me-up for missing the Hogsmeade visit. As I passed the display, I grabbed a bag of crystallized pineapple.

I paid and headed for the Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer was a must on a day like this and I didn't have much else to do the rest of the day, so I could take my time and sip it leisurely while I read a chapter or two of my new book.

That in mind, I headed towards the pub eagerly, drawing my coat tighter around me. I was surprised when, standing just outside, I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione. That weren't the surprising bit, though. It was the fact that Harry looked like someone had just destroyed his Firebolt and that he was pressing Mundungus Fletcher up against the wall.

"What on earth?" I demanded as I strode over. Harry whipped around, looking guilty, but his expression returned to its previous storminess when he saw who it was.

"Look in the case," he grunted at me, and I raised an eyebrow. Ron stepped back and pointed to a battered, dirty case sitting on the ground near Harry and Mundungus's feet. I walked over and bent down curiously, lifting out the first thing my fingers brushed – a silver goblet. At first I had no idea what about Dung pedaling in Hogsmeade would have made Harry so infuriated. But then I twirled the stem of the goblet in my fingers and saw the crest on it. A very familiar crest, with the very familiar _Toujours Pur_ written under it.

Anger pounded through me and I straightened up, approaching Harry and Mundungus with the goblet still in my hand.

"What did you do?" Harry growled in Dung's face. "Go back the night Sirius died and strip the place?"

"I- no-" I saw Mundungus's hands dive for his wand. I reacted with the instincts of a Chaser and snatched the rod from Mundungus's hands. He gave me a filthy look, but coward though he was, no wizard would abandon their wand like that.

"Now you'll get this back," I told him, bopping him on the nose with the tip of his own wand before holding up the goblet before his eyes, "when you tell me where you got this?"

"Sirius gave it to me-"

I sighed and passed Hermione the goblet. She fumbled with it for a moment before grasping it in both hands under her chin, eyes darting between Harry and I and Mundungus.

"Let's try that again," I said, taking the other end of Dung's wand and flexing. His eyes widened and Ron made a strangled noise of surprise.

"Lorena, don't!" he protested.

I arched an eyebrow at Mundungus and didn't ease off the pressure on his wand. "Answer the question, Dung," I sang. "Considering Ollivander's is boarded up and warded it would be an awful shame if you suddenly found yourself wandless."

"Alright, alright!" Dung said quickly, panting with stress. His breath smelled of stale tobacco and firewhiskey. "I took a few fings outta the place after Sirius bit it… _passed!_ Passed!" he corrected himself when Harry gave a wordless snarl.

"Hm," I mused, nodding to myself. I eased off the pressure and Dung sagged in relief. "Did you know," I asked silkily, "that Sirius willed Grimmauld Place and all its contents to me?"

Dung paled. "Y-You?"

"Yes, me," I replied with a polite smile. "Which means that everything you took… belongs to me. I don't like being stolen from, Mundungus. Perhaps you should speak with Pansy Parkinson about what happens to people who cross me. I suppose you heard what happened to her?"

Mundungus paled and trembled. Harry warily eased off of him. Normally he would have been standing back with Ron and Hermione and trying to talk me out of playing the Slytherin, but he was as angry as I was on this occasion. Sirius was one thing that was sacred to both of us, and Dung had made the mistake of stepping out of line in that respect.

"Now you can't do anything…" Mundungus begged. "We're in public!"

I laughed lightly, but there was a definite threatening undercurrent to it. "Oh, Dung! You think I'd hurt you? Well, you're right." My voice went flat. "But you're also right in that we're in a public place. So I think we'll handle this as a business transaction."

Mundungus perked up. "Business? Yeah, we can do some business! Name yer price!"

"Well you see, the unfortunate part of the situation is that I can't know if you've taken anything beyond what's in your case from Grimmauld Place," I informed him. "And if you have, I highly doubt you have your whole stock on you."

"I do!" Dung said quickly. "Everything I took, it's in there!"

"That's the problem with being a thief, Dung," Harry said shortly. "People don't believe you."

"So here's what we're going to do," I told Dung, taking the goblet from Hermione and placing it in the case. I shut it, locked it, and picked it up. I tapped Dung's wand to it and it shrank. I tucked it into my pocket and Mundungus opened his mouth to protest. "I'm going to buy all of this off of you," I assured him. For a second he glowed, Galleons in his eyes. His expression fell when I clarified, holding his wand aloft, "for the price of one wand."

"That's not on!" Dung protested. I pointed his wand into his face.

"Neither is stealing my inheritance, but that doesn't seem to have stopped you, so I fail to see why I should get all precious about morality either," I informed him. I made to hand the wand to Mundungus. He reached for it eagerly and I yanked it back at the last second. "Do keep in mind that if I hear you so much as set foot in my house without my express permission, I will make you regret it," I whispered, before passing his wand back. Mundungus took it and we had a brief moment of seeing his face white with fear before he was gone with a crack.

"Bastard," Harry spat, and I nodded in agreement, sliding my fingers into my pocket and fingering the case. I doubted that the only thing inside were things taken form Sirius and I doubted that everything in there was legal. It would be interesting going through it and seeing what I had acquired once I'd checked it for any security spells.

"Blimey, you're scary."

I whipped around and saw Tonks pacing through the snow, her mousy hair wet with sleet as she observed me.

"I wondered why Mad-Eye didn't like you," she admitted. "Suppose I know now, eh?"

I shrugged, unabashed. "I don't appreciate being stolen from," I said simply, and headed for the door. Tonks was closer and held it for me as the Gryffindors filtered in behind me.

"He was nicking Sirius's stuff!" Harry burst out.

"I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring," whispered Hermione. "Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink."

Harry and Ron stomped over to a table and I joined them, shucking my coat and settling in.

"Tonks is right, you're a bloody force of nature," Ron said, giving me a side-eye as I slid into the booth next to my brother. I smirked faintly.

"Thank you, I'm specially trained in being threatening." I snorted. "Actually, I'm not too upset about the goblets. Sirius hated them anyway. But I am concerned that he may have taken something Sirius actually cared about. I'd have no way of knowing. Besides, it's the principal of the thing."

Hermione returned then, four bottles of butterbeer held in her hands. She slid into the booth next to Ron and distributed the drinks.

"Can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry demanded in a furious whisper. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?"

"Shh!" hissed Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. Here were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry and I with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. "Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's Rena's things he's stealing-"

Harry chuckled slightly. "No wonder he wasn't pleased to see us. Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus."

"Good idea," whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. "Ron, what are you staring at?"

"Nothing," said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but I knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive bar-maid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot.

"I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more firewhiskey," said Hermione waspishly.

Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Harry was thinking about Sirius, and how he had hated those silver goblets anyway. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table.

"Potter."

It was Zabini, approaching with a dignified tilt of his head and his usual strut. He rested his hand on the edge of our table and the basilisk scale on his ring glittered in the light.

"I wondered if you could make a recommendation for me," he explained. "Occlumency… and books that might help."

Ron choked and sputtered on his drink. Zabini wrinkled his nose in distaste and Ron gave him a dirty look before demanding of me, "You're teaching that stuff to them?"

I clicked my fingernails against the glass of my bottle. "And why shouldn't I?" I countered. "What, did you think I was just teaching Malfoy?" I sneered, and I saw a flash of understanding in Zabini's eyes as he realized that the Gryffindors knew I'd been teaching Malfoy. The only reason I'd admit to that and deal with the inevitable judgment was to defend Draco's honor. He gave me a look that meant we'd be having a chat.

" _Occluding for the Secretive and Scared_ ," I offered Zabini. "Author's a bit of a nutter but his information is sound."

"Right, thanks," Zabini said gratefully. "See you next meeting, Lorena," he stressed, making it clear that he didn't want to see any of the other three. Hermione rolled her eyes as Zabini walked away.

"Lorena," Harry asked slowly. "Why did Zabini have a ring like yours?"

I blinked and stared at my crest for a moment before smiling faintly. I held up my hand and grinned at the basilisk scale as it shone iridescent.

"All of her students do," Hermione noted.

I nodde and drew my wand. I cast a quick Muffliato and explained, "When we first got started Greengrass asked for some basilisk skin. I had no idea what she planned to do, but she ended up commissioning rings for all of us. From there were etched the settings with protective runes. Pretty and practical," I chirped.

"Don't suppose you've got any more of that stuff lying around?" Ron asked. "I wouldn't mind some robes like you had for the third task."

I scoffed. "That's not happening. I am toying with the idea of turning it into a vest, rather like the style used in formal dueling. It would function as a magical version of Muggle Kevlar."

Ron looked blankly, while Harry and Hermione looked impressed.

"That's actually rather brilliant," Hermione whispered.

"That's my sister," Harry said proudly, and lifted his bottle, draining the last drops. When he finished, Hermione asked,

"Shall we call it a day and head back up to the school, then?"

We drew our cloaks tightly around us, rearranged our scarves, pulled on our gloves, and generally prepared to face the weather. We followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street. Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny as they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. The wind was enough to steal a person's breath. We walked in silence as we kicked through the sludge on the road, none of us particularly wanting to shout over the wind or lower our scarves to be heard.

It was a little while before I became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to us on the wind, had become shriller and louder. I squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand. It looked like an ordinary package in brown paper, like what any of a half-dozen shops in Hogsmeade used to wrap purchases.

"It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!" Katie said heatedly.

We rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast. Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding. Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.

At once, Katie rose into the air gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. There was something eerily angelic about the way she floated there. We five had all halted in their tracks, watching.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed. Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. We rushed forward to help, but even as Harry and Ron grabbed one of Katie's legs each, she fell on top of them. Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

"Shit," I cursed. She was writhing so much it was like she was seizing. I had enough lessons with Madam Pomfrey to know that now there was a concern of her thrashing about so much that she strained or tore muscles or bit through her tongue.

"Run for help, one of you!" I shouted over the wind as I ripped my scarf off. I shoved part of it in Katie's mouth. It both muffled her screams and kept her from biting down hard enough to do any damage.

"What are you doing?" Leanne sobbed, yanking at my shoulder. "Get away from her!"

'Shut up, I'm trying to keep her from hurting herself!" I snapped, shoving the girl away and throwing a leg over Katie's hips. I sat down firmly on her stomach. Katie screamed louder and thrashed harder, but she was getting nowhere with my weight on her. I felt rather like I was riding a bucking bronco as I fought to grab her wrists and pin them down, hooking my ankles over her thighs and straining to keep her legs still.

"What did she touch?" I demanded, looking around to see what had become of the package. It was there in the snow, the brown paper now sodden, and something greenish glittered. It was a necklace of opals, a very ornate and quite lovely one. Something about it seemed familiar and it took a moment before I could place it – it came from Borgin and Burkes. It was the necklace that had been there since our misadventure in second year. I clearly remembered the warning posted next to its display about how the necklace was cursed and had already killed a few owners.

"Don't touch it!" I snapped when Ron made to grab for it. "Leave it there for now, it can wait, it won't- Argh!"

Katie had wrenched a hand free and she managed to draw back a fist and punch me in the jaw. Flat on her back she couldn't get much force behind it, but it still stung. I grabbed her wrist again and slammed it back to the ground a bit more brutally that was probably necessary, scowling heartily.

"You are so lucky you're cursed right now, Bell," I muttered under my breath.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and saw Harry appear through the sleet, Hagrid's hulking shape coming behind him. I sighed in relief as they came to a stop beside us.

"Get back!" shouted Hagrid. "Lemme see her!"

"Something's happened to her!" sobbed Leanne. "I don't know what —"

"She touched whatever was in that package and then rose into the air. She hung there for a second, then fell and started thrashing," I rattled off to Hagrid, getting off of Katie and removing my scarf from her mouth. "It's a curse, and it kills, I recognize that thing that got her. Tell Madam Pomfrey."

Hagrid nodded, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.

Hermione hurried over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her supportively. "It's Leanne, isn't it?" she asked. The girl nodded. "Did it just happen all of a sudden, or — ?"

"It was when that package tore," sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground.

"That thing," I said in distaste, and walked over, brandishing my scarf once more. I used it to wrap the package up and lift it out of the snow safely.

"I've seen that before," said Harry, staring at the thing. "It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago." I nodded in agreement as I carefully wrapped it in the thick knit, making sure it was securely tucked away. "The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it." He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. "How did Katie get hold of this?"

"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!"

Leanne shook with renewed sobs. Hermione patted her shoulder gently.

"She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?"

"No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from her... and— and—" Leanne let out a wail of despair.

"We'd better get up to school," murmured Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. "We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on..."

As we walked, I considered. Considering how things had been going lately it wasn't a stretch to think that Harry or I was the intended target. But if that were the case, Katie could have easily turned around and given one of us the package. In fact, an Imperius curse would have compelled her to unless otherwise specified. Whoever had done this, the effort seemed rather slap-dash at best.

The next target was, of course, Dumbledore, and I felt a horrible jerk in my gut as I realized that he must have been the target. tHat led me directly to the perpetrator, and it was not who I wanted it to be by any stretch of the imagination. Draco had been talking more and more about just wanting to get this mission over with so he could finally rest, finally think, finally be normal again. It was because he'd been failing to do homework that he wasn't here today, a sure sign that the mission was getting harder and harder for him to bare, considering how seriously he'd always taken his grades.

As we followed Hermione and Leanne onto the grounds Harry spoke, seemingly unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

"Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad. This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!" he said decisively.

I stayed quiet, though internally I felt a bit panicked. I had managed to get Harry somewhat off the 'Malfoy is a Death Eater' train but it seemed that with this newest attack he was back on. Protecting him the way I wanted to would lead to questions and suspicion from Harry.

Thankfully, Ron and Hermione were skeptics.

"I — I dunno, Harry," said Ron hesitantly. "Loads of people go to Borgin and Burkes... and didn't that girl say Katie got it in the girls' bathroom?"

"She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn't necessarily get it in the bathroom itself-"

"McGonagall!" I said warningly.

Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them.

"Hagrid says you five saw what happened to Katie Bell — upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Miss Potter?"

"It's the thing she touched," I said grimly, offering t over. "I know it came from Borgin and Burkes, Harry and I saw it when we got sent there in a Floo mix-up summer before second year."

"I was still there this summer," Hermione jumped in. "Someone must have bought it since then."

"Good lord," said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from me. "No, no, Filch, they're with me!" she added hastily, as Filch came shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. "Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it wrapped in the scarf!"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Snape would be able to take a guess and figure out who had done this. That was both good and bad. He would be able to keep Draco's name out of it when it came to the necklace but he would also know that it was Draco who did it. Snape wouldn't be pleased. He'd made an Unbreakable Vow and an attempt like this from Draco would only make his life harder.

We followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face us all.

"Well?" she asked sharply of the still-sobbing Leanna. "What happened?"

Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.

"All right," sighed Professor McGonagall, not unkindly. "Go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock."

When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to the rest of us.

"What happened when Katie touched the necklace?"

"She rose up in the air," said Harry, before any of us could speak, "and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?" he asked hopefully.

McGonagall blinked. "The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter," she replied, looking surprised.

"Away?" Harry repeated angrily.

"Yes, Potter, away!" huffed Professor McGonagall tartly. "But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!"

Harry visibly hesitated and I opened my mouth to cut him off, to say soemthign about how the curse seemed to have affected Katie mentally not physically, seeing as she had no actual wounds to speak of. Some sort of babble that would be expected from a girl doing shifts in the Hospital Wing and learning how to heal. But Harry, once again, beat me to it.

"I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor."

On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment. On the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," breathed Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"

"No," admittedd Harry, but he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had over-heard between him and Mr. Borgin. When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.

"Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?"

"No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace-"

"You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?" McGonagall pressed.

"No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him-"

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no-"

"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!" countered Harry angrily.

"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?'" quoted Hermione.

"Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace," interjected Ron.

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione despairingly, "it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street — and in any case," she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything-"

"Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you — anyway, Malfoy could've sent off for it since-"

"That's enough!" interrupted Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious. "Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people-"

"-that's what I said-" muttered Ron.

"-and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge-"

"But-" Harry tried to argue.

"-and what is more," contined Professor McGonagall, with an air of finality, "Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."

Harry gaped at her, deflating. "How do you know, Professor?"

"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she said as she marched past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all."

She held open her office door. We had no choice but to file past her without another word and McGonagall took off down the hall, heading for the Hospital Wing post haste, her robes sweeping behind her.

Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall and it was clear on his face as he whipped around to face them. I muttered something about researching cursed jewelry and beat a hasty retreat for the apprentice's lab. Once there I shucked my winter gear in a rush, leaving it piled on the floor, and dug the Marauder's Map out of my trunk.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I murmured, and watched as the ink spiraled across the page. It took two scans before I confirmed that Malfoy was nowhere to be found in the halls, the Library, the Common Room, anywhere. That left only one place he could be, and with that in mind I shoved the map in my pocket and took off at a fast clip for the Room of Requirement.

I took secret passageways to shave of seconds where I could and in what had to be record time I had made it to the seventh floor. I began to pace in front of the tapestry, mind whirling.

 _I need to see Draco, I need to see Draco, come on, I know he's in there, I need to see Draco…_

I stopped and turned. The door had appeared, so I grabbed the handle and yanked it open, sliding inside.

One look confirmed my theory that it was Draco. The torches were dim on the walls and the fireplace was nothing but burning cinders as the room's spell made it reflect Draco's mood. He himself was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, still as a statue but for his shaking shoulders. For one wild moment I thought he was laughing, then I heard the muffled sound of a sob and realized he was crying.

I walked around the couch and sat down next to him. Draco stiffened as I settled myself on the cushion next to him, but he didn't look up. Another, strangled sob ripped free of him however.

I sighed and asked softly, "Sweetheart, what did you do?"


	95. Comfort and Care

Draco looked up at me and my heart broke as I saw the tears trailing down his cheeks, the way his eyes were red and puffy. Everything in me wanted to reach out and comfort him but I couldn't, not now. He'd cursed a girl, maybe killed her if things went downhill. This was not his time to be comforted.

"I was with McGonagall when she got the word from Pomfrey," Draco cried, looking back down at his lap and pressing his face into his hands. "I realized… I Imperiused Rosmerta last Hogsmeade visit, told her to give the necklace to the first student she could get alone… I never meant… It was supposed to go to Dumbledore… what have I… what have I _done?"_

I licked my lips. My heart was beating in my ears as I watched Draco sit there and sob into his hands. I'd never seen him break like this before. I'd seen tears of stress or fear gather in his eyes when the mission began to loom over him, but they never spilled out, certainly not in the way they were now, with enough force to jerk his sentences apart.

I reached out and placed a hand softly on his shoulder. It was like I had broken some kind of dam of emotion inside of him. Draco doubled over, jerking away from me, his forehead pressed to his knees, and he lost the war to smother his sobs. They ripped out of him with force. I stared at him, wishing to Merlin I could tell him it was alright, but I couldn't, because it wasn't.

I lowered my hand so that it rested on my back and began to move it in long, soothing sweeps up and down his spine.

"It was foolish, Draco," I whispered. "You are smarter than this. Imperius, a cursed necklace, that's a film plot, not a real plan. There are a hundred things that could have gone wrong with it and you knew that, I expect, but you still did it. And you won't pay the price, because that's fallen to Katie Bell by sheer dumb luck. She's lying in a hospital bed right now and fighting for her life."

Draco looked up at me, agony in his eyes. "I never meant to hurt anyone besides Dumbledore. Please, you have to believe me!" he begged. "You can't… you can't turn away from me for this Lorena, please, I'm begging you! I swear, _I never meant to hurt anyone else!_ "

"I know," I replied calmly, though inside I was sobbing right along with him. Neither of us were overly fond of Katie Bell – the only time we ever interacted with her was on the opposite side of the Qudditch pitch, which didn't exactly breed bosom buddies – but I didn't want the girl dead and neither did Draco, that I knew for sure. He didn't want to kill anyone. The only reason he was even trying to hurt people was because he had been ordered to and he couldn't say no.

I hated Voldemort for what he was trying to turn Draco into. A killer, one of his. But to see the way this tore at Draco I knew that he never would be. He may end a life during this war, but he would never be the cold-blooded killer that Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange were. He would shatter before he got to that point. He was already breaking now.

"That doesn't change the fact that you did it though," I continued. "You may have killed an innocent girl, Draco."

"Please…" Draco slipped off the couch. He drew away from my hand again and he shocked me by kneeling on the rug by my feet and pressing his forehead to my knees in benediction. "Please, if you hate me… I can't do this without you, Lorena, I really can't… I've already hurt Katie… if I lose you too… if I… I c-can't, I can't…" He shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. I closed my eyes and had to fight the liquid building in my own eyes. I took a few deep, shuddering breaths to brace myself.

"I made you a promise," I said, and cupped his face between my palms. He knew he'd screwed up and he regretted it, he wished to god it hadn't happened, that much was obvious. There was no way I could punish him that would make him feel worse than he already did, nothing more I could say that would tell him anything he didn't already know.

"I made you a promise," I repeated as Draco stared up at me, wary hope in his eyes. "That I wouldn't hold you actions in this war against you and you wouldn't hold mine against me. I forgive you for this, Draco, not that it's my forgiveness you need. I said I wouldn't turn my back on you and I won't. Not now."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his forehead, a balm, a cleansing, and Draco heaved a great, shuddering breath and collapsed against my shins. His head stayed on my knees as he sobbed himself dry and I sat there, fighting tears as I combed my fingers through his hair and wondered just how many more cracks this war would put into how many more people and how many would break entirely?

* * *

Draco fell asleep eventually, too exhausted from his emotions to keep his eyes open for very long after he'd shed all his tears. I levitated him onto the couch and took off his shoes and tie, scribbling a note to him before leaving the Room of Requirement. I felt exhausted too, emotionally wrung out. I strode through the halls feeling like I was one of the ghosts as I headed for Snape's office.

When I arrived, I wasn't entirely surprised to see him sitting at his desk. He had a heavy book open in front of him that looked old enough to have been written by Merlin himself. The opal necklace was hovering in the air in front of him at the tip of his wand as his mouth moved through spells. I couldn't help but think that even last year, Snape wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the necklace. Were Umbridge still in charge, she probably would have used this to pass another round of Educational Decrees.

Snape's eyes flicked from the necklace to me and they were blazing with rage. I knew it wasn't directed at me though. I must have looked like warmed-over dragon dung, because the rage died to a smolder when he saw me shut the door and step into his office fully.

"Was it him?" Snape whispered, his voice barely carrying across the scant few feet between us it was said to quietly. "Was it Draco?"

I didn't need to say anything. The look on my face said it all, apparently, because Snape rose to his feet with a roar of anger. His whipping wand sent the necklace and the contents of his desktop flying across the room. The necklace shattered a jar holding a pickled mandrake and the liquid splattered to the ground. The book hit off to the side in an explosion of pages that fluttered in all directions before hitting the ground with a thunk. Quills, essays, a bottle of ink. They went flying in all directions. I had to duck a quill that ended up stuck in the mortar of the wall behind me, the tip quivering. Such an unbridled display of anger was not unheard of from Snape, but it took an awful lot to coax it out.

" _That little fool!"_ Snape ranted. "How, _how_ , does he intend to complete this task if he is doing stupid things like this? A _cursed necklace?_ What was he _thinking_? I made an _Unbreakable Vow!_ The boy is _determined_ to get me killed! With all the people trying to help him, he is _determined_ to get himself killed or captured! Can't he use his _head?"_

"He knows he did wrong," I said, sitting down wearily in the chair next to his desk. I flicked my wand and the book put itself back together, the contents of Snape's desk returning to their original spots, only slightly more ink-stained than they'd been before. Still panting with anger, Snape sat back down in his chair.

"He's cried himself into passing out up in the Room of Requirement," I mumbled, settling my chin in my hands. "He knows it was stupid and he knows it was reckless, but this job he was given… it's eating him alive, sir." I rubbed my hands across my face, not caring if I smeared my makeup. "I don't know if he can handle even until the end of the year trying to do this. He's breaking."

Snape sneered. "And many who would defend him have endured more."

I looked up at him sharply. "I know you're angry at him sir, but please don't talk like that. He's on edge enough as it is without you trying to make him feel worse."

"What else am I to do, Potter?" Snape spat. "A cursed necklace…" He shook his head disdainfully. "What was the boy thinking?"

"He was thinking he can't take this much longer," I replied softly. "He was thinking he's breaking and he needs to end it soon before he does. He has a plan but it's not working the way he'd hoped. It's almost November and he's no closer to making it work than he was his first day here. Two months and nothing to show for it… wouldn't you be a little desperate?"

"I would be redoubling my efforts," Snape replied shortly, and I rolled my eyes.

"Draco isn't you, sir," I sighed. "He's not as strong as you are."

Snape gave me a grudging side-eye before nodding n agreement. "At least you see that." He sighed and leaned his elbow on the edge of his desk, rubbing his face. "I have entirely too much to worry about already without Malfoy deciding to forget he had a brain. I need to be alive, at least until the end of the year."

The way he said it, like he didn't really care what happened after that, like he almost hoped he dropped dead the moment after he killed Dumbledore, made me want to vomit. He was so ready to rest and simply be finished with double agents and torture and all of it and he didn't even think he'd be able to enjoy it when and if it finally came. It broke my heart and I leaned forward, resting my hand on the professor's forearm. Snape twitched and I pulled my hand back guiltily, realizing I'd brushed a little too close to the Dark Mark.

"I'll work something out, sir," I promised. "You'll live through this war, sir. I swear."

Snape smiled humorlessly. "While many who have underestimated you have been forced to eat their words, I have already survived this conflict far longer than I should have by any stretch of the imagination. I doubt even Lorena Potter could keep me alive past the end of this war."

I found my face twisting into a wordless snarl as annoyance and anger coiled. "Well maybe if you'd quit acting like you're walking to the gallows all the time you might have a chance!" I growled, and Snape raised an eyebrow.

"It's simply the most realistic-"

"The hell it is! You've fooled him this long, I have faith in you that you can manage at least another year or two. make me want to hit you, acting like you're making some great sacrifice by martyring yourself by people who won't even _care!_ They will _celebrate_ losing you! But not all of us will," I trailed off, my voice sounding appallingly vulnerable. "At least find something to live for. If nothing else, live for _me_ , sir, I'm _begging_ you. If you die in this war, if you die trying to protect me… I really don't know if I'd be able to survive that."

Snape sat at his desk, giving me the same blank-faced expression he'd given me a hundred times before. Then, slowly, his lips curved up in a faint smirk.

"I can always count on you for a dramatic declaration, can't I Potter?"

I groaned and buried my face in my hands, all seriousness effectively erased from the room with one sarcastic comment. "I hate you," I muttered from behind my hands.

"No you don't," Snape mocked. "You want me to _live._ Quite badly, apparently."

* * *

I left Snape's office a few minutes later and returned to the Room of Requirement. Draco was still stretched out on the couch, passed out. A chair appeared beside the couch and I sat down in it, adjusting the cushion behind me back to a more comfortable spot before reaching out and stroking a few strands of platinum hair back from his face. He looked much younger while sleeping, I mused, but then again didn't everyone? I wagered even Snape might lose a few lines when he slept.

Sleepy grey eyes blinked open and he made an adorable mewling sound as I continued to stroke his hair away from his face. He reached up and grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. He brought my hand down to his mouth and kissed my knuckles before tucking my hand under his chin. He looked up at me blearily.

"How do you feel?" I asked gently.

"Like scum?" he replied with an ironic little twist to his voice. I sighed.

"I was hoping for something I could do something about."

"My throat hurts," he offered, and I nodded, drawing my wand and conjuring a glass of water. I passed it to him and he took it, downing a few quick gulps before leaning to set the cup on the ground. He had yet to relinguish my hand.

"I spoke with Snape," I murmured, and Draco winced.

"I expect he's pissed?"

"He launched the necklace so hard it broke one of his jars," I recalled, and he winced again. "He feels like you're not taking this seriously, I think. And considering he made an Unbreakable Vow, he's none too pleased about it either."

"How can I take this but seriously?" Draco snapped, looking offended. His eyes were red and puffy and his skin was pale as milk. He looked ill. He'd looked that way for days now. I hated it. "It's not exactly a lark, knowing that if I fail it's my mum that'll pay the price."

"He knows that," I reassured him, resting my free hand over his. "He's just… he's upset. He's expecting more of you than you can do. He's expecting you to be able to handle as much as he can, and the fact is that _no one_ can do that."

"It's killing me, phoenix," Draco breathed, staring not at me, but past me at a future that clearly terrified him out of his mind. I sighed and wished there was more I could do. But there was only so much that could be done from my position, only so much… It was Draco's job, Snape's job, not mine.

But perhaps I could make it mine.

"I know, sweetheart," I murmured soothingly, and stroked his hand comfortingly. "I know."

"What am I going to do?" Draco whimpered, folding himself slightly, drawing his knees towards his chest.

"You're going to survive," I told him bluntly. "Because you do anything less and I'll kill you."

* * *

It was a few days before Dumbledore, but on the Sunday when I was supposed to meet him for my lesson in wandless magic, I went in with a different plant. As usual, I knocked on the door and Dumbledore beckoned me inside. I felt oddly weightless as I sat down and stared at the headmaster.

"Why don't we see how much you've progressed while I was away?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing to a chair set up across the room. I shook my head.

"Actually, sir, there's something we need to discuss."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but he obligingly folded his hands together and looked at me expectantly. "This is your time, we can spend it however you wish."

"I want to be the one to kill you."

The room was still. The request sounded completely ridiculous, like a bad joke, and yet the situation we were in now, it was a genuine offer. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he looked me over from head to toe. I just sat there, staring back at him. There wasn't much else that I could do, really.

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked softly. "I knew you weren't fond of me, Mrs. Potter, but I didn't…"

"I'm not doing it because of you," I snapped. I let out a sigh and shook my head. "I'm doing it to protect the people I care about."

"And how will that be accomplished?" Dumbledore asked bluntly. "I suppose you're talking of Severus, but the choice of him as my killer was a calculated decision. It would solidify him in Voldemort's ranks-"

"Yeah, and destroy him in ours," I countered. "The Order already hate him. You let him kill you, they won't work with him. You'll lose the spy you've worked so hard to keep. From a tactical standpoint, it seems like a pretty bad decision."

"The matter is more complicated than you know-"

"It's really not," I continued, resting my chin in my palm. "As usual, you're willing to toss him over. I'm not."

"Then you would have Draco Malfoy do it?" Dumbledore countered. "I don't know if you know this, but killing rips the-"

"Rips the soul apart, yeah, I know," I cut him off. "I'm completely aware. And I've been watching Malfoy. Trying to kill you is killing him. He's not eating, he's not sleeping, he's desperate."

"Hence the incident with Katie Bell," Dumbledore murmured, looking weary. "I would punish him, but I can't let it be known that I know about the assassination…"

"You have Draco Malfoy kill you, and you'll shatter him," I said confidently. "He won't be able to come back from that and neither will Snape."

Dumbledore eyed me challengingly. "And you believe you could?"

"I know I could," I replied. "My soul is already tarnished, so we can take it out of the equation. It's a mercy killing, and not just a mercy to you, but a mercy to Malfoy and Snape. You have to die, and I don't want them to be the ones to do it. I will take the weight on myself if I have to if it means they're off the table."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I'm hardly surprised at your attempts to protect Severus. But young Malfoy… Miss Potter, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with him?"

I blinked and licked my lips. It would be a calculated risk, telling Dumbledore about Draco and I. One on hand, he was definitely capable of keeping secrets – his own could fill the Hogwarts Library. And if he tried to use it against me with Harry or with the Order, then I could easily deflect attention and make it sound like just a rumor that got blown out of proportion. It was hardly a secret anymore, really, considering that most of my Slytherin yearmates already knew. They would protect us, too, if it came down to it.

"Because," I said slowly, heart racing. Dumbledore knew, but Harry didn't. That struck me as very wrong, but it wasn't time yet, I couldn't tell Harry, not yet. "I've been seeing him in secret since the middle of last year."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock. I smirked, pleased that the headmaster was obviously blindsided. He had maybe suspected that we were friendlier than two people on opposite sides should be, but a relationship? Clearly he'd never dreamed it was like that.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore said gravely. "Have you any idea what you're risking-"

"Of course I do," I snapped. "You think I just jumped him in a hall on a whim?" Dumbledore blinked. "No, I weighed every possible outcome and yes, I know there are more bad than good potentialities, but it doesn't matter."

"It's not only yourself you're putting at risk," Dumbledore said slowly. "Your brother could-"

"Harry has no idea," I said dismissively, waving a hand. "I plan to tell him soon, but as of yet he has no idea. The only person I'm risking is myself." I narrowed my eyes. "Besides, aren't you the one always touting the impossibly great powers of _love?"_ I asked with a sneer.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You love him, then?"

I froze. "I- That's not your business," I huffed. Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"That's a yes, then. Miss Potter, while I can appreciate the dilemma you're in, I cannot allow you to be the one to end my life."

"Why not?" I demanded belligerently, gripping the arms of the chair and leaning forward. "Tell me why!"

Dumbledore chuckled. "First, because I don't know if I can trust you to make is as quick and painless as Severus would. Second, because you talk of killing me driving a wedge between Severus and the Order… and what would I do to you and your brother?"

I fell silent for a moment. "You could make it clear that this was arranged-"

"I don't think I flatter myself when I say that your brother is very fond of me, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said gently. "If my death came at your hands, are you certain he would forgive you?"

I was forced to grudgingly admit, "No."

Dumbledore spread his hands, as if to say 'there you go.' "I cannot risk a wedge coming between you and your brother. You were right that I was foolish to see you as only a minor player in this game, but I still believe you were wrong in your assessment that you are not on the board. Perhaps you are simply playing a different game than the rest of us."

* * *

The morning of the Gryffindor v Slytherin match was blue and clear and there was an excitable air as I walked in to breakfast. In a surprise twist, Draco was subject to nearly as many glares as I was when he entered because he had also bowed out of the Slytherin team this year and the pair of us where some of our best players now that Warrington was gone as well.

I grabbed a couple of pieces of bacon and smacked it between two pieces of toast before venturing over to the Gryffindor table where Harry was sitting. Ginny saw me coming and obligingly scooted down so that I could sit by my brother, my silver and green scarf standing out starkly in the mass of red and gold.

"You're in enemy territory," Ginny observed as I sat down between her and Harry.

"Not so much anymore. I'm not on the team," I reminded her, and winced. "They've replaced me with another massive boulder of a boy, some fourth year with a famous father."

"And with Malfoy gone they're playing Harper as Seeker," Ginny said cheerfully. "He's in my year. Complete moron."

"You're going to kick our asses," I sighed, and leaned over, kissing Harry's cheek. Ron grinned at me cheekily.

"What, finally admitting Gryffindor is better?"

"This particular lineup, yes," I said darkly. "But if Malfoy and I were playing, we'd wipe the pitch with you."

"D'you know why Malfoy bowed out this year?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Look at him," Ron said, gesturing at the blonde across the hall. "Bloke looks like he's caught something nasty." I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Draco was looking awfully pathetic. His skin was now a perpetual grayish color and his eyes were bloodshot. The dinstinctively huge black circles under his eyes meant that he'd had yet another late night trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. He looked exhausted as he dragged his spoon through a bowl of porridge.

"Maybe if we're lucky it's something nice and fatal," Ron continued jovially.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, giving me a nervous look. "Even if it is Malfoy, that's a terrible thing to say."

"Why'd you quit, anyway?" Ginny asked me as Ron and Hermione began to bicker and Harry tried his best to separate them without taking a side.

"Too much to do," I mumbled. The only people around us were all mostly aware of what I was doing. "Brewing for our feathery friends, I spend Monday nights in the Hospital Wing learning to patch people up from Pomfrey. I'm trying to become an Animagus, and I'm learning Occlumency from Snape. And then my snakes…"

Ginny shook her head. "If anyone should be looking like hippogriff dung, it's you, not Malfoy." I gave her an offended look. "That's an awful lot to have going on on top of classes."

"Well, I'm doing it," I said with a shrug. "I've built up a decent immunity to Invigoration Draught, which is annoying…" I gave a self-depreciating smile. "Can't have everything?"

"How's the Animagus thing going, anyway?" Harry asked quietly, looking around warily for eaves droppers. "I mean… have you done it yet? Do you know what you turn into?"

I blinked. "Oh Merlin… that's right, I never told you!" I breathed, awed by the realization that Harry had no idea what I turned into. "McGonagall had me look in this old mirror; supposed to show you how likely you chances are at becoming an Animagus and what you'll turn into."

"What is it, then?" Ron asked eagerly. "Is it something good?"

I was unable to keep the smugness out of my voice as I replied, "I dunno, d'you consider a phoenix good?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she left off with Ron, turning to face me fully. "Lorena, do you know how rare that is? I looked it up back in third year, after the shack. There have only been a handful of Animagus who turn into magical creatures _ever._ There was a German fellow who turned into a hippogriff, a couple of Native American who became thunderbirds, a Chinese woman who became an-"

"Occamy, I know, I did my own research when I found out," I finished for her. "It's supposed to be a lot trickier than a normal animal. I'd probably have pulled it off by now if not for the fact that I am what I am…" I couldn't be too upset about that though. Who'd want to trade a phoenix for a turtle or something like that?

"We've got to get down the pitch," Harry said suddenly, standing up when he realized that most of the Slytherin team were already gone from their table. But he paused and looked down at me affectionately. "You'll have to show me how far you've got sometime, okay?"

I looked at him, mildly surprised by how he seemed like a brother. It was sad, really, how rare that had been the last few years. "Yeah, sure. Sometime."

"Great." And then Harry shocked me even further by kissing me on the cheek this time before hustling off with Ron and Ginny for the locker rooms.

"You look like a fish," Hermione informed me. I gave her a firm look and quickly shut my jaw before standing and heading down to the pitch.

Nott and Daphne were already there. They were both wearing green and silver scarves and as I approached I saw Daphne bring out a large emerald blanket with the Slytherin crest on it and drape it around their shoulders. Nott's ears were red, though that could have been because of the cold.

"Too cute, aren't they?" Zabini quipped as he came up behind me with Draco on his heels, looking particularly scowly.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" I asked Draco in surprise. He said nothing, just gave Zabini a look thast clearly communicated his annoyance.

"He was trying to creep off into the castle, but I refused to let him miss the game," Zabini crowed proudly, slapping Draco on the back. He looked mildly concerned as he added, "Some fresh air would do you good, mate." Clearly, I wasn't the only one who'd noticed how run-down Draco was looking lately.

"Come on," I murmured as the stand began to fill up, and grabbed Malfoy's hand, dragging him over to sit behind Nott and Daphne.

Draco hissed, "I have things to do-"

"That you were up late all night last night working on," I whispered back as I sat him down with Zabini between us to keep from looking too suspicious. It wasn't much later that Chastity and Emilia settled down near us with Molly. Dominic was off to the right with a group of his friends, all of them decked out in green and silver. I peered around and nodded in satisfaction when I saw all my Basilisks settled in and accounted for.

"You're turning into a professor," Blaise sniggered, and I looked at him in surprise. "Tell me you weren't just doing a head count?" he challenged.

"Wasn't," I grunted, but it wasn't very convincing. Blaise just rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Detention."

"As if."

The stands took up the particular buzz that always immediately preceded the game and Blaise and I turned to face the pitch. I watched proudly as Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

"Captains shake hands," she roared, and Harry shook with the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. I knew he'd be trying to crush Harry's hand. Our captains always did. Brutes. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two… one..."

The whistle sounded, Harry and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away.

Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch and keeping one eye on Harper, who was zigzagging far below him.

I jerked in shock when I realized it was Zacharias Smith who was commentating now that Lee Jordan had graduated.

"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help..."

"What moron let him commentate?" Daphne demanded from the row in front of us.

"I had no idea you were so concerned with who commentated," Nott observed.

"Well, at least Jordan made things interesting," Daphne said primly, folding her hands in her lap. "Smith is a pompous prat, nothing more."

Smith's words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. I watched as Harry craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium.

"Isn't it a bit of a conflict of interest, having a player doing the commentary?" I mused aloud.

"Thank god he won't be commentating when Hufflepuff plays. It'll mean he's off disgracing himself on the field," Blaise quipped with a wicked smile. "Come on, Urquhart!" he roared as a large portion of the Slytherin stands rose to cheer on our new captin.

"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and… Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose..."

"Oh, stuff it," I muttered irritably as I watched Harry dive amongst the Chasers with his eyes searching all around for some hint of the elusive Snitch.

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and Ginny having scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because Harry liked them, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.

"Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater," said Zacharias loftily, "they've generally got a bit more muscle-"

"Will someone shut him up?" Daphne shouted, now severely irked. "I came here to watch Quidditch, not listen to some Hufflepuff take cheap shots at the players because he's jealous."

I saw several people nod in agreement around us and Draco had a ghost of a smile on his face. Even we Slytherins laughed when Harry soared in front of us past Coote.

"Hit a Bludger at him!" Harry called to Coote as he zoomed past, but Coote, grinning broadly, chose to aim the next Bludger at Harper instead, who was just passing Harry in the opposite direction. There was a hiss of commiseration from the green and silver fans as Harper was nearly toppled off his broom and began to fly in dizzy jig-jags as he tried to get his bearings back.

It seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease. He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite "Weasley Is Our King," he pre-tended to conduct them from on high.

Harry was nearly knocked off his broom as Harper collided with him hard and deliberately. He was saying something, probably nasty. Madam Hooch's back was turned, and though me and the Gryffindors below shouted in anger, by the time she looked around, Harper had already sped off. Harry raced after him, looking for payback

"And I think Harper of Slytherin's seen the Snitch!" said Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. "Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!"

Harper had sped upward to where the Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue sky. Harry accelerated, but Harper was still ahead of him, and Gryffindor was only a hundred points up. if Harper got there first Gryffindor had lost. Harper was feet from it, his hand outstretched.

"Har-per! Har-per! Har-per!" the Slytherin stands chanted eagerly, a few stomping their feet and clapping along. It would be a miracle upset if we managed to scrape a win against Harry's team. Our entire section was on their feet, Nott and Daphne's blanket fallen in a heap on the floor as they cheered.

Harry yelled something, I could vaguely see his jaw move. Whatever it was, it made Harper do a double-take. He fumbled the Snitch, let it slip through his fingers, and shot right past it. Harry made a great swipe for the tiny, fluttering ball and caught it.

"YES!" Hairy yelled. Wheeling around, he hurtled back toward the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand. As the crowd realized what had happened, a great shout went up from the red and gold fans that almost drowned the sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the game.

"Well, I suppose that was to be expected," Daphne said miserably. She turned and gave Draco and I dirty looks. "If you two hadn't left the team…"

"Leave them be," Nott chided.

I didn't care. I was laughing at Harry, who had found hint self trapped in the midst of a mass midair hug with the rest of the team. Ginny sped right on past them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentators podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring. We howled along with everyone else as McGonagall and Pomfrey worked to get Smith free, neither of them looking too upset or surprised.


	96. Christmas Party

**IMPORTANT PLEASE READ!**

 **There won't be an update next Wednesday. I know, I'm sorry, don't hate me, but I have to go out of town over the weekend and I have midterms to study for and I just geuinely don't have time to write a chapter between now and then. Week after next we should resume our regularly-scheduled programming. I do have a chapter of Severity that is written up and ready to go though, so that will be updated next week. Hopefully that will curb any cravings you get between updates.**

* * *

With December came the occasional flurry. This meant that on Sunday after my lessons with Dumbledore, Draco and I took our chess game up to the Room of Requirement. Today, the room had a window looking out over the darkened grounds, snow building up on the lintel. Draco and I sat on cushions on the floor, wrapped in thick toasty blankets. Sitting on the coffee table between us were mugs of hot chocolate and the chess board.

"Checkmate," Draco said triumphantly and I groaned, tipping over my queen.

"You always win," I whined, reaching for my mug to drain the last dregs of my hot chocolate.

"I've been doing this a little longer than you have," Draco replied shamelessly. "Want to go again?" I offered, lifting up my queen from his stack of captured pieces and offering it to me. I shook my head, stretching my arms up. My shoulder popped loudly.

"Honestly, I just want to snuggle up on the couch," I admitted, blushing a little. I still felt a little uncomfortable, asking Draco to hug me or hold me, even though I knew he didn't mind.

"I could go for that," Draco replied with a half-smirk half-smile. He stood up and picked up his cushion, dropping it back onto the couch. I passed him mine and he laid down across the length of the couch with his blanket of over him, elbow propped up on the arm. He lifted the edge of his blanket, beckoning me over, and I obligingly slipped onto the suddenly much wider couch and laid down with my back to him so that I could look out and watch the snow fall. The blanket fell over me and Draco wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me back tighter against him. I smiled and let my own hand drift to rest over his, my thumb stroking lightly.

"What brought this on?" Draco's voice rumbled in my ear as he kissed my temple.

"Oh, I was just cold," I replied lightly. Draco gave a huff and pinched my side. I squeaked and swatted his hand. "Hey!"

"So I've been reduced to your own personal heater?" he demanded.

"You have other uses," I assured him, smirking faintly.

"Like what?"

"Beating me at chess," I teased, nodding at the chess board and his much larger pile of captured pieces. My lone king had been making a brave but foolish stand against Draco's queen, knight, and bishop with nothing but a couple of pawns to back him up. Mostly, that was due to my inability to surrender. I always made Draco play to the last possible move, even if it was obvious I was toast.

"Hm, thank you," Draco whispered, and kissed my temple again. I blinked.

"For admitting you beat me at chess?"

"No, for not hating me."

I sighed. The Katie Bell thing still wore on his mind. She'd been move to St. Mungo's shortly after she arrived at the Hospital Wing once Madam Pomfrey realized she couldn't treat her injuries. She was still in intensive care last I'd heard, and she wasn't showing any sign of coming out of the hospital any time soon.

"I've been watching you kill yourself over this trying to save yourself and your mother for the past few months." I craned my neck around so that I could get at his jaw and left a kiss there. "It would be very hard for me to hate you for anything, Draco. Casualties are a part of war, and as much as we might hate it, collateral damage is unavoidable."

I felt like a callous, heartless bitch for saying it, but it was true, and the sooner Draco and I understood that the better we'd be able to handle whatever came at us down the road. I'd already experienced some collateral damage in the form of the dementor attack on Amity, but Draco's family was so steeped in Voldemort's plans that he hadn't really had the chance to step back and look.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Draco murmured, burying his face in my neck. I reached around and pressed my hand against his cheek.

"I'd be worried if you did, sweetheart," I replied drily. "Now come on, this is a no serious conversation zone. Pick something nice to talk about."

"Did you get a nice dress?" Draco mumbled against my skin. I shivered at the feeling and it took me a second to figure out what he'd said. When I did, I smiled. Yesterday had been a Hogsmeade day and since I had accepted to go to Slughorn's Christmas party, I had to pick up a dress. My dress robes from the Yule Ball were a little too much for Slughorn, even though he did tend to have fairly lavish parties.

"Yeah, I did."

"Can you show me?" Draco asked hopefully, and I blinked.

"What, you want me to put on a fashion show for you?" I asked in surprised amusement, and Draco nodded into my shoulder.

"Yes please. I'd like to know what I'm missing, at least."

"I don't have-"

But of course, the room supplied, and I saw the box with the logo of the dress shop in Hogsmeade appear on the table next to our chess game. Rolling my eyes, I looked over my shoulder at him again.

"Seriously?"

Draco pouted at me and I had to laugh. Even with his dark circles and paler-than-normal skin, he looked rather adorable like that.

"Alright, fine," I relented, and stood up, grabbing the box off the table. I'd mastered this spell with a little more practice, and a flick of my wand later I was wearing the dress and my robes were folded in a neat pile in the box. I gave my wand a few more flicks, my hair twisting up into an elegant knot and sticking there, more dramatic makeup covering my face, my plain shoes turning into pumps. I slipped my feet into them and rose a few inches. Smoothing my hands down the flounce of my skirt, I looked up.

"Well, how do I look?" I asked self-consciously. The last time he'd seen me dressed up had been for the Yule Ball and he'd been gobsmacked. Granted, he'd handled it all the wrong way and had ended up stepping on my night a bit and causing a scandal that ended up splashed across the society pages, but still. It was nice to know I would render his famously sarcastic mouth silent with a nice dress and my hair fixed.

And he was quiet, sitting up and staring at me with luck love and affection it made my heart thud.

"How's the dress?" I asked awkwardly to alleviate the pressing silence.

"You look gorgeous," Draco whispered, gesturing for me to turn. I huffed, but I was smiling as I lifted one foot and spun for him, my skirt flaring out at my knees. The dress was emerald green, with a fifties-style bodice and Queen Anne neckline. It was tea-length and layers of lace-trimmed petticoats gave it a nice flared shape.

"Perfect," Draco said approvingly, and offered me a hand. I took it and he pulled me close. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my stomach, groaning. I looked down at the top of his head, bemused, and patted his hair uncertainly.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm mad at my father."

I stared. "Because I look good in this dress. I really don't think he had anything to do with it, sweetheart."

Draco shifted so that he was looking up at me, his chin resting against my stomach now. "If he hadn't gone and trashed the family reputation by getting arrested, I might have been invited along. I could have had you on my arm and glared at any guy who looked your way."

"What makes you think I'd have accepted?" I asked loftily, and Draco smirked, standing up. His hands on my arms kept me where I was so that we were pressed chest to chest. He looked down, and the old, smug, arrogant Malfoy was standing in front of me.

"Oh, I think I would have been able to convince you."

I snorted, then admitted, "Eh, probably. Or I might have been so completely confused by being asked I'd have turned you down flat."

At that moment, music started playing. Something jazzy but soft, something that sounded like it had popped straight out of the forties. I blinked and looked around the room, surprised, but it all made sense when Draco stretched out his hand and the coffee table slid to the side, opening up some room.

"May I have this dance, since I won't get one for Christmas?"

I smiled, took his hand, and let him pull me into the music.

* * *

I looked the same as I had in the Room of Requirement as I stood in front of the mirror and added the finishing touches to my hair and makeup for Slughorn's party. The only reason I was going was because Barnes, the ingredient importer that Umbridge had put me in contact with, was rumored to be coming, and no way was I going to miss the chance to make a good impression on him, looming war or not. Besides, a night of frivolity seemed like just the ticket after so many weeks worrying about the continued existence of basically everyone I'd ever cared about.

"You look nice," Daphne complimented me as I headed for the door. I glanced at her and saw that she was lounging on her bed with a listing of pieces by a jewelry company.

"Christmas shopping?" I asked innocently, and Daphne waved her hand dismissively.

"Go to your party."

I laughed as I left the dungeons and began to trek up to Slughorn's office. I saw more and more people in fancy robes as I drew closer and closer, people on their way to the party with their dates. The sound of music soon became audible, along with laughter and conversation.

The door of the office was shut, probably so that Slughorn could have the pleasure of welcome everyone in grandly and making a big show of the place. I pushed the door open and slipped inside as subtly as I possibly could, casting around. The office had been magically enlarged and the whole places was draped in jewel-toned or metallic silks so that it felt like we were gathering in a massive tent. Ornate golden lamps bathed the place in soft red light along with fairy lights dancing across the ceiling. Pipe smoke, sweat, and food, those were the scent that filled the stuffy room.

I snatched a pastry of some kind off the tray of a passing house elf and popped it into my mouth, sighing softly before moving off to join the crowd.

"Ah, Lorena!"

I swore quietly before plastering a massive smile on my face and turning to face professor Slughorn, his belly preceding him as he squished between a group of chatting Ravenclaws and some elderly wizards that were responsible for the smoke.

"Professor Slughorn, sir, thank you for the invitation," I replied as he grasped my hand between his two massive, squishy ones and shook cheerfully. "I must say, the place looks wonderful. Did you do it yourself?" I asked innocently.

Slughorn clucked and tutted, but it was obvious he was pleased with the rather blatant flattery. "Oh, just a few well-placed spells here and there, you know. Come, come, I have a fellow over here who says he knows you already, if only through correspondence."

I let Slughorn drag me through the crowd happily, almost glad I'd found him because he was saving me the trouble of hunting Cutler Barnes out on my own. And with Slughorn defending me to the man now too, I was a shoe-in for a safe investment.

"Professor, I hope you don't mind, but I thought I'd give you your Christmas gift a bit early," I said, and offered the bag of crystallized pineapple I'd gotten at Honeydukes ages ago. Slughorn beamed in delight and snatched the bag.

"Oh, Miss Potter, you shouldn't have! Should I wait until Christmas or have a piece now, do you think?" he asked conspiratorially.

"One piece couldn't hurt," I replied in a similar tone, although honestly that piece might be what put the buttons on Slughorn's brocade waistcoat over the edge.

"Good girl!"Slughorn chortled. "And my favorite brand too. My dear girl, how did you know?"

I smiled humorlessly. I wondered how it would sound if I told the truth. Oh, I saw in a memory of you and Lord Voldemort, sir. By the way, what's a Horcrux?

"It's never a bad thing to collect information," I answered, a very Slytherin response. Slughorn apparently agreed, because he was still chuckling when we popped out of the press of students into a corner where two men were talking. One was short, wispy, and balding, with a nervous look about him. The other was tall and aristocratic, with hair a uniform shade of slate grey elegantly combed back from his face.

"Cutler my friend, I've brought you someone I'm sure you're dying to meet in person!" Slughorn announced, barging into the conversation. The wispy man huffed and moved off. Apparently, he was well-enough acquainted with Slughorn to know that now that he had arrived he wouldn't be getting a word in edgewise.

"Ah, Miss Lorena Potter," Barnes said, turning his eyes on me with obvious relish. "We meet face-to-face at last." He stretched out a hand and I took it, preparing to shake, but he bent over instead and kissed my knuckles. I blinked and resisted the urge to snort before pulling my hand back delicately.

"An honor, Mr. Barnes," I replied calmly.

"Cutler, please," he corrected. "I strongly suspect that you and I will be partners in business in at least some capacity down the road. We might as well go ahead and become friendly."

"Of course, Cutler," I replied with relish. "And you must call me Lorena."

"I'll leave you two to discuss business," Slughorn said, looking smug. "Ah!" he cried suddenly. "Your brother has arrived with… Miss Lovegood…" He sounded vaguely pained. "I must welcome him."

"Your brother is seeing the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood?" Cutler asked slowly, his lip curling slightly. "The editor of the _Quibbler?"_

"Hardly." I smirked. "Luna's a friend, nothing more. She and her father were good friends to my brother last year when no one would take him seriously."

"Ah yes, I recall, the article they published. It made quite a few waves." Cutler nodded and took a sip of his firewhiskey.

"On top of that," I continued, smirk widening, "Luna is one of the only girls interested in going with him whose plans didn't include love potions or hexes."

Cutler scoffed. "Young ladies were much more reserved in my days at Hogwarts. Although perhaps no less devious," he admitted, and sipped from his glass again. "It's unfortunate – I feel I know far more about your brother than I would ever wish to know from all his press clippings, and yet very little about you."

I shrugged. "I find it more prudent to stay out of the spotlight. You're much less likely to be stigmatized that way," I said with a faint smile, and Cutler smirked in reply.

"Yes, I suppose so. I-"

"Lorena!"

Cutler raised his eyebrows as Hermione popped out of the crowd wearing a brilliant red dress and a stressed expression. She grabbed my arm tightly and looked around like she expected a Blast-Ended Skrewt to pop out of the corner.

"You have to help me," she begged.

"Hermione," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm in the middle of something."

"Miss Potter, who is your rather panicked friend?" Cutler asked mildly, giving Hermione a look up and down , his lip curled in distaste.

"A friend of my brother's, Miss Hermione Granger," I explained.

"Granger," he mused. "I don't recognize that surname…"

Hermione's eyes blazed and she turned to snap something back at Cutler. I shifted so that I had her in a vice now and squeezed her wrist hard enough to feel bones grinding she winced. I smiled tightly and said, "Hermione, what do you need?" with forced casualness.

"McLaggen won't get off me," Hermione muttered, shooting a nervous glance around.

"Find Harry. If I see McLaggen, I'll tell him you went to the ladies'," I offered, and Hermione shot me a thankful look.

"Honestly, Lorena, you're wonderful," she said, before dashing off into the crowd again. I scowled after her and turned back to Cutler, whose lips was still curled in distaste, though that honestly could have been because of Hermione's blood status or her rather appalling display of manners just now.

"I'm glad to see that your brother's friends haven't influenced your manners any," he said slyly. "You seem a rather eloquent and polite young lady."

"Of course," I replied lightly. "Anything else and I would be a disgrace to our great and noble house."

Cutler smirked. "I see. Feel free to write me for any advice in the future, Miss Potter, but for now I must take my leave. I have an early meeting in the morning." He looked mildly pained. "Give Horace my regards, would you? I really must dash."

I understood his desire to foist his goodbyes onto someone else. If he needed to leave, the last thing he should be doing was going and talking to Slughorn. It would be midnight before he escaped the schmoozing.

"Of course Cutler, and thank you for your advice. Past and future."

He nodded and breezed off through the crowd, making for the door. I noticed that the fireplace that all the teacher's offices boasted was mysteriously absent – possibly to prevent guests from Flooing away before Slughorn could get his paws on them.

"Rena!"

I turned around and saw Harry grinning at me from the refreshments table with Luna, Slughorn, and an incredibly annoyed-looking Snape. An odd group, to be sure, but I made my way over nevertheless, scooping up a crystal flute of sparkling water from a passing house elf. Harry surprised me, greeting me with an arm coiled around my waist.

"You look great, Rena," he grinned, and I smirked.

"You clean up rather well yourself, brother dear," I said, and took a sip of my drink. I nodded to his date. "Luna, those are some… lovely robes."

She was wearing some kind of spankled silver monstrosity with all sort of intricate embroidery.

"Oh, thank you," she said dreamily. "The embroidery forms runes that keep away nargles."

I blinked. There was really no good way to respond to that, so I just knocked back another large gulp of my drink and said, "Of course it does. It surprises me to see you here, sir." I looked Snape up and down. He certainly wasn't dressed for a party, clad in his normal teaching robes.

"I was simply delivering a message from the headmaster to your brother," Snape replied, eyes glittering irritably. I saw that Slughorn had his arm thrown over Snape's shoulder to keep him in place. The disparity in height was forcing him into what had to be an uncomfortable stoop. "I was… detained."

"Now I did invite you to join us this evening if you recall Severus," Slughorn said, wagging a sausage-like finger in Snape's face. The rest of his fingers were coiled around the stem of a wine glass, the contents of which he nearly spilled onto Snape's shoes.

"Yes, and I informed you that my idea of a party included neither students nor drapery," Snape replied tartly, and Slughorn laughed while I smothered a grin in my glass.

"Ah, Severus, you haven't changed from the days since I taught you! Still prefer your cauldrons and books to the company of good friends."

"Probably because he doesn't have any good friends," Harry mumbled into his collar and I shamelessly stretched out one leg and stomped on his foot.

"It would be interesting to hear about Professor Snape," I said brightly, and Snape gave me a look that promised murder. "As would a certain mutual friend." The look intensified at the mention of Amity. Oh yes, I was definitely dying tonight.

"Horace!" Snape snapped when Slughorn opened his mouth to oblige. Slughorn waved his hands dismissively and this time he really did slosh a little of his wine out.

"Oh pish posh, it's so long ago, what's the harm? Why I remember-"

The door to the office banged open and people hastened out of the way, clearing a path. I saw a thrashing hand, Filch's excited wheeze, and then a tall Ravenclaw shifted and I got a good look at Filch dragging Draco through the party by the ear.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"

Draco yanked himself out of Filch's grip, looking understandably furious. He was in normal clothes, which for him was a suit, and it now looked distinctly rumpled. The fact that he wasn't wearing robes was a good bet that he'd been off working on repairing the Vanishing Cabinet.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily.

I stepped forward, nearly stomping the first step so that the click of my heels thankfully stalled him from saying anymore.

"Honestly Malfoy," I said with a sneer. "I know I said the patrolling schedule was important, but you didn't have to gate-crash just to tell me."

He whipped around and his posture relaxed ever so slightly when he saw me. "You're the one who wouldn't leave me alone about it, Potter, don't complain when I bother to come all the way here because you're too lazy to find out yourself."

"Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?" Filch said eagerly, looking to Slughorn and Snape like he was waiting for one of them to give him the nod to haul Draco off in chains.

"It's Christmas, Argus!" Slughorn announced. "And he was out on head's business after all. I believe we can look past this!"

"You are not Mr. Malfoy's Head of House, Horace," Snape said, and the way his eyes bore into Draco testified to the fact that he was far from amused. "I believe I will be having a word with him."

"Lighten up, Severus-" Slughorn protested, but Snape shook his head.

"I will decide how light or otherwise to be. Malfoy, come with me."

Draco's eyes narrowed in dislike and he said with more distaste for Snape than I'd ever heard him use, "Certainly, professor." The title had never sounded so mocking.

Snape and Draco headed for the door and I rolled my eyes, passing my cup to Harry. "He comes all this way and then doesn't even tell me what he came to tell me," I grumbled.

"Rena, wait-"

"Sorry Harry, I do need to have a word with Malfoy about the schedules before break," I apologized, already halfway to the door and thankfully beyond Slughorn's ability to call me back. I slipped out of the office and into the hall, where Snape and Malfoy were marching down the hallway, both of their backs like someone had glued metal poles to their spines.

"You two!" I called, and hurried to catch up, my heels echoing on the floor.

Snape started to say, "Potter, this doesn't concern you-"

"I made it my concern a long time ago," I corrected him. "And you know that." I reached out and yanked open an empty classroom, pointing inside. "Now both of you, inside, and we're all going to have a nice chat," I said sternly.

Draco walked in obediently, and Snape raised an eyebrow but did the same. I followed them in and shut the door behind me, locking it, warding it, and casting Snape's _Muffliato_ for good measure.

"You fool," Snape snapped, striding up to Draco and staring down. "You have an impossible task and you're getting caught loitering in the castle halls after hours? _By Filch?_ Are you trying to draw more attention to yourself?"

"This is my assignment, I'll do it however I like!" Draco snarled right back, staring up at Snape unflinchingly. "It's none of your concern!"

Snape's face twisted with rage. He raised a hand and shoved Draco back so that he staggered, forced to half-sit on a desk that rocked alarmingly under him. "I swore to protect you! I made an Unbreakable Vow!"

I raised my finger to my mouth and gave a sharp whistle. Both men whipped around to face me. I tapped my toes pointedly, fists resting on my hips. "Are you two done squabbling?" I asked them shortly. "Because I have to say, it's far less entertaining than the party I could be at right now."

Snape sneered at Draco and stepped back, giving him room to straighten and stand. "You attempt to conceal it Draco, but it's obvious you're afraid."

"I'm not!" Draco protested, but the wear on his face told a different story altogether, one that was plain to anyone that looked at him.

"Yes, you are, stop lying, it does no good," I cut in, moving to position myself between the two men. I put my hands on Draco's shoulders and sat him forcefully on the student desk before pointing at the teacher's desk at the front of the room and giving Snape a stern look. "Now you get over there, and there'll be no more shoving, thanks."

"You seem to have forgotten that I am the teacher here, not you." Snape narrowed his eyes.

"I haven't actually, but seeing as you both apparently refuse to behave civilly to each other these days, I'll be mediating this little conversation." Snape's jaw clenched, but he obligingly moved to stand by the teacher's desk. He and Draco glared at each other. I wondered if this was how primary teachers felt.

"Now, I assume you were working on your plan to get Death Eaters into the castle?" I asked Draco bluntly, and he nodded, not looking away from Snape or lessening his glare. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "Oi! Enough of the dirty looks, thanks."

"What plan is that?" Snape pressed, and Dracop shook his head.

"No! This task was given to me, and I can do it! I-I have to!" His voice faltered, but there was a trace of pride there. No matter who it was for, Draco was proud to have been given his assignment. For most of his life, he'd been treated like his name and looks, his money and skill on the Quidditch field were the only things of value about him. Now he was being caused on to use his magical talents, to prove himself truly powerful, and he wasn't above taking pride in his work even if it was for a tyrant.

"Sweetheart," I said, and laid my hand on his arm. The pet name and the touch effectively diffused the worst of his rage and he looked at me. "Snape made an Unbreakable Vow. When he asks these things, he's not casting aspersions on your skill. It's self-preservation."

Draco scowled. "He won't stop treating me like I'm a child. I understand what I've gotten into, alright!" he shot across the room, and Snape glowered.

"You have no idea what you've joined, _boy,_ " Snape spat.

"Insults aren't helping anyone!" I warned him. "And Snape, I understand you wanting to help Draco, I even understand you wanting to protect him from having to kill Dumbledore himself. I even offered to do it to spare both of you, but Dumbledore wouldn't allow me-"

"You did _what?"_

" _Lorena!"_

I was now the target of their combined attention, but at least they weren't at each other's throats anymore. They were united in their annoyance at me.

"Why would you do that?" Draco demanded, grabbing me by the shoulders and dragging me around so that he could look down on me. His expression was a mix of anger, fear, and horrible guilt.

"I've warned you what that would do!" Snape growled, striding over from the desk and grabbing my shoulder, turning me to face him instead of Draco. "Have you forgotten already?"

"No, I haven't, and I'm not a bloody Tug-of war!" I protested, stepping back from both of them and holding up my hands. "But seeing as I can barely stand Dumbledore and I doubt it would do much to my soul to kill him, I thought I would be the best choice. Spare both of you, as it were. I honestly thought he'd have told you that I made the offer," I added to Snape.

"He did not," Snape replied, his voice tight, his expression menacing. "You continue your trend of managing to surprise me, Potter, and not in a good way."

"Hey, as often as I see you doing something self-destructive like drinking along in your office or teaching when you can barely stand, I thought maybe I might try and lighten the load on your soul. Sure as hell no one else is going to!" I snapped at him. "And Draco, I can see how much damage this assignment is doing to you. You're not sleeping, you're not eating, your grades are suffering…"

"Back up!" Draco protested. He was pale as milk. "So Dumbledore… he knows…"

I paled to match as I realized what I'd just inadvertently given away. "Oh Merlin… He's always known, Draco," I admitted softly, stepping up to him and reaching up to put my hand on his cheek. "He knows what both of you are planning. And he doesn't care. You've seen the state his hand's in?" It was a rhetorical question, but Draco nodded anyway. "The curse that got him will kill him. Slow and painful, messy. He's willing to martyr himself to keep you alive. It's not completely selfless, don't misunderstand, the old man's trying to spare himself the pain too."

"But then he…" Draco swayed and had to grab the desk to keep himself upright. "He knows it was me that sent the necklace, doesn't he?" He looked more terrified than I'd ever seen him. "It's only a matter of time… he'll expel me… I can't complete my mission from the manor… it's _over_ , I'm _dead_ , and _mum_ …"

"There's no evidence linking you to Bell. Dumbledore couldn't touch you even if he wanted to," I assured him, rubbing my thumb across his cheekbone. It occurred to me that I had never been this affectionate to Draco in front of anyone else. Then again, he'd never been in a shape like this before, and Snape did already know. It felt good, freeing almost despite the miserable situation, to be able to talk to him and touch him how I wanted.

"But why hasn't he?" Draco asked hollowly. His hand came flying up, clutching mine in a desperate grip. "Why hasn't he tried? Why would he _die_ to spare _me?_ "

"He's a Gryffindor, it's what they do." I gave a shrug and a weak smile. "But I asked him that, actually." I was very conscious of Snape's eyes boring into my back as I explained, "He said that he'd written off another Slytherin boy a long time ago and has regretted it ever since. He wasn't going to do it again."

I heard Snape made a noise behind me that might have been either disbelief, surprise, or disgust.

"I'll leave you to tend to Mr. Malfoy," Snape growled, gathering his robes around him and making for the door. "Clearly I'm no longer needed here." He was making an escape, plain and simple, and he wasn't even being particularly subtle about it.

"Goodnight, sir," I called after him as he left, and I guided Draco to sit properly at the desk instead of just leaning on it. "Come on, come on, that's it," I murmured soothingly, sitting myself next to him and reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. "It'll be alright. I'll see to it."

Draco gave a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "You're surprised me a lot, phoenix, but I think this might be beyond even you."

I smiled faintly. "You might think that. But I meant it when I made that offer. I'd kill Dumbledore for you in a heartbeat, soul be damned."

Draco's face crumpled into a frown. "What's all this about souls? Snape's, yours."

I sighed. "I found this out end of fourth year, not long after the maze. When you kill a person, it's an act so unforgiveable that it actually breaks your soul. It becomes more damaged the more people you kill." I saw his nose wrinkle, saw the disbelief in his eyes, and was quick to add, "I thought the same, but it's not metaphorical. It damages your actual, literal soul – which is a whole other cauldron of potion – in an irreparable way. That's part of why Snape wants to do this for you. And why I want to do it for both of you."

"But why?" Draco breathed, looking at me in disbelief. He stared at me like I was some rare and precious thing. "Why would you make a sacrifice so big for me?"

I swallowed hard. The answer leapt to my lips immediately and loomed in my mind in flashing neon. I licked my lips and said, "Because I l-lo…" Once again, I couldn't make the word leave my mouth. I had no idea what it was, but I couldn't make my lips frame the words, couldn't make myself say them. I'd only ever said that to one other person before – Harry. Not my mother or father, not even Sirius or Remus or Snape. Only Harry. And now, saying it to Draco, it meant something entirely different. It was a whole different kind of love.

"Damn it…" I choked out, dropping my face into my hands. I genuinely felt like crying in frustration. "I swear I do, I just… I can't… I don't know why… but I…"

"I know you do." Draco's hand was on my shoulder, and a moment later it was joined my his forehead. We stayed that way in silence for several moments, my face in my hands, his on my shoulder, just breathing and being together and trying to calm our frazzled emotions. Then Draco fiddled with a piece of my hair.

"You look beautiful," he mumbled, sounding adorably small and shy and child-like.

I snorted and shifted, letting my hands fall and looking around at Draco. He shifted so that his cheek was resting on me and we locked eyes. "You're sweet. Are you ready to go back down to the Common Room?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"You've got the wards up. Can we just stay like this for a while?" he asked, his voice strained. He didn't like admitting weakness, and admitting he wanted to literally lean on me for a while had to hurt his seemingly boundless pride.

I feigned a put-upon sigh. "Oh… if I must."

* * *

When we finally split, Draco headed to the Common Room and I headed to Snape's office down in the dungeons. I didn't bother to knock. I knew he'd be down there taking out his feelings on a pile of essays by giving grades that would ruin people's holiday.

"Sir," I greeted, stepping into the office. I blinked. There was no pile of essays, but there was a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler sitting in front of Snape. He looked up sharply when I entered and gave me a filthy look when my eyes lingered on the alcohol.

"Sir, I'm not a mediwitch, but I know for certain that you shouldn't be drinking with the potions you're on," I said slowly, mocking to sit in the chair across from him.

Somewhat childishly, Snape raised the glass to his lips and downed two big gulps, not breaking eye-contact the entire time.

"I'm gonna pissed if you blame me for you getting alcohol poisoning," I informed him, trying to lighten the mood.

"What else am I supposed to do, Potter?" Snape snarled, and he was far more serious than I was. I wondered if that bottle had been full when he started. He'd certainly had time while Draco and I had been sitting together to get decently into it. "When you insist on trying to sacrifice yourself for someone who isn't worth saving!"

I rolled my eyes as he began to sing the same old song as he always did. Normally it was cause for pity, but tonight it just irritated me. "I know that you've been told over and over that you're not worth anything, but I really thought you knew better than to listen to idiots like my dad and his friends or your own father!" I snapped at him, frustrated.

Snape laughed harshly. "I didn't need people to _tell me_ , Potter! From the time I came to Hogwarts I was already learning Dark Arts curses. I was… I was never _good_ , good enough for anyone… for your mother, for you…" Snape paused and blinked, this time giving the bottle a dirty look. Clearly the bottle had been full when he'd started out, and the whiskey was starting to loosen his tongue more than he wanted. Still, after glaring at it for a moment, Snape raised the glass to his mouth and downed the rest of it in one go, setting the tumbler down harder than strictly necessary.

I looked at him pityingly. I could only imagine what it was like to have everyone you'd ever met hate you, turn against you. That was Snape's life. No one trusted him, no one loved him. No one except me. If – I refused to think when – he died, I was the only person who would mourn him. Well, me and maybe…

"Amity," I blurted, and Snape gave me a searching look.

"What has _she_ got to do with it?" he demanded, his lip curling in distaste. The expression didn't reach his eyes though. Somewhere along the line he and Amity had become - probably not friends, I don't think that Professor Snape partook in such childish things as friends – but at least amiable.

"She helps," I said with a faint shrug. "The summer after the Triwizard Tournament I used to take Harry to work with me. I don't know how, but Amity helps. Go see her," I urged.

"It's nearly midnight, it would hardly be-"

"She won't care," I said bluntly. "She fancies you, she'd probably be thrilled if you showed up at midnight."

Snape scoffed and reached for the bottle of firewhiskey again. "I hold no such delusions as to – _Potter!"_ he swore as I snatched the bottle off his desk and clutched it to my chest.

"She likes you, alright, just accept it!" I snapped at him. "If you're going to drink yourself stupid, at least do it with someone, for Merlin's sake! Go see her!" I stressed, before flicking my wand and Vanishing the bottle. I held no such illusions that there wasn't another bottle in his office or quarters, but the gesture was what mattered more than anything else. I stood up and left Snape's office, intending to collapse into my bed and sleep for a week and praying that he'd take my advice.


	97. Christmas Conversations

Christmas holidays had arrived, and I had been at the Burrow for three days before I managed to get Mrs. Weasley to surrender the kitchen to me for my Christmas baking. This year's plan was for batches and batches of sugar cookies with a powdered sugar glaze on top. I hummed along to the wireless as I moved around the kitchen, singing softly along with Celestina Warbeck.

"Merlin, not you too."

I looked around over my shoulder and saw Harry standing in the kitchen doorway, giving the radio a filthy look.

"Mrs. Weasley won't stop playing her songs," Harry complained as he joined me in the kitchen and sat down at the table, watching me stir ingredients together.

"It's grown on me," I admitted, and began to measure out pieces of dough onto the cooking sheet as we chatted. "At the very least I'm not quite as vocally against it as Fleur is."

Fleur, Ginny and I had all been crammed into one room and Ginny was taking every opportunity to escape to the skies on her broom, claiming that she needed to practice for the team. That left Fleur drifting around the house or cuddled up next to Bill most of the time, and I was free to curl up with a book and some of Mrs. Weasley's seemingly endless stream of hot chocolate in bed and read peacefully.

"That might start a war if someone sided with Fleur," Harry mused, and I snorted. He frowned at the plates of cookies already finished and cooling around the kitchen. "Aren't you making an awful lot?"

"House elves," I reminded Harry in a sing-song voice.

"No, I know that," Harry assured me. "Just… seems like a lot." He shrugged.

"Well, I've got the Weasleys, Hermione, you, Hagrid, Snape," I listed off. "I'm also sending some to Daphne, Nott, Blaise, Malfoy-"

The word was carefully calculated to see what the reaction would be, and sure enough Harry's head snapped up and he demanded, "Malfoy? Why are you sending him cookies?"

"Because he's one of my Basilisks," I replied. "And we're prefects together too. It seems appropriate."

Harry shook his head, and I recognized the set of his shoulders. It was the 'Malfoy/Snape is doing evil' stance that we'd all become familiar with over the years. "I know you think that since you've been able to see inside his head you know his motivations, but I think it's possible he could have tricked you."

"I've been doing Occlumency for a year longer than he has," I retorted, and Harry shook his head.

"But if he's really… you know…" He shot a wary look at the kitchen door and continued, " _joined up with him,_ then who's to say what sort of things Voldemort might have taught him?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That's really not how it works Harry. Why on earth would Voldemort teach his subordinates skills that would help them deceive him? Torture spells, curses, Unforgiveables, of course, but Occlumency? I doubt very much that's on the Death Eater syllabus."

"Okay then, Unforgiveables," Harry pressed. "I bet you anything that Katie Bell was Imperiused."

"Malfoy was serving detention-"

"He could have done it before she left the castle!" he continued insistently. "She said she had to deliver it to someone in the castle, and he's always wanted to take out Dumbledore. If Malfoy's on his side, then he's already got somebody in Hogwarts to do it!" Harry sat back, looking smug, like he'd just laid out an infallible argument.

I sighed and slid the pan of cookies into the oven before turning to Harry and crossing my arms, leaning back against the cabinet. It wasn't really my place to say this, but it would get Harry used to the idea of Dumbledore being gone. Baby steps, that was the key. Give Harry bits and pieces of the puzzle and let him feel like he's put them together.

"If Voldemort wants Dumbledore dead, all he'll have to do is wait a few months."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know he's old, but Dumbledore's not going to kick off any time soon…"

"Yes he is," I said bluntly, and Harry paused. He narrowed his eyes at me speculatively.

"What do you know, Lorena?" he asked quietly. "What have you found out?"

"Dumbledore's hand," I began, and Harry nodded. "It's called the Living Mummy curse, what's happened to him. And it has no cure, Harry. Potions will slow it down, but I'd wager Dumbledore's already built a decent tolerance to them by now and they'll be far less effective. We've spoken about it," I said honestly. "He knows he's got a year left, at most, and the last few months of that he won't be worth much, once the curse takes over more of his body and the pain gets to be too much. He's come out and said that he intends to die before that happens."

Harry looked like I'd just smacked him across the face. "He's… going to die? But… no!" He shook his head firmly. "Without him, how's the Order supposed to… I mean, he wouldn't just not tell anyone!"

"He hasn't come out and said it, but he's hinted that he has plans in place for how to handle all of this," I explained. "He intends for Snape to do it, so that he'll solidify his loyalty to Voldemort and stop some of the questions that have been coming against him."

Harry scowled. "I'm sure Snape jumped at the chance to do him in."

"Opposite, actually," I said, settling myself down in the chair across from Harry. "Dumbledore had to basically blackmail him into doing it from what I've managed to put together."

"I'm sure he'd make it seem that way-"

"Harry!" I said sharply, and Harry looked at me in surprise. I scowled at him. "Hate him all you like, he's certainly never done much to earn your affection, but you will keep a civil tongue in your head regarding Severus Snape when I'm around." I tapped my fingers irritably against the wooden tabletop. "He may not have done much for you, but he's the closest thing to a father I've ever had."

Harry looked mortally offended. "Sirius-"

"We had Sirius in our lives –really in our lives – for all of a handful of months," I reminded him gently. "I loved him as much as you did Harry, but he wasn't really around long enough to get to know him."

As I should have expected, a guilty expression fell over Harry's features and his shoulders slumped. I sighed and reached out, putting my hand over his.

"I don't blame you for it Harry, and you shouldn't blame yourself. Realistically, it wasn't likely that Sirius would be able to stay out of this war. Not the way he was. It was just bad luck and Bellatrix Lestrange. I'm going to kill her for that one day," I finished mildly, and Harry's head snapped up.

"That's not funny-"

I looked him coolly in the eyes. "It wasn't meant to be, Harry. I mean it."

Harry looked horrified. He tugged his hand back from mine. "But Lorena… killing's wrong, it's... she should go to Azkaban. That's the law."

"Why should I respect the law as it pertains to her when she so clearly doesn't care?" I countered. I shook my head. "That's neither here nor there. It'll be a while yet before I get the opportunity."

Harry's face hardened and I knew he'd found a new crusade in trying to get me to commit murder, but he was really too late at this point. I'd had months and months to come to terms with the idea that in the months to come it was going to become kill-or-be-killed more likely than not and Gryffindor's value for life wasn't something I'd ever clung to very strongly. Put frankly, I agreed with Voldemort that there were some people the world was better off without, but it was on a personal basis, not a generalized hatred of a group.

"I'll convince you not to," Harry said determinedly. "It's wrong, you have to know that?"

"Is it?" I asked mildly. "Because I asked Dumbledore if he'd like he to euthanize him before his time came and he said no. He intends to have someone kill him to spare him the pain. And on that subject," I said, looking at Harry firmly. "You can't tell anyone any of this. At this point it's kinder to let Dumbledore die than make him suffer. And if you tell anyone in the Order, they'll become more concerned with saving him than saving the wizarding world. Dumbledore has planned this whole thing down to the last detail."

Harry gave me a sideways look. "You're almost sounding proud of him."

I shrugged. "I can admire the man's ability to hatch a plot, can't I? I'm not even supposed to know, let alone tell you. I only know because I worked some of it out and overheard some of the rest to the point where Dumbledore was better off to tell me the whole thing. But he's spent months getting this set exactly the way he wants it, and anything you let slip could affect things and change them in a way we don't want."

"I can't just let this lie," Harry protested. "I mean, there's got to be something I can do…"

I paused for dramatic affect and stared out the window at the lightly falling snow. The truth was that all of this, telling Harry about the state Dumbledore was in and that Snape was the one supposed to kill him was calculated. It opened the door for me to tell him more and more about the situation and hopefully get him used to it. The more he accepted the idea that Snape was acting according to Dumbledore's wishes in the end – and Draco too, hopefully – the less he'd be simply angry after Dumbledore died. If I had him on my side then we could stand together and explain to the Order that Snape wasn't, in fact, a traitor, but still on our side.

I held no such delusions that I would convince all of them myself. They knew I cared for Snape and probably knew that I would lie to save him. But Harry had made his distaste for Snape well known over the years and having him support Snape's actions would be a powerful swaying force. It would hardly make the Order like Snape any more than they already did, but it would keep their spy on their side and hopefully that would save lives down the line.

"When this is all over, the Order won't know that this was all part of Dumbledore's plan," I said slowly. "But you and I will. They wouldn't believe me, but they'd believe you."

"You want me to support Snape?" Harry asked in distaste.

"No, I want you to tell the truth," I said reasonably, knowing that it would make Harry more likely to comply if I put it in moral terms. "Think about it. If they think Snape killed their leader, they'll never trust him. But it they think this was some kind of mercy killing – something Dumbledore _wanted_ – then they'll still have their spy in Voldemort's ranks. And with Snape's position secure and probably even elevated, he'll have all sorts of useful information for them to use. It could save lives."

Harry looked at me pointedly. "I'm not stupid, Lorena. I know you're manipulating me. I can't tell how," he admitted. "But I know that tone."

I smiled faintly. "Alright fine. I don't want Snape thrown out by the Order. But really, am I wrong in wanted him to stay in a position where he can pass information?"

Harry had to grudgingly admit, "No."

"So it really doesn't matter then, does it," I said reasonably. The alarm on the oven dinged and I stood, going over and pulling out the cookies. I picked up a spatula and began transferring them to cooling racks. I picked up the bowl along with the long-handled wooden spoon I'd been using to mix and brought it over to the table, setting it down between Harry and I. "Help me lick the bowl?" I offered, passing him the spoon, and Harry grinned faintly.

"Trust you to bring up murder and espionage on Christmas Eve Eve," Harry said, shaking his head as he licked some of the cookie dough of the spoon and then passed it over to me.

"I'm a pessimist, and Christmas is a constructed mix of religion and retail that makes people miserable by forcing them to put a price tag on their affection for family and friends," I said brightly, scraping a bit of cookie dough off the side of the bowl and popping it in my mouth.

"Bah humbug," Harry snorted, and took the spoon back.

* * *

Christmas Eve night came, and we were all gathered around the wireless surrounded by paper chains as far as the eye could see. The Weasleys, Harry and I, Fleur, and Remus were being forced into listening to a Christmas broadcast by Celestina Warbeck. I had gotten used to the singer and honestly didn't mind her music, but the almost continuous stream was making me want to do violent, horrible things to that radio.

" _Oh, come and stir my cauldron, and if you do it right, I'll boil you up some hot strong love to keep you warm tonight."_

"We danced to this when we were eighteen!" said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her eyes on her knitting. "Do you remember, Arthur?"

"Mphf?" said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he was peeling. "Oh yes ... marvelous tune..."

With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry and I, who was sitting next to him on the couch.

"Sorry about this," he muttered, jerking his head toward the wireless as Celestina broke into the chorus. "Be over soon."

"No problem," replied Harry, grinning. "Has it been busy at the Ministry?"

"Very," admitted Mr. Weasley. "I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is a genuine Death Eater — only don't repeat that, Harry," he added quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.

"Are they still holding Stan Shunpike?" I asked curiously.

"I'm afraid so," sighed Mr. Weasley. "I know Dumbledore's tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan... I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma..." he brandished it for emphasis, "but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress, and 'three arrests' sounds better than 'three mistaken arrests and releases'... but again, this is all top secret..."

"Trust me, I think Harry's learned his lesson about giving interviews without approval from all interested parties," I noted drily as Harry chewed over some thought. He gave me a pointed look, recalling the courtyard duel.

Finally, he asked, "Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?"

"I checked, Harry," said Mr. Weasley at once. I looked around curiously. I didn't know Harry told Mr. Weasley anything that merited 'checking.' "I went and searched the Malfoys' house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there."

"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked... but this is something different... Well, something more..."

Harry began to explain his theories about Malfoy, shooting me wary glances as he did so. I'd told him all I could on the subject and I could hardly come out and admit everything on the subject in front of Mr. Weasley, so I sat and stewed, chewing the inside of my cheek in annoyance. At this point, I was starting to feel bad for Narcissa Malfoy. Husband in jail, son in school on a suicide mission, Dark Lord taking over her manor, and Ministry raids… it was a miracle she hadn't had done with it and just run.

" _Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone? It's left me for a spell..."_

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, "that maybe this has something to do with your own feelings towards Malfoy?"

"It's not Malfoy," I said firmly. "Harry, I appreciate your dedication to your beliefs, but I've been spending more time with Malfoy than you have lately. Trust me, he's been too exhausted to plot murder." I rolled my eyes.

"Exactly, why's he looking so wrung out?" Harry insisted.

"I dunno, maybe because his dad's in prison and Voldemort's popping in and out of his house like he owns the place?" I suggested sarcastically. "I think that'd put most everyone off. Besides, if Snape's on his side too then why would Voldemort send a student to do what he can get a teacher to, hmm? Not that either of them are."

"Someone should at least warn Dumbledore that Malfoy might be a threat," Harry insisted. "how do we know that him and Snape can be trusted, really?"

"It isn't our business to know," interjected Lupin unexpectedly. He had turned his back on the fire now and faced Harry across Mr. Weasley. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."

"But," tried Harry, "just say — just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —"

"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus."

"As do I," I added firmly.

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," argued Harry. "He says it himself. And you" — he looked Lupin straight in the eye — "do you honestly like Snape?"

"I neither like nor dislike Severus," answered Lupin diplomatically. "No, Harry, I am speaking the truth," he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expression. "We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps. After all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."

"But he 'accidentally' let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!" Harry reminded him angrily.

"We wouldn't have gotten to keep Remus for more than one year anyway, job's jinxed," I pointed out.

Lupin shrugged. "The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."

"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!" insisted Harry.

"You are determined to hate him, Harry," mused Lupin with a faint smile. "And I understand. With James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter. Do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have already crossed Dumbledore's mind to be wary of Draco."

" _... and now you've torn it quite apart I'll thank you to give back my heart!"_

Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with enthusiastically.

"Eez eet over?" whined Fleur. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible —"

"Shall we have a nightcap, then?" offered Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to his feet. "Who wants eggnog?"

"What have you been up to lately?" Harry asked Lupin, as Mr. Weasley bustled off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretched and broke into conversation.

"Oh, I've been underground," said Lupin. "Almost literally. That's why I haven't been able to write, sending letters to you two would have been something of a giveaway."

"What do you mean?"

"He's got you watching the werewolves, doesn't he?" I asked Lupin shrewdly. "Fenrir Greyback and the others like him."

Remus nodded. "Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was... ready-made." He sounded a little bitter, and perhaps realized it, for he smiled more warmly as he went on, "I am not complaining. It is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to eat."

"How come they like Voldemort?" Harry wondered.

"They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life," explained Lupin. "And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there..."

Harry looked between Remus and I blankly. "Who's this Greyback?"

"You haven't heard of him?" Lupin's hands closed convulsively in his lap. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible. He wants to create enough were-wolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children... Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters. It is a threat that usually produces good results."

Lupin paused and then said, "It was Greyback who bit me."

"What?" said Harry, astonished. "When — when you were a kid, you mean?"

I closed my eyes. Somehow, I'd half expected that. Greyback had a reputation for biting kids and if Remus had been changed before he was even in school, it was pretty good chance that the beat had done it. Most other werewolves changed people only accidentally, if someone came too close while they were transformed. Very few actively tried to make more of their kind.

"Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me. I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people."

"But you are normal!" said Harry fiercely. "You've just got a — a problem —"

I snorted and Remus burst out laughing. "Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my 'furry little problem' in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit."

He accepted a glass of eggnog from Mr. Weasley with a word of thanks, looking slightly more cheerful. Harry actually looked excited as well as he opened his mouth and asked,

"Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?"

"The Half-Blood what?" Remus was lost.

"Prince," said Harry, watching him closely for signs of recognition.

"There are no Wizarding princes," chuckled Lupin, now smiling. "Is this a title you're thinking of adopting? I should have thought being 'the Chosen One' would be enough."

"It's nothing to do with me!" said Harry indignantly. "The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I've got his old Potions book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus —"

"Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts," said Lupin reminiscently. "There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn't move for being hoisted into the air by your ankle."

"My dad used it," recalled Harry. "I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on Snape."

He was trying to sound casual but it came out too forced, he looked too nonchalant. Lupin smiled at him understandingly.

"Yes," he said, "but he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular... You know how these spells come and go..."

"But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school," Harry persisted.

"Not necessarily," disagreed Lupin. "Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else."

He looked into Harry's face and then said quietly, "James was a pureblood, Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him 'Prince.'"

Abandoning pretense, Harry said, "And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?"

"Definitely not."

"Oh." Harry stared into the fire. "I just thought — well, he's helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has."

"How old is this book, Harry?"

"I dunno, I've never checked."

"Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts," offered Lupin.

"Oh for the love of Merlin!" I exclaimed suddenly, and slapped my hands over my face. Remus looked at me questioningly. I peeked from behind my fingers and stared at Harry, groaning, "Have you honestly not worked out who it is, yet?"

"No, and since you won't tell me…" Harry replied tartly.

"He's only been trying to teach you potions for five years!" I insisted, and Harry looked deeply horrified as understanding washed over him.

"It's Snape's old book?" he demanded indignantly. "So all of the stuff in there, the spells and such, they're all his doing?"

"Yes!" I insisted, rolling my eyes. I smiled happily. "I'm so glad I broke in and made a copy of the book too, some of the spells in it are great. He's really brilliant, you know. Spell design can go horribly wrong but all of his spells came out functional with no side-effects. And every potion he scribbled about is dramatically better for his playing with them."

Remus's lips were twitching uncontrollably as he tried to fight laughter. "Half-blood Prince? That's Severus?"

I arched an eyebrow. "Are you judging, Moony?"

Remus shrugged, unabashed. "Fair point."

"His mother's maiden name was Prince," I explained. "So it's not quite as poncy as it sounds."

"Wait, hang on!" Harry interjected, stretching out a hand. "Snape's a half-blood?"

I looked at Harry like he was insane. "Uhm, yes?"

"But… he's a Slytherin… and the Head… I just assumed…" Harry looked vaguely dizzied by all the revelations coming at him one after another about Snape.

"There are half bloods in Slytherin, Harry," I informed him shortly. "Case in point." I pointed firmly at myself. "You're bloody lucky you got that book, though, you can be guaranteed that you'll get better potions that everyone else in our class following Snape's instructions. Myself excluded, of course," I said smugly.

"Don't even know if I want to use it now," Harry mumbled, staring at his lap in a mixture of confusion and disgust.

"Oh, that's just stupid. The book won't give you Slytherin cooties," I huffed at him. Then I smirked. "I've got that covered." I lunged across the couch and wrapped an arm around Harry's neck in something that was half-hug and half-chokehold. I nuzzled into his shoulder and planted a flurry of kisses on his cheek as Harry protested and tried to shove me away.

"Rena, gerroff!"

Laughing, I released Harry and settled back against the arm of the couch. Remus was watching us with a paternal sort of fondness in his eyes.

"On the subject of developing magic," Remus spoke up, looking from Harry to me. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thick stack of expensive-looking parchment and passed it over to me. I took it curiously and unfolded the sheaf, reading as Harry leaned over my shoulder.

"I thought you might like to patent those mirrors that you made for the Order," Remus said quietly. "I spoke with a friend of my father's at the Ministry and he was able to get me the paperwork. There are also papers there for patenting Sine Fraxinus." He smiled faintly. "It's not much of a Christmas gift, certainly not compared to last year, but-"

The papers fell onto the table and I lunged from the couch, wrapping my arms tightly around Remus's shoulder, hiding my grin in his shoulder. I was beyond delighted to get paperwork for Christmas, which sounded insane. But the fact that Remus cared enough to help me get started on what I wanted to do with my life, to help set me up for the future… He was doing what a father or godfather might have done, had I still had one of those.

It was sad to think that this might have been my life without Voldemort. Coming to Remus for career advice and asking Sirius for help with my homework and talking to my dad about my teachers and classes. Dad and Sirius and Uncle Moony, because I was one hundred percent positive that if I had grown up with the Marauders around I would have called him that.

So, with that thought in mind, I murmured into Remus's threadbare jacket, "Thank you, Uncle Moony. I love it."

Remus Lupin was a frail man who perpetually looked ill, a condition that was only compounded the closer it was to the full moon. But he hugged me so tightly that I thought he might crush my ribs when I said that, and I felt him shake a little bit. I pulled back and beamed at him brightly. Remus's eyes looked curiously bright as he nodded.

"Well, as I said, it's not much. But I thought I ought to give it to you know. Knowing you, you'll fill it all out tonight." He smiled at me.

"Poor Fleur and Ginny," Harry teased, elbowing me in the side. "They've never had to deal with you in 'project mode.'"

I sniffed. "I have no idea what you're implying, brother dear.


	98. Meeting the Minister

Christmas morning dawned and Ginny woke me up with a pillow that was heaved with all the force of a Quaffle headed for a game-winning goal directly at my face. I came awake with a start and thrashed in my sheets for a moment before Ginny's laughter clued me in on what had happened. Scowling, I seized the pillow and flung it back at Ginny. She ducked with Quidditch reflexes and the pillow nailed Fleur in the face. She gave a startled cry and peeled the pillow away from her face as Ginny smothered laughter.

"Oh, er, sorry Fleur," I apologized quickly.

"Eet eez no problem," Fleur assured me as she gently tossed the pillow back onto the end of Ginny's bed where it rested by her stocking. It was a heartening fact that even the great vela-infused beauty that was Fleur Delacour wasn't always perfect – she had horrible bed head and her mascara was smeared under her eyes. Still, she looked like she might be doing some avant garde grunge photo shoot later, but I could forgive her for that.

I sat up and dragged my stocking up from the foot of my bed, pouring it out and grinning widely at the spill of packages. Happily, I began to tear into them. There was a box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products from the twins – the fun stuff – and the usual Weasley sweater. Daphne's yearly gift was a pair of wimple silver earrings with a pearl dangling from them. From Harry there was some book that he'd undoubtedly scoured Tomes and Scrolls for because it was a battered, second-hand thing about East Asian potions. A book on Native American magic came from Snape and I wondered with a smirk if Amity was influencing him more than he thought. Quinlan and Maeve, to my surprise, had gotten together and bought me a _Complete Collected Bestiary, Including the Extinct._ Nott had given me something similar, a book about dragon-wizard interactions through history. From Blaise came yet another book, this one on quick medical spells. I smiled and hugged all of my books to my chest in delight.

"You're looking weirdly aroused by all those books," Ginny noted from her perch on the edge of her bed as she looked my way. She leaned in the opposite direction pointedly. "Stop it."

"Someday, I'm going to have a house with the most fabulous library," I informed her. "And I will live in there like a hermit monk and be completely happy."

Ginny reached under her bed and chucked a present wrapped in green paper and silver ribbon at me with a grin. "Let me add to your collection."

I peeled off the ribbon and paper and grinned when I saw a book entirely devoted to the history of the Hogwarts Quidditch league. What house won which year, star players, key changes, and anything else you could possibly want to know.

"You enabler," I teased Ginny, reaching under my own camp bed and pulling out a package wrapped in simple brown paper and tossing it her way.

The last thing was a long, thin box with some kind of fancy label on it. Curious, and already able to guess at who it was from by the green ribbon around it, I pulled it towards me and untied the ribbon, lifting off the lid.

"Oh Merlin," I breathed, and the lid fell from my hands to rest on the floor between our beds.

"Holy Merlin," Ginny echoed me from the next bed. I looked over and saw Ginny holding her gift – a strand of real pearls. Fleur looked up from her stack, which included expensive-looking French pastries and perfume, and nodded approvingly at Ginny's necklace.

"Eet eez very nice!" Fleur approved throatily. Ginny looked from the necklace to me, her expression at once horrible confused, awed, and a little bit vulnerable.

"Merlin Rena," Ginny mumbled, her cheeks going as red as her hair. "I've never… owned anything like this before."

I smiled at her fondly. It was my hope that one day Ginny would be a sister to me as well. Any idiot could see that she had a crush on him, though she seemed to be trying to move on with her parade of various boyfriends. It wasn't working though, going on how quickly the roster tended to change. And Harry, bless my idiot brother, had finally stopped drooling over Cho Chang and realized what was right in front of him the whole time. Besides, Ginny and Harry would be good together. I didn't mind spending a little more on her.

"Some things I learned rooming with a bunch of divas," I explained. "You have to own at least one piece of good jewelry, and your pearls must always be real. I decided to combine the two."

"Whoa," Ginny breathed, and fastened the pearls around her neck happily, touching them fondly. She slid off her bed and darted over to mine, perching on the edge and wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. "Thanks Rena, I really love it. I don't – oh, _whoa!"_

I nodded in agreement and looked down at the box. Resting inside was a single glass tulip. The stem was made of green glass and darkened as it rose towards the flower. There was a single leaf attached to it, flowing smoothly into the stem a few shades darker. The flower itself was brilliantly white, the petals shaped into elegant curves. I reached inside the box and lifted it out as gently as I possibly could. It looked so fragile. Peering inside the flower, I saw there was even little yellow anther and a green stamen, the glass dusted with yellow around it like pollen.

I flinched in surprise as the light smell reached my nose. It was even scented like a tulip, which wasn't a terribly difficult smell to pull off, but it melted my heart into a puddle of mush. I sighed and fell back against my pillow with a dream y smile on my face, lifting the glass tulip to my nose and inhaling deeply.

"Ooh, eet eez beautiful!" Fleur cooed, sliding off her bed and coming over to look at the flower curiously. "I deed not know zat you had a beau, Lorena!"

"Neither did I!" Ginny said, looking at Harry firmly.

I would have been content to hold my flower and maybe even indulge in a girlish swoon, but the situation had to be controlled. I loked at Ginny and Fleur firmly.

"And you are not telling Harry!" I told them both sternly. "The only person that knows is Hermione because she caught us in a classroom once," Ginny bobbed her eyebrows, "and I haven't gotten to telling Harry yet."

"Why not?" Ginny asked. "I mean, he'd be a big brother about it, _obviously_." She rolled her eyes, having had to deal with more than her fair share of big brothers being big brothers.

"Because he's a Slytherin," I said bluntly. "And given Harry's attitude towards my house, especially with the way things are now… it's going to be a fight that I'm not quite ready for."

Ginny nodded sympathetically. "He won't be pleased no matter what you do; you're his baby sister. But a Slytherin will make it worse. Who is it?"

I gave her a pointed look. " _So_ not telling."

"Eet eez so romantic though!" Fleur said throatily, dropping to sit on the foot of my bed and clasping her hands together, looking at me soppily. "Like Romeo and Juliet! I weesh you az much 'appiness as Bill and I 'ave!"

"It's is kind of romantic," Ginny admitted. She glanced down and suddenly lunged off my bed. "There's a note!" she yelled, picking up a piece of paper from the floor and brandishing it over her head triumphantly. I tried to snatch it from her, fearful of what might be in the note, but I was wary of doing anything that might hurt the flower, so all Ginny had to do was lean away. Fleur leaned in with interest.

" _Phoenix, I know you probably have a hundred pressed tulips from me by now, but I thought you needed one that would keep its shape forever. Don't worry, there's a charm on the glass so that it will never break. Merry Christmas, sweetheart."_

"'e 'az sent you flowers before?" Fleur swooned. "And you press zem?"

"So you do know who's been sending you those flowers!" Ginny said triumphantly. I'd spent Christmases before and she'd heard about and witnessed my mystery flowers. She informed Fleur with more friendliness than she'd thus far shown the blonde, "Rena's been getting these white tulips from some mystery guy since first year. They show up on Christmas, birthdays, and when she's in the Hospital Wing."

"Since first year?" Fleur looked shocked. "Zen how long 'ave you been together?"

"A year," I mumbled. I'd never been one for girl talk, and if anyone had told me that my first experience with the typical boy-related girl talk would be with Ginny Weasley and _Fleur Delacour_ of all people, I would have pointed them in the direction of St. Mungo's Spell Damage ward. But here I was, and this was definitely happening. "I didn't know they were from him at first, but… yeah. It started first year."

"Why white tulips has always been my question," Ginny mused. "Roses are supposed to be the gift for girls."

I tapped on finger against the stem of the rose. "Because of what they mean. Tulips in general are supposed to symbolize perfect love. White roses mean forgiveness though, and also claim worthiness. I think that's what they were at first. There are also connotations of innocence, purity, and hope usually associated with white. And… beautiful eyes…" I admitted somewhat reluctantly.

Ginny looked a little bit jealous. "Here you are having the romance of the century and I'm just looking for a guy who's not terrified of my herd of older brothers!"

I patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Good luck with that. At least with Harry he's on even footing. Whoever dates you is horribly outnumbered."

I set the flower on my pillow carefully and crawled to the foot of my bed to open my trunk, lifting out the old chocolate frog box. The corners and edges were battered from years in my trunk and the latch was a little worn and tarnished, the lettering faded. It had seen some years, but it still kept the things that I treasured safe. I lifted it out and put it on the bed, lifting the lid. Fleur and Ginny leaned over curiously.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Ginny breathed, looking at the positive bowery of dried flowers and random papers. White tulips made up a good two thirds of the flora. "I hadn't really realized how many events that was."

"Most of them are hospital visits," I joked with a snort. "Some of the other flowers are from Fred and George, Blaise, Nott's sent a couple…" I mused as I pushed a few of the flowers aside. Carefully, I picked up the glass tulip, gave it one last sniff, and nestled it inside. I took the note from Ginny, smiled at it fondly, and tucked it inside. I shut the lid and replaced it in my trunk.

With the flower hidden away, the room calmed down a little bit as we all dressed for breakfast and tamed our hair. Ginny and I were wearing our Weasley sweaters as we sat down at the table, as was everyone else, with the stark exception of Fleur. She looked a little hurt by this and I felt a little sorry for her. It had to be rough, trying to be accepted by the family of the man you loved and then getting smacked in the face with a reminder that it wasn't working. I winced in sympathy – I didn't see Lucius Malfoy and I palling around and having drinks any time soon either.

Mrs. Weasley herself was sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch's hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.

"Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful?"

"Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own socks," explained George, waving an airy hand. "Parsnips, Remus?"

Ron was quick to follow his lead. "Gravy, Fleur?" In his eagerness to help her, he knocked the gravy boat flying. Bill waved his wand and the gravy soared up in the air and returned meekly to the boat.

"You are as bad as zat Tonks," said Fleur to Ron, when she had finished kissing Bill in thanks. "She is always knocking—"

"I invited _dear_ Tonks to come along today," cut in Mrs. Weasley, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. "But she wouldn't come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?"

"No, I haven't been in contact with anybody very much," admitted Lupin. "But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn't she?"

"Hmmm," mused Mrs. Weasley. "Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually."

She gave Lupin an annoyed look, as though it was all his fault she was getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks. Fleur was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, and I was fairly confident Mrs. Weasley was fighting a long-lost battle.

"Tonks's Patronus has changed its form," Harry jumped in, looking at Remus curiously. "Snape said so anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?"

Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, "Sometimes... a great shock... an emotional upheaval..."

"It looked big, and it had four legs," recalled Harry. He looked struck and lowered his voice, asking "Hey ... it couldn't be—?"

"Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley suddenly. She had risen from her chair. Her hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen window. "Arthur — it's Percy!"

"What?"

Mr. Weasley looked around. We all looked quickly at the window. Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was not, however, alone.

"Arthur, he's — he's with the Minister!"

And sure enough, Rufus Scrimgeour was following along in Percy's wake, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of us could say anything, before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy.

There was a moment's painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, "Merry Christmas, Mother."

"Oh, Percy!" wailed Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms.

Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.

"You must forgive this intrusion," he announced, when Mrs. Weasley looked around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. "Percy and I were in the vicinity — working, you know — and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all."

But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced.

"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. "Have a little purkey, or some tooding... I mean —"

"No, no, my dear Molly," refused Scrimgeour. I suspected he had checked her name with Percy before they entered the house. "I don't want to intrude, wouldn't be here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly..."

"Oh, Perce!" cooed Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

"... We've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden... Ah, those two are finished, why don't they take a stroll with me?"

The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry and I, the two he'd pointed out. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour's pretense that he did not know our names convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, and George also had clean plates. I narrowed my eyes and smirked slightly. Subtle, he was not. Combined with his career as an Auror, I had a sneaking suspicion that the Minister was a Gryffindor back in the day. Was he actually going to try and manipulate a Slytherin? Perhaps his title had gone to his head.

"Oh, of course, Minister," I said with a tone of syrupy sweet politeness as I rose from the table, resting my hands lightly on the back of my chair. "It would be an honor."

"Yeah, all right," agreed Harry, standing up and looking at me curiously. We walked around the table towards the Minister. "It's fine," Harry muttered quietly as we passed Lupin, who had half risen from his chair. "Fine," he added, as Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak.

"Wonderful!" said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry and Ipass through the door ahead of him. "We'll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

Harry and I walked across the yard toward the Weasleys' overgrown, snow-covered garden, Scrimgeour limping slightly beside us. Probably a work injury, he had been Head of the Auror office after all. He looked tough and battle-scarred, very different from portly Fudge in his bowler hat. He was definitely a better choice of leader in these times than Fudge would have been. Cornelius Fudge was a politician. We needed a general.

"Charming," judged Scrimgeour, stopping at the garden fence and looking out over the snowy lawn and the indistinguishable plants. "Charming."

Harry and I both remained silent as Scrimgeour watched us and tried to be nonchalant about it.

"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time," began Scrimgeour after a few moments. "Did you know that?"

"No," said Harry.

"It's hardly surprising though," I added. Scrimgeour looked at me warily. I suspected that he was more interested in Harry than me, but he had correctly judged that he wouldn't get one without the other without a fight.

He continued, "Oh yes, for a very long time. But Dumbledore has been very protective of you two. Natural, of course, natural, after what you've been through... Especially what happened at the Ministry..."

He waited for Harry or I to say anything, but we didn't, so he went on, "I have been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I gained office, but Dumbledore has — most understandably, as I say — prevented this."

We remained silent. So the Minister had been successfully fielded by Dumbledore? Hmm, maybe I should have sent him some Christmas cookies too. It was only too obvious why the Minister would want to talk to Harry and I. Now, if he would only admit it instead of beating around the bush.

"The rumors that have flown around!" Scrimgeour pressed on. "Well, of course, we both know how these stories get distorted... all these whispers of a prophecy... of you, Harry, being 'the Chosen One'..."

I smirked faintly. He was finally starting to get there, just a little bit further…

"I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?"

Harry looked at the little gnome prints all around the flowerbeds, and the scuffed-up patch that marked the spot where Fred had caught the gnome now wearing the tutu at the top of the Christmas tree. I waited for what Harry would say. I was following his lead here, playing the sister in the wings, but if he got off-script, I would be happy to understudy for him.

Rather anticlimactically, Harry finally said, "Yeah, we've discussed it."

"Have you, have you..." Scrimgeour squinted at him, so Harry pretended to be very interested in a gnome that had just poked its head out from underneath a frozen rhododendron. "And what has Dumbledore told you, Harry?"

"Sorry, but that's between us," Harry replied. He kept his voice as pleasant as he could, and Scrimgeour's tone, too, was light and friendly as he said,

"Oh, of course, if it's a question of confidences, I wouldn't want you to divulge... no, no... and in any case, does it really matter whether you are 'the Chosen One' or not?"

Harry had to mull that one over for a few seconds before responding. "I don't really know what you mean, Minister."

"Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously," said Scrimgeour with a laugh. "But to the Wizarding community at large... it's all perception, isn't it? It's what people believe that's important."

I hummed faintly. That was it, wasn't it? Scrimgeour didn't give a heap of dragon dung if Harry was or was not the Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Lived or the King of Atlantis. What mattered was whether or not the wizarding community at large believed it, and since they did, Scrimgeour was perfectly content to take advantage of that.

"People believe you are 'the Chosen One,' you see," said Scrimgeour. "They think you quite the hero — which, of course, you arc, Harry, chosen or not! You and your sister both, how many times have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now? Well, anyway," he pressed on, without waiting for a reply, "the point is, you are a symbol of hope for many. The Potter children! The idea that there is somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named — well, naturally, it gives people a lift. And I can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it, well, almost a duty, to stand alongside the Ministry, and give everyone a boost."

The gnome had just managed to get hold of a worm. It was now tugging very hard on it, trying to get it out of the frozen ground. Harry was silent so long that Scrimgeour said, looking from Harry to the gnome, "Funny little chaps, aren't they? But what say you, Harry? Lorena?"

I smirked faintly. As always, I was the afterthought. Public opinion was for me at the moment, but it was far more in favor of my brother. As usual, Harry was expected to do more while I actually did do more. I couldn't be mad though, I wasn't prophesied to defeat Voldemort, nor would I really want the job, honestly. Still, one would think Scrimgeour would be a little more subtle about the fact that if Harry didn't agree, I was a possible consolation prize. Maybe he was too much a general.

"I don't exactly understand what you want," answered Harry slowly. '"Stand alongside the Ministry'... What does that mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I interrupted before Scrimgeour could speak, joining the conversation for the first time. I turned to look at the Minister and shoved my freezing fingers into my pocket, staring him down. "Fudge has left the Ministry with a stink of incompetence. At the moment, you're more popular than anyone there. They want you to play poster boy. If you're seen going in and out of the Ministry, it looks like they're actually being useful. Which, from the nearly seven years I've been in the wizarding community, seems to only happen very rarely. They want to use your popularity to boost their own," I summarized.

Scrimgeour was only halfway hiding the filthy look he so clearly wanted to give me. "It's not as if you receive nothing in return. You, Harry, would have the opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office. Dolores Umbridge has told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could be arranged very easily... And Lorena, I've been told that you've developed several new formulae for potions and have been gathering contacts for one day starting a brewing company? The Ministry would be a good place to curry favors."

I narrowed my eyes. Umbridge was still at the Ministry? I supposed I shouldn't be surprised. Given that Fudge had still been in office when she returned from Hogwarts nothing would have happened to her and she would be damned before she gave up her position as Senior Undersecretary. And he thought he could bribe me with contacts? Slughorn would be of more use than the Ministry in that respect.

"So basically," Harry said, as though he just wanted to clarify a few points, "you'd like to give the impression that I'm working for the Ministry?"

"It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry," reasoned Scrimgeour, sounding relieved that Harry had cottoned on so quickly. "'The Chosen One,' you know... It's all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening..."

"But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry," continued Harry, and since I was his twin I knew that he was having to fight to keep his voice friendly, "won't that seem as though I approve of what the Ministry's up to?"

"Well." Scrimgeour blinked, frowning slightly. "Well, yes, that's partly why we'd like —"

"No, I don't think that'll work," replied Harry pleasantly. "You see, I don't like some of the things the Ministry's doing. Locking up Stan Shunpike, for instance."

"And as I've said, my opinion of the Ministry is that, on the whole, you are spectacularly useless," I agreed breezily. "You have, for example, kept the odious waste of flesh that is Delores Umbridge on staff despite her having tortured Hogwarts students."

Scrimgeour did not speak for a moment but his expression hardened more and more with every word. "I would not expect you to understand," he said, and he was not as successful at keeping anger out of his voice as Harry and I had been. "These are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken, and Delores Umbridge was never charged with anything. You are sixteen years old —"

"Dumbledore's a lot older than sixteen, and he doesn't think Stan should be in Azkaban either," countered Harry. "You're making Stan a scapegoat, just like you want to make me and Rena mascots."

We looked at each other, long and hard. Finally Scrimgeour said, with no pretense at warmth, "I see. You prefer — like your hero, Dumbledore — to disassociate yourself from the Ministry?"

"I don't want to be used," corrected Harry.

"I just don't like you," I replied cheerfully, staring at the Minister. "And I'm petty like that."

"Some would say it's your duty to be used by the Ministry, personal feelings aside!" Scrimgeour snarled.

"Yeah, and others might say it's your duty to check that people really are Death Eaters before you chuck them in prison," snapped back Harry, his temper rising now. "You're doing what Barty Crouch did. You never get it right, you people, do you? Either we've got Fudge, pretending everything's lovely while people get murdered right under his nose, or we've got you, chucking the wrong people into jail and trying to pretend you've got 'the Chosen One' working for you!"

"So you're not 'the Chosen One'?" Scrimgeour latched on. He wasn't here just to get us on board – he knew about the prophecy and he wanted to get as much information on exactly what it said out of us as he could.

"I thought you said it didn't matter either way?" recalled Harry with a bitter laugh. "Not to you anyway."

"I shouldn't have said that," backtracked Scrimgeour quickly. "It was tactless-"

"On the contrary, it was the singular honest thing you've said to us since you showed up," I countered, and my voice went dark, my eyes narrowing. Scrimgeour looked at me in faint surprise. It was a sound tactic, going for cheerful to murderous in a blink. It took people a moment to catch up. "You don't care whether Harry's the Chosen One or me or either of us. All you want is someone who can make people think that you're accomplishing something and try to get back some kind of reputation for being useful."

"I haven't forgotten, Minister, and neither has my sister," Harry said grimly. He raised his right fist. There, shining white on the back of his cold hand, were the scars which Dolores Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own flesh: I must not tell lies. I felt rage pour through me at the reminder of what Umbridge had done. "I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back. The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last year."

They stood in silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. The gnome had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it happily, leaning against the bottommost branches of the rhododendron bush.

Scrimgeour looked from Harry's hand to me and I saw him putting puzzle pieces together in his head. For the first time, he seemed more interested in me than he was in Harry. I looked back at the Minister knowingly.

"Something no your mind, sir?" I asked mildly.

"After Delores Umbridge returned from Hogwarts, she had a word cut into that exact same spot." Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes accusingly. "Would you happen to know anything about that, Miss Potter?"

"A word?" I asked innocently. "What word? Oh, poor woman! I know what it's like to have a scar cut into you without your approval and so does my dear brother." I reached over and caught Harry's scarred hand before reaching up and trouching my cheek with my other hand. My stare was intense as I said, "The physical anguish isn't what matters, you know, because that fades. It's the fact that you have a reminder etched in your skin from a dark time so that you can't ever forget, the details can never fade… Once you realize that, it's almost indescribable," I finished lovingly, stroking my fingers across the scar on my cheek. I felt Harry's fist twitch inside mine and I knew that I was unnerving him. But I was also unnerving the Minister, which was the goal. He had shifted so that he was slightly farther from me, and his hand drifted towards the pocket where I had no doubt his wand was held.

"Anything else, Minister?" I asked sweetly. Scrimgeour stood and stared at me for a moment and I saw him realize that I was not, as originally expected, the backup Potter. I had my own skills and morals and thoughts and I could no more fill in for Harry than he could for me. He blinked, and the moment was over, his hand falling from his pocket.

"What is Dumbledore up to?" Scrimgeour demanded brusquely. "Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea," answered Harry without even a beat.

"Perhaps he plays Parcheesi with his brother?" I offered mockingly.

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," guessed Scrimgeour shrewdly, "would you?"

"No, we wouldn't."

"Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means."

"You can try." Harry shrugged indifferently. "But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you."

There was a long pause.

"Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you," Scrimgeour finally said, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Dumbledore's through and through, aren't you, Potters?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry proudly. "Glad we straightened that out."

"I'm not Dumbledore's at all," I clarified. "I'm just not yours."

And with a perfectly in sync move the likes of which could only be managed by twins, Harry and I turned our backs on the Minister of Magic and strode back toward the house.

"You're really scary when you want to be, you know it?" Harry mumbled to me.

"I know," I said proudly. I was still holding his hand and I squeezed it fondly. "And I hate to admit it, but you can occasionally be in inspiring."

"Yeah, well." Harry gave a rueful smile. "I'm the Chosen One, eh? Was that wise though, talking to the Minster like that about Umbridge?"

"I covered my tracks," I said with confidence. "Besides, he came here to recruit us. Imagine what it would do to public opinion of the Ministry if he arrested one of us instead?"

"It would go down the toilet."

I scoffed. "It's already down the toilet. It would start circling the sewers."


	99. Slughorn's Shame

_APPARITION LESSONS_

 _If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons._

"She's a robot, it's the only explanation," Daphne noted as I stepped forward to write my name down for the lessons. I passed the quill off to Daphne, and she scrawled her own name.

"Like I'm going to pass up the opportunity to learn how to do something that useful?" I scoffed. "Because I routinely turn down the chance for new knowledge. It's one of my defining features."

"Alright Potter, quit bragging about your above-average brain," Blaise said, snatching the quill and signing his own name. "Budge up and let the rest of us sign up."

"Budging," I replied, and moved away from the notice board. I glanced over and wasn't surprised when my eyes landed unerringly on Draco standing by the hearth, seemingly smirking at everyone sixth year falling over themselves to sign up. He gave me a meaningful look and headed from the Common Room. Brow quirked, I waited for a moment, pretending to scan one of the bookshelves against the wall for something, before following him out, ostensibly to go to the Library and find something better.

I traipsed down the hallway of the dungeon, looking for Draco, but there was no sign of him. At least, not until a door on my right popped open and a hand grabbed me and dragged me inside. I found my nose an into from Draco's throat and addressed the spot in amusement.

"You know, dragging me against my will into classrooms is probably not the safest occupation."

Draco laughed, and I was close enough that I felt the vibration in his chest. "I'll take my chances," he said, and then leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to my lips. I kissed back, one hand coming up to press against his cheek and the other sliding behind his neck to hold him there.

"Your Christmas gift was really too much," I whispered against his mouth. "You're going to make my cookies look bad."

He laughed again, lips brushing against mine still. The sensation sent a tingle down my spine as he answered, "Never."

"Yeah, well, Ginny Weasley and Fleur Delacour now know I had a beau thanks to you," I informed him. He drew back, frowning at me quizzically.

"What were you doing with Fleur Delacour over Christmas?"

I drew back and pulled him towards one corner of the room, transfiguring my cloak into a quilt and laying it on the ground. I dragged him down to sit next to me and began to explain around casting spells to keep people away from the room, "She's going to marry Bill Weasley. Apparently they met at Gringotts and she was smitten."

"Delacour," Draco said skeptically. "Smitten with Weasley?"

I frowned slightly. "You know, I seem to recall that you were one of the guys trailing after Fleur like a lost puppy every now and then." I looked him over pointedly. "Come to think of it… Are you sure you don't have any veela in you?"

Draco bobbed his eyebrows at me. "Are you saying I'm irresistible."

I smirked. "You can't prove that even if it were true."

"I bet I could worm the truth out of you," Draco grinned, and reached over, wrapping his arms around my waist and dragging me against his side, pulling me in for more kisses. I went happily, glad to be with him again. Christmas holidays were hardly torture, but I had to admit that one of the worst parts of it was the lack of Draco. There was no one to share my thoughts with on the war, because Mrs. Weasley had expressly forbidden it during Christmas, like that made it go away. Without seeing him every day I had no idea how he was doing, if he was hurt or not, if he was even alive… I had pointedly ignored those thoughts because if I hadn't they would have driven me to be a snapping, snarling mess of worry for the holidays.

"How are you?" I breathed, drawing back from him just slightly. I felt his shoulders slump as his head came down to rest on my shoulder. He sighed and I tightened my grip on him. The sigh made it clear enough.

"I'm tired," Draco admitted into my shoulder, one hand absently skimming up and down my side. "He would show up randomly, I think he does it just to remind us that he can. Christmas Eve he showed up and started quizzing me over how my mission was going – what my plan was, how it was progressing. He used Legilimency…" Draco's voice shook ever so slightly at the memory nd I didn't blame him. Snape was hardly nice during training but he had to be far and away better than Voldemort.

I took his face between my palms and pulled him around so that we were nose-to-nose. Up close I could see that the holidays had taken a toll. His skin had reached new levels of grey and I was starting to worry that the bags under his eyes would never fade. Even his face felt thinner between my palms.

"it's over," I informed him softly. "You're here at Hogwarts. You're safe from him for now. You're with me."

Draco smiled wearily. "You know, that's actually ridiculously comforting."

I smiled back and kissed his nose lightly. "Come on, cheer up. You have a girl here who would very much like to tell you about how she disparaged the Minister to his face," I said coyly, and Draco's eyes widened.

"The Minister?" He shook his head. "This I have to hear…"

* * *

The lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve was ready upon the desk. Dumbledore's hands lay on either side of it, the right one as blackened and burnt-looking as ever. For whatever reason, I was missing my lesson with Madam Pomfrey on Dumbledore's orders to join Harry for his first lesson back from break. I was annoyed about it too – Pomfrey had said that we'd be identifying and treating poisons when the holidays ended.

"I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas?" Dumbledore said, looking between Harry and I in our chairs in front of his desk.

"Yes," confirmed Harry. "He's not very happy with us."

"No," sighed Dumbledore, his eyes lingering on me a little pointedly. "Somehow I don't doubt that. He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, but battle on."

"The Minister not lowing me is hardly a source of much anguish," I replied disparagingly, rolling my eyes and leaning my jaw on the back of my fingers. Harry grinned and added,

"He wanted us to tell the Wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job."

Dumbledore smiled. "It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you both, hoping that you would give him your support —"

"After everything Fudge did last year?" demanded Harry angrily. "After Umbridge ?"

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with the Potter twins —"

"So that's why you argued!" Harry blurted out. "It was in the Daily Prophet."

I remembered seeing that article. I'd assumed it was because the Ministry was trying to interfere at Hogwarts again – they really never learned – and Dumbledore wasn't having it.

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," shrugged Dumbledore, "if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

"He accused us of being 'Dumbledore's through and through.'"

"How very rude of him."

"I told him I was."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Behind Harry, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. Harry looked rather embarrassed as he realized that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes looked rather watery, and stared hastily at his own knees. I rolled my eyes and was hardly surprised when Dumbledore spoke and his voice was quite steady.

"I am very touched, Harry."

"I told him I wasn't on your side or his," I chimed cheerfully, and Harry gave me a stern look as I happily stomped all over the mood.

"Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," Harry said, still looking fixedly at his knees.

"Yes, he is very nosy about that," said Dumbledore, now sounding cheerful. "He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" asked Harry, hoping for more information on this intriguing subject, but Dumbledore merely smiled over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"Of course they don't, not of Dawlish is all they've got on him," I said disdainfully. I was not at all fond of the Auror thanks to the incident in this very office when Dumbledore went on the run, and the stories I'd heard from Kingsley about how he acted in the Auror office. A skilled wizard, he'd have to be to be an Auror and still be alive, but with very little common sense.

Dumbledore looked at me. "Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else—?"

"There is, actually, sir," said Harry. "It's about Malfoy and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Son of a bitch…" I muttered, and Dumbledore gave me a warning look before turning back to Harry

"Yes, sir. I overheard them during Professor Slughorns party . . . well, I followed them, actually. ..."

Dumbledore listened to Harry's story about his theories of Malfoy and Snape trying to come after Dumbledore with the necklace with an impassive face. When Harry had finished he did not speak for a few moments, then said, "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" repeated Harry incredulously. "Professor, did you understand — ?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," answered Dumbledore, a little sharply. I smirked. _There_ was the general of the Order. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

Harry sat in seething silence, glaring at Dumbledore. "So, sir," said Harry, trying and failing for a polite, calm voice, "you definitely still trust — ?"

"Finish the question, I'll hex you and leave," I said shortly, drawing my wand and twirling it around my fingers menacingly.

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," replied Dumbledore, but he did not sound very tolerant anymore. "My answer has not changed. And you will put your wand away, Potter."

I smirked, knowing as well as him that it wouldn't slow me down all that much. I'd managed to master moving things windlessly in my past few classes and even pulled out a few minor cantrips. If I wanted to make a point I could easily pick up one of the many random bits and bobs around Dumbledore's office and whack Harry over the head with it, wand or not.

"I should think not," interrupted a snide voice. Phineas Nigellus was evidently only pretending to be asleep. Dumbledore ignored him.

"And now, Harry, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening." Harry sat there feeling mutinous. Dumbledore shook his head. "Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir," retorted Harry stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not," agreed Dumbledore briskly. "I have three more memories to show you this evening, two obtained with enormous difficulty, and the last of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

"All due respect, why am I here?" I interjected. "Not that I'm sure this isn't fascinating, but I think we can all agree that I've got a fairly good handle on Voldemort's childhood without your trips down memory lane."

"You will see, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said sternly. "The last memory I spoke of will come from you, in fact."

I raised an eyebrow and glared thunderously. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Those memories of Tom Riddle were mine to guard and protect. It was why I didn't tell Dumbledore about every one, only the few that had some kind of relevance to the situation at hand. Depending on which memory he wanted to see, Dumbledore might just have a fight on his hand this evening. I didn't want him running around in my memory or Tom's.

"So," began Dumbledore in a ringing voice, "we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You both know how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school.

"Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward the shelf over his head where the Sorting Hat sat, ancient and unmoving. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know — perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.

"However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed police, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Harry.

"Why would he? One interaction is hardly a good basis of a person's character, particularly if that person has just had their world turned upside down," I reasoned.

Dumbledore nodded. "Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance."

Dumbledore paused and looked inquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak.

"But you didn't really trust him, sir, did you? He told me... the Riddle who came out of that diary said, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did.'"

"Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy," corrected Dumbledore. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues."

I scowled. Here was Dumbledore coming in once more, his opinion of a person already fixed to the point that he alienated the people who needed help most. His view of that person's character was absolute with no room for new information. I doubted Dumbledore's distrust meant much to Tom aside from an obstacle to overcome, but I also doubted it helped.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," admitted Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family — the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.

"All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo,' which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now if you will both stand ..."

Dumbledore rose, and I saw that he was holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory. I was intrigued despite myself.

"I was very lucky to collect this," he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Harry and I stepped up to the stone basin and I bowed until face sank through the surface of the memory. It felt like I was falling through nothingness and then I landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. The house was the most indescribably filthy place I'd ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime. Moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown I couldn't make out his features. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and I wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy I recognized at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome — Tom Riddle. He was probably in his fifth or sixth year, by the look of him.

Tom's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"You!" he bellowed. "You!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Tom, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop."

Tom spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Tom. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He looked completely unafraid of the wild man in front of him, armed both magically and with a knife. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Tom frowned. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"'Course I am, then...?"

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Tom, and Harry saw that he wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand. The same black-stoned ring that Tom ahd been wearing in the memory I'd seen of him with Slughorn. Something told me that this man, Morfin, likely Tom's uncle, wasn't going to come out of this encounter unscathed. I know how much Tom enjoyed trophies and that ring was perfect.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Tom sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. ..."

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Tom was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off… Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Tom did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... It's over..."

He looked away, staggering slightly, and Tom moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Tom's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything... Dumbledore's fingers closed tightly around my arm and Harry's and we were soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle my eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

I felt suddenly intensely sad for Tom Riddle. To have finally managed to hunt down his remaining family, to be expecting a welcome into a family, and to get his uncle spitting and cursing his mother and father, to find out that his father had left voluntarily… I wondered if Tom might have been able to forgive his father for being a Muggle, had he not left his mother willingly.

"Is that all?" asked Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," explained Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone."

So I was right. Tom took the ring then.

"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father.

"The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avadu Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage... The exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people.

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight.

"All that disturbed him was the fact that his fathers ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" summarized Harry, sitting up straight.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."

"And Morfin never realized he hadn't done it?"

"Never," said Dumbledore. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!"

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," clarified Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But how come the Ministry didn't realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" Harry asked angrily. "He was underage at the time, wasn't he? I thought they could detect underage magic!"

"You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —"

"Dobby," growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. "So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?"

"They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic," agreed Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Harry's face. "They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Well, that's rubbish," snapped Harry. "Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!"

"I agree," replied Dumbledore simply. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part..."

"It's a beautfiful plan," I whispered, and Dumbldore paused, another crystal phial halfway out of his pocket.

"Miss Potter?"

"He didn't show up planning to kill anyone," I expanded. "He came to meet his family. The fact that he came up with such a good plan, that he had the skill to pull it off despite still being in school, that no one discovered it until you, several decades later… It's really a testament to his intelligence and abilities. Masterfully done."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at me. "Rena, you sound like you approve of what he did…"

I shrugged noncommittally. Truthfully I somewhat did. I didn't know if I would have been able to take he rejection of my father not wanting my mother or myself without lashing out. In fact, I was confident I wouldn't have. Murder may or may not have been on the menu. And as for Morfin, well… Azkaban was a terrible fate, but if he'd already attacked Muggles before he might have been better off there for the safety of the Muggles around him. I wondered why, if they hated Muggles so much, the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin had chosen to settle in a Muggle village.

Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and I noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly. I frowned. Something was wrong with that memory, and it wasn't as though they expired… had it been tampered with?

"This will not take long," announced Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then..."

I fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man I recognized, in a room I recognized, at a gathering I recognized. I understood at once why Dumbledore had called me to join them for this meeting. This was the memory that I had seen, the memory that I had written to him about. I gave Dumbledore a filthy look and he gazed back at me, unrepentant.

Knowing him now, I was more interested to see the younger Horace Slughorn. Before he was bald he had thick, shiny, straw-colored hair. It looked as though he had had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond. He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn I knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouf, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Tom asked.

The professor chuckled and picked up a piece of crystallized pineapple from a tin in front of him. "Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," he chided teasingly, wagging a sugar-coated finger at the boy. "By the way, thank you for the pineapple. You're quite right, it is my favorite. But how did you know?" he asked, leaning forwards curiously.

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that I could see nothing but Harry's face looking equally startled. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words!"

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered, I looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" he said. "Good gracious, is it that time? Off you go, boys, or Dippet will have us all in detention!"

The other boys rose and moved towards the door with quiet goodbyes, but Tom remained, rising slowly and deliberately as the professor stood and walked over to the fireplace contemplatively. He flicked the small hourglass sitting on the table, a slight noise designed to unobtrusively bring the professor's attention back to him.

"Look sharp, Tom, don't want to be caught out of bed after hours," the professor advised, looking at him in surprise. He stayed put and Slughorn tilted his head. "Something on your mind, Tom?"

"Yes sir," he said, pacing absently towards the fire. "I couldn't think of anyone else to go to. The other teachers…" he hesitated. "They're not like you," he finished delicately. "They might… misunderstand."

"Go on," Slughorn

I mouthed the words along with Tom as he slowly and innocently built up to the idea of horcruxes, making it seem like the innocent question of someone who simply wanted a term explained to them.

"It's called, as I understand it… a horcrux."

And it happened all over again. The dense fog filled the room so that I could not see Slughorn or Tom at all; only Harry and Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly beside Harry. "Time to go."

And my feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" asked Harry blankly.

"No, it's not," I said grimly. "It's why I'm here - that memory is one I've dreamed. I have the truth of what happened in my head. Slughorn tampered with the memory, didn't he?" I guessed, even though I wasn't quite sure how such a thing could be done. "He didn't want to show you what really happened."

"Why not?" Harry asked in confusion. "Why would it matter? What's a horcrux anyway?"

"That's what I'm here for," I said, and glared at Dumbledore. "You're a bastard, you know it? You just expect I'll hand the memory over…"

"And you will," Dumbledore said confidently. "Because you understand why Harry needs to see and you understand the importance of the memory."

I snarled silently, but nevertheless Dumbledore was right. I brought the tip of my wand to my temple and summoned the memory of my dream. The memory spun from my mind and clung to the tip of my wand. As I drew my wand away the memory came with it with a curious sucking sensation. I held my wand over the Penseive and let the wisp of memory fall into the swirling pool already there.

This time I knew what to expect as I stood in the memory by Harry and Dumbledore. To my surprise I saw myself standing the corner where I had watched the scene from in my dream, a shadowy version of myself in my uniform lingering in the corner, watching everything with a fascinated expression on my face. Then came the part I was worried about 'intuition,' and I watched as my shadowy self was pulled from the corner of the room and lay transposed over Tom Riddle. I glanced to the side and saw Harry gape in wordless horror as I mirrored his gestures and expressions, saw Dumbledore regard me coolly.

Harry was enraptured with Slughorns explanation of horcruxes – he didn't know what they were. I did. I was free to watch in a mix of disgust and awe and fascination as my shadow self blended with Tom Riddle around the edges. It looked like a sort of macabre puppet act, but it was impossible to tell which one of us was pulling the strings. We moved at the exact same time. Even our expressions shifted and rose in sync.

I could watch his face as I hadn't been able to in my dream. Every movement was carefully formulated to get him exactly what I wanted, but I realized with a sort of guilty pleasure that I could see the truth behind the mask. It was in the eyes, in the faint stiffening and loosening on his fingers and shoulders. The way he manipulated Slughorn was so masterfully done I was envious. His obvious intelligence, his way with words, his looks… if I were around back in his day, I might have even fancied him.

I couldn't even feel guilty about that thought, because at that moment the memory ended and we all slid from the room and back into Dumbledore's office. Immediately my wand was out and in my hand and I prodded it into the Penseive, scooping my memory out.

"Rena…" Harry began uncertainly.

"I can't control when and how I dream about him any more than you can, Harry," I mumbled frenetically as I dragged the memory from the stone basin and brought it back to my temple on the tip of my wand, letting it slide through my skin and back into my mind. I glared at the headmaster furiously as the last of the memory slithered back into my thoughts where it belonged.

"You've never mentioned that you dream from the perspective of Tom Riddle before," Dumbledore said slowly as he sat back down behind his desk.

I collapsed into my own chair and let my chin rest in my hand glumly. "Because you would look at me like you're looking at me right now," I informed him bluntly. "You still barely trust me, how am I supposed to say 'I dream I'm Voldemort' without it sounding bad?" I countered, and Dumbledore was forced to nod his head in acceptance.

"So that's what your dreams are like?" Harry asked, looking ta me curiously. "Just... past memories? Stuff that really happened?" I nodded and he frowned. "But how's that possible. Are you some kind of Seer?"

I gave him a look of extreme offense. "Excuse you? I am not relawney."

Harry smiled faintly as Dumbledore shook his head. "I've said before that your sister seems to have a strong connection to Voldemort, albeit perhaps in a different way than you do," he explained. "Her connection seems stronger even than his."

"I'm not going into his head," I reminded Dumbledore. "There's no need for me to fight it. I welcome the dreams," I admitted. "They give me insight into him."

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Why would you want that?"

'It's never a bad thing to know about one's opponent," Dumbledore reminded him. "It's part of the goal of our lessons. Miss Potter wrote me over the summer and bargained information she gets from these dreams in exchange for lessons in wandless magic. She had also connected me with Maeve Stenet, a rather accomplished young diviner, who has been inducted into the Order along with her husband Quinlan."

"They're some of yours, right?" Harry asked, and I nodded, proud that Maeve and Quinlan had been allowed into the Order and were doing well. I had only taught them for one year and they were older than me but they had apparently made an impression at the very least.

"Mmm," I nodded. "Maeve even predicted that there would be seven horcruxes. Or, well, seven somethings critically involved in the war," I hedged. "I don't put much stock in divination on the whole, but Maeve's good at what she does."

"So he did make seven of them then?" Harry asked Dumbledore curiously. "Seven horcruxes?"

"Down to six," I corrected him, and looked at Dumbledore knowingly. "Riddle's diary, that was one. And I'd bet you anything that the ring he took from Morfin became one as well. A family heirloom, a souvenir from killing his hated father... he wouldn't have been able to resist a trophy like that. I should know," I added sardonically. "It's just the sort of thing he'd cling to. If you saw it in the memory, you saw him running his fingers over it. Beyond those two I've got no idea what the other five could be," I admitted.

"That is part of what I am attempting to determine gathering these memories," Dumbledore clarified. "I intend for you, Harry, with the help of your sister, to aid me in destroying all of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes. Only then can he be killed."

I wrinkled my nose. Voldemort was hardly going to just leave his soul lying around in a ditch somewhere. Getting to these things would be a trial in itself, and that wasn't even accounting for managing to trace them to where he'd hidden them. Destroying them was another challenge because as far as I could tell from the vague mention I'd found in the Restricted Section of them, they were nigh impossible to destroy. The power of the soul protected the object in which it was contained, and a soul was one of the most powerful magical forces on the planet. However, souls were like parasites in a sense - they needed to be inside something to be safe. The object had to be mangled beyond possible repair, which was a tall order.

"So that's how he did it," Harry breathed. "These horcruxes... that's how he stayed alive?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Had he not had them, then the rebounding curse at Godric's Hollow would have been the end of him. He has never been fond of having to rely on outside power - even the Sorcerer's Stone must have been a desperate measure for him. But these are pieces of him, extensions of himself. This, he will accept."

"Would he... would he know?" Harry asked uncertainly, looking from me to Dumbledore. "Will he know, if we destroy one of these things. Will he feel it? Because if he does, wouldn't he just gather them up and move them."

"So much the better for us, then. He'll have them in transit where they're vulnerable and the defenses would be more haphazard than ones he'd taken years to perfect," I reasoned.

"He had no body at the time the diary was destroyed," Dumbledore continued. "There was no way for him to feel it, I expect. From now on... who can say?"

"He'll know," I said darkly, confident in my answer. "You're destroying him, bits of his soul. While the horcruxes are intact, he's connected to those pieces of him even though they're separated. Once they're gone, they're not coming back. You're stripping away bits of his core piece by piece. There's no way he _couldn't_ feel that. Wouldn't you?"


	100. New Normal

**Ahhh! ONE HUNDRED CHAPTERS! Honestly you guys, I didn't think I'd make it this far. this is by far the longest story I've ever written. I never intended it to be this long, and I never expected it would be this popular! I want to give all of you guys a giant virtual hug for reading, reviewing, supporting me. I know for a fact that I wouldn't have made it this far and it wouldn't have been nearly as good without all of your encouragement. You are all amazing and I couldn't ask for better readers! *throws flowers and hearts* Since this is the hundredth chapter, there's little to no plot-related material here. It's just all the scenes you guys love. We've got Snape being a jerk about Lorena taking care of him, a Tom dream, and Drena fluffiness! I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

I didn't have any warning this time. I barely had time to register the small, spindly fingers of a house elf closing over my shoulder before I was being whisked away to the Hospital Wing. At that moment I decided that Apparation was my most despised method of being woken up. I opened my mouth to yell at whatever house elf had assaulted me, manners be damned, and then I realized where I was.

Snape was once more lying in a standard issue hospital cot, but for some strange reason, the sheets were red. Then my logic caught up with my sleepy thoughts and I jerked to full alertness. No. The sheets were red. They were just drenched in that much blood.

I had learned my lesson last time. I knew that if I stood and fretted Madam Pomfrey would be on me in a second with the demand of stay or go. I allowed myself a single second to panic internally and then slammed on a mask of professionalism, approaching the bed. I tried to focus on Snape's exposed body from the neck down, to ignored that it was my potions master and imagine it was some sort of hyper-realistic training dummy Pomfrey had magicked up.

"What happened?" I asked, already rolling up the sleeves of my nightgown and grabbing the spare apron hanging over the chair beside the bed. I pulled it over my head and tied it at my waist, covering my nightgown.

"Knives and slicing spells," Madam Pomfrey said grimly. "Nasty ones, too. The organ damage I'll need to deal with, but you can get that Blood-Replenisher down his throat and get started on the minor cuts."

I nodded and grabbed the vial of Blood-Replenisher from the side table. I popped the cork out of the top of the vial and approached the head of the bed. Snape was unconscious, and perhaps that was even scarier than when he'd been clenching and biting his lips to keep from screaming. If it weren't for the blood leaking slowly and steadily from the dozens of cuts across his body, we might have been cleaning up a corpse for casket.

"Here sir," I mumbled soothingly, even though I knew he couldn't hear me. It was more for me than him anyway. "This'll get you feeling better." I opened his mouth and poured the potion down his throat. I lifted the back of his head and massaged the front of his throat to make sure it all went down. When I removed my hand from the back of my head, it was slick with blood.

I turned to the arm closes to me and saw a jagged rip across the bicep that was deep enough to have severed muscle. It looked like it was made with a serrated blade. You would have to try to cast a Slicing Charm that badly. The half-dozen spells Pomfrey had taught me ran through my head on a loop until I found the one that would heal muscle and cast it, watching in horrified fascination as the muscle fibers knit back together underneath skin. Once that was done I cast a second spell to pull the veins back together and a final one to close the layers of skin. I wasn't an expert and it left a long pink line, but there were already so many scars covering Snape's body I didn't know if he would notice this new one, and that was a deeply depressing thought.

"Madam Pomfrey, his hand," I said hesitantly. Someone had stabbed something through the back of his hand, it looked like. The hands were tricky, and they were necessary for brewing. I didn't dare try to make an attempt on such a finicky part of the body. One badly reattached ligament could cause him pain for the rest of his life.

"Leave it for me, keep going," Pomfrey encouraged. She looked tired already, and I wondered exactly what sort of internal damage had been done. I could see that his torso was basically hamburger meat, but I couldn't tell amongst all the gore which cuts were superficial and which ones cut deeper. Here Slicing spells had been used, meaning the cuts had the precision and width of a scalpel.

I nodded and moved to a fairly minor cut on his side. It had hit rib, the white bone gleaming through the skin, but it hadn't gone any further, so it wasn't too bad. Snape barely had any meat on his ribs anyway, just a thin layer of skin over bone. I bit my lip and wondered if I could somehow start tricking him into eating more at meals before pushing aside the random thought and healing that cut too.

I worked my way down one leg and up the other, swapping sides with Madam Pomfrey at one point. I cleaned away blood with spells as I went, and as the red was cleaned away he began to look like a living person again. Madam Pomfrey had sealed up most of the cuts on his chest and gotten the internal bleeding under control and she was now bent over his damaged hand with a hearty scowl on her face.

"What did they do, try and crucify you?" she muttered irritably as I sealed a cut along his forearm that curved just around the Dark Mark so that it wasn't damaged in a way that was so precise it had to be deliberate.

"I was thrown… against a hunting trophy. The horn got me."

My head jerked up and I smiled in relief when I saw that Snape's eyes were open. His gaze was a little unfocused and bleary, but that was to be expected from the blood he'd lost. He was even paler than usual, but he managed to look first at Pomfrey and then at me, confirming to himself just who was working on him.

"The two most… obnoxiously overprotective nurses… in Hogwarts. Joy," he groaned, and gave a wince as Pomfrey cast a spell on his hand that triggered and grinding and clicking of bone going back where it was supposed to be. He swore softly.

"Quit getting thrown into walls and we won't have to be overprotective," Pomfrey huffed, rolling her eyes at him as she cleaned away some of the blood to make it easier for her to see what damage was left to deal with.

"Hardly did it… on purpose…"

"How do you feel, sir?" I asked him in concern, running through a list of the symptoms of blood loss.

"Don't ask… stupid questions."

I rolled my eyes like Pomfrey had but was unable to suppress a smile. If he was feeling well enough to be a jerk then he'd be fine. Then again, Severus Snape would probably be dead for three weeks before he stopped being snarky.

"I meant do you feel like you're about to pass out again?" I pressed. "Do you need more Blood-Replenisher? You can have another half-dose without any trouble…"

"Wait on it and give him a whole dose when he wakes up from the Sleeping Draught I'm going to give him," Pomfrey advised, and I nodded sharply.

"Yes, Madam."

"Why are you more obedient to her… than your own Head of House?"

"She's not an arse, sir."

"Detention."

"Oh no. How will I live with the shame?"

* * *

 _Somehow I wasn't surprised when I found myself lost in dreams of Tom Riddle. Memories, not dreams, I knew the difference by now. This time he was closer to my boy, probably only in second or third year. He was painfully tall and thin, but he was starting to lose the last of the childish roundness of his features and the face of the heart-breakingly handsome teenager he would be was taking shape before my eyes._

 _He sat in the Library at Hogwarts next to a window. The lights were dim, so it had to be close to closing time, but he didn't seem to be showing signs of leaving any time soon. I looked around and realized why – he'd secreted himself in a section of books on ghoul history, a section no one ever came to and as such Madam Pince never checked for lingering students before she left. He would be free to stay here all night if he wished. I had done the same thing on more than one occasion, and the sleepy candlelight and rain pattering against the window made it a tempting prospect._

 _I looked at the pile of books in front of Tom and smiled fondly when I saw volumes that most studnts wouldn't even dare to pull off the shelves until seventh year. The thick, heavy, nasty sort of books written by authors who tried to sound as convoluted as possible so that only those worthy of the knowledge they could impart would understand it. Yet Tom's brow was smooth. He didn't seem at all troubled as his eyes flicked across the page._

 _He gave a sigh and raised his arms over his head, stretching and reaching back to rub his neck, and again I smiled. Future tyrannical dictator perhaps, but for now just a scholar seeking knowledge even when it caused him pain. He slid his chair back and stood up, walking around the table to stare out over the grounds. Only a corner of the moon peeked from around the rain clouds, glancing across the lake. Raindrops pounded on the surface, turning it into a flashing, flickering mirror of brilliant white light._

 _There was scuffling from the other side of the bookshelves and Tom frowned, turning away from the window. He approached the shelves curiously and, moving slowly, he reached up and pulled down a book so that he could peer through the gap in the stacks. I followed him and crouched slightly so that I could see through as well. Abraxas Malfoy and a man who could only be Nott's grandfather sat at a table on the other side of the shelf along with the older generation of Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy had his feet kicked up on the table and Nott was leafing through a textbook without much interest._

" _And you're telling me you've both managed it?" Malfoy asked skeptically, nodding to the behemoths. Crabbe nodded and grunted, and Goyle mirrored him like it was the wisest response he'd ever heard. Malfoy rolled his eyes._

" _Fine, though I don't believe you."_

" _Leave them, either they've done it or not by this point," Nott said dismissively, closing his book. "It's not our job to make sure they learned it."_

" _That was the plan though," Malfoy said insistently. "Shock Merrythought when all the third year boys can pull of Serpensortia in the practice duels tomorrow."_

" _Two will be shock enough, and I doubt she would expect much from Crabbe and Goyle anyway," Nott continued, clearly bored with the conversation and looking like he'd rather be in bed._

" _Hey," Goyle rumbled, and cracked his knuckles threateningly. Malfoy rolled his eyes._

" _Try it, Gallus, and Humphrey will knock you out before you can say 'moron,'" he said disparagingly._

" _And besides, it's not like all of us would have been able to do it anyway," Nott continued like Goyle hadn't even opened his mouth. Which, in fairness, it wasn't like he'd contributed anything sparkling to the conversation._

 _Malfoy looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"_

" _Riddle," Nott reminded him, giving him a pointed look across the table, his hand resting casually on top of the book. "We didn't include him in our little plan, did we?"_

 _Malfoy's lips sneered in disgust. "The little orphan mudblood? No, but then he hardly counts, does he? I'd be shocked if he has enough manage to summon a single fang," he sniffed, and I saw Tom's fists clench in rage at his side._

" _He's powerful no matter his blood, you can't deny that," Nott disagree. "Come on, gents, it's almost curfew. We'll have to hurry back to the Common Room as it is."_

 _The four boys stood up, shouldering their bags, and disappeared from the aisle. When he was certain they were gone, Tom slammed the book into place with a thunderous scowl on his face. He turned around and he wasn't a student in Hogwarts robes anybody. He was the skinny child in Wool's uniform with a book under his arm._

" _You're back," he greeted me glumly, not looking up from the floor. I nodded, a bit startled by the sudden shift, but I was growing more and more comfortable with my boy's interjections into these memories. I took two steps backwards to give him room and sat down in the empty chair by the table. He was so small I didn't even hesitate to stretch out my arms and he obligingly walked over and settled himself on my thighs. He rested his book on his knees and folded his hands over top of it. I wrapped my arms around him and held him to me tightly. He leaned his head sideways onto my shoulder._

" _I already knew serpensortia," he mumbled. "I learned it ages ago when I heard there was a spell you could use to summon snakes. They were the only ones who ever wanted to talk to me. Crabbe and Goyle," he scoffed. "But not me. I was better than them, smarter, so why…?" He trailed off, his eyes looking oddly bright, and I was reminded forcefully that this was the part of Tom Riddle, of_ Voldemort _, that had desperately wanted to be accepted by this new world he found himself in and who had been greeted with as much rejection here as he had at the orphanage. People didn't pay attention to him, didn't respect him, until he_ made them _. But this wasn't that part of him. This was the part that wanted nothing more than a friend. One, single friend. That was all._

" _People shun what they don't understand," I whispered to him, reaching up and stroking his smooth, dark hair. "They don't understand your life, they couldn't possibly, and they have no hope of ever understanding your mind. All they can do is push you away. But it's not your fault, Tom, don't forget that. You've done nothing wrong."_

" _If I've done nothing wrong, then how come I deserve this?" he asked, and there was a heartbreakingly logical sense in that._

" _You don't," I admitted. "But the world's not always fair. You and I know that better than most, don't we Tom?" I asked, reaching up and chucking him lightly under the chin. He nodded, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips._

" _Yeah."_

 _There was a sound of shoes scuffing coming towards us._

" _Pince," I said in surprise. I'd assumed he hadn't been caught. I looked down at the boy in my arms as he shook his head nervously, eyes locked on the end of the aisle as he pressed imperceptibly closer._

" _No, it's him?"_

" _Him?"_

 _It clicked a moment before the teenage Tom Riddle rounded the corner, the one who always berated this younger version of himself, glaring furiously at the child in my arms._

" _Soft!" he hurled like an accusation. "Weak! Pathetic! You're sitting here sulking like a child because you have no friends! Because no one loves you!" There was a vicious, fevered light in his eyes. It was hateful, and also bitter, jealous, depressed. A thought occurred to me. Perhaps this wasn't the wrath of whatever connection to Tom Riddle I had. Perhaps this was just an older version of my boy, after the sadness transformed into hate. That didn't take it away though, only changed its form._

" _I've got him," I said reassuringly to the boy on my lap, picking him up and setting him on the floor. He stood there, clutching his book in front of him like a shield. He looked between me and his older self warily._

" _Be careful," he warned as I took a step towards the teen._

" _Pathetic," he sneered at his younger self, then looked at me with equally as much if not more disdain. "Are you going to hug me and tell me it's okay?" he sneered, but there was a hint of warinesss in his expression as I approached. "That you understand? Well you don't! You don't know anything about us! No one does! You're a beast, just like the rest of them, you just hide it better. There's nothing special about you no matter what he thinks!" He gestured furiously at his younger self, who shrank closer to the table. "You don't understand anything about me!"_

 _He hurled it as an accusation. I looked at him sadly. "Oh, but I really think I do, Tom."_

 _He snarled in rage. "You don't call me that, it's not my name! My name is Lord Vol-"_

 _And I wrapped my arms around him and crushed him to my chest just like I had more than once with the boy behind me. The Tom in my arms thrashed in his surprise, and his elbow came down painfully on my arm, he clawed at my side, kneed me in the thigh, but I stayed put, clinging to him and riding out his wrath. He became statue as he began to understand that I wasn't letting go._

" _We all have to build our own walls, our own armor, our own defenses," I whispered, my face tucked in his shoulder. He was quite a bit taller as a teen and I had to stretch slightly to get my arms hooked around his neck. "We use those to test people, to see if they're worthy, if they can be trusted. Sometimes they fail. Our defenses become stronger, but we also become more untouchable. You can't love that you can't hold in your heart."_

 _Like a vice, his arms came up and clamped around me, like he was trying to press me into him. His body gave a great, racking shudder. "Years of work," he sobbed. "And they say they're mine, but they're not, not really. I have to make them… make them stay. If they're too scared to leave…"_

" _I was wrong about you," I whispered soothingly, reaching up and stroking my hand through his hair comfortingly like I had a moment ago with him. "I thought you were Voldemort encroaching on my little boy. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You're my same little boy. You just grew up a little, got a little harder, a little colder, a little warier." I pulled back and reached up, cupping his face between my hands._

" _I don't know why I have these dreams," I told him. "But I know they're more than just random thoughts coming together. You're as real as I am, and you both are inside of me somewhere, somehow. I don't quite know what you are, but I know that I was chosen to protect you, and I take that job very seriously."_

 _I reached behind me and felt a small hand slide into mine. I dragged the younger and older version tight, one pressing their face into my side, the other hiding in my shoulder._

" _I'll keep you safe, Tom Riddle," I swore to both of them. "I'm your friend."_

I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling of the potions lab overhead. I smiled faintly. Normally I felt worm out, like I was recovering from the exhaustion of a nasty cold after a dream involving Tom, but this time I just felt an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance. To some it might have sounded mad. A child and teenage version of the man who had single-handedly destroyed the lives of myself, my brother, and untold others was the person who I understood best in this world, and who I would, in a way, die to protect. Yet it was the truth. I wasn't sure quite where the line between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort was drawn, but I was the steward of all that was left of a boy who just wanted to understand, to be cared about, who had gone down the darkest of paths seeking some twisted version of that when he was denied the real thing.

I raised a hand and settled it over the center of my chest, where the warm feeling seem to be coiled.

"I'll keep you safe," I mumbled sleepily, and passed out once more.

* * *

"Well, I commend you for trying to shake up our usual routine, but I have to say that I prefer our usual spot more."

Draco and I stood in the Room of Requirement, though it was hardly the comfortable lounge that it usually was when we were in it. Instead it was a seemingly endless winding labyrinth of… junk. I spotted a couch with three legs broken of leaning desperately against a filing cabinet that seemed half-melted. Which was impressive, seeing as it was made of wood.

"I want to show you the progress I've made thus far," Draco explained, and wrapped his arm through mine, pulling me down one aisle of the accumulated worthlessness. I followed him curiously, peering around. There were old broomsticks that looked several centuries out of date, broken furniture, cracked and chipped statues, even a suit of armor that looked like it had been blown up and then stuffed inside a trunk. The place, while nothing in it seemed terribly useful, was at the very least interesting.

"This is where the Vanishing Cabinet ended up," I mused, peering around, and let Draco take charge of steering me through the warehouse-like space. "I dunno, I imagined it getting stuck somewhere grander…"

"Good for you," Draco grunted. "I'm to the point where I want to burn it."

I winced. "Not going as well as you'd hoped?" I asked, and he shook his head grimly.

"No. And now that we're on the far side of Christmas holidays…." There was an undeniably stressed look to his face these days, one that didn't quite go away no matter what. If he kept up like this he'd have wrinkles before he was out of Hogwarts, and I could only imagine what that would do to his vanity.

"Here," Draco said, and stopped me in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. It was old and worn, and it looked like someone had thrown acid across the front of it. Not surprising. Vanishing Cabinets were the rage back in the First War. If Death Eaters came calling you just stepped in one and popped out someplace safe, came back when the coast was clear. And Vanishing Cabinets were impervious to a lot of physical attacks, which explained the acid substance. Someone had probably tried to break into this one and gotten angry when they couldn't.

It was clear that someone had been in this area. There was a worn daybed that had been pulled from the piles of garbage and placed across from the cabinet. Next to it was a table whose top had been so heavily grafittied it looked like some kind of rot had eaten away at the top. There were pillows resting on the daybed, looking far nicer than anything else I'd seen in here thus far – definitely conjured. I looked form it to Draco suspiciously and decided that he had probably been sleeping here more nights that he should.

"Watch," Draco urged. I sat down obediently on the couch and hugged one of the pillows to my chest tightly, watching in interest as Draco opened the door of the cabinet and set a green apple inside. He shut the door tightly and drew his wand, murmuring, " _Harmonia Nectere Passus."_

He opened the door and, with a bit of a flourish that reminded me of a Muggle stage magician, swung the door open. The cabinet was empty, no sign of the apple, not even a stem left behind on the bottom of the shelf.

"Well done!" I praised. "And will it come back?"

Draco shut the cabinet door and murmured the spell again. This time when he opened it, the apple was back to sitting there innocently. Draco snatched it up and tossed it to me. I caught it and turned it over, feeling gently for any bruised spots that might indicate the apple had been damaged in transit,but it was still as firm as before. I took a large, crunchy bite. The taste hadn't been affected either. I lapped up a bit of juice that ran down my wrist and nodded to Draco approvingly.

"So you've moved on to animate objects then?" I guessed, and he nodded. The stressed look was more prominent now as he reached down and tugged off his uniform vest over his head, mussing his platinum blond hair in the process. I didn't mind, I thought he looked rather handsome all disheveled like that.

"I sent a bird through," Draco explained, joining me on the couch. He set his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of his face, giving the Vanishing Cabinet a dirty look. "it came back, but it wasn't… alive," he admitted with a wince. I mirrored him and reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to it?" I asked, and Draco shrugged.

"No idea. It's not like it was… missing pieces or anything. It was just… dead."

I bit my lip and nodded. "That makes sense. At a guess I'd say internal organ failure is probably what did it, either that or something in the brain."

"Why?" Draco asked curiously, glancing at me sideways.

"Bones, muscle, veins, skin, that's all complicated enough," I explained. "But brain matter and organs are all very delicate, any little thing can send them into failure, and if one collapses another will probably follow. It's the same in most branches of magic. It's far easier to, say, change your skin color than it is to Transfigure yourself into a cat. It's a less complex Transfiguration and so it comes easier. I have to deal with the same thing in Animagus transformations," I added. "I was covered in feathers and my limbs were changing far before anything started happening with my torso. You're on the right track!" I squeezed encouragingly. "It just takes more time…"

Draco suddenly stood up and ripped himself away from me, whirling around. "Believe it or not, Lorena, your infinite wisdom gets a little old sometimes!" he snapped at me, face going red with anger. I blinked, back on my heels. He'd never snapped at me like this before, and for a moment I was absolutely enraged that he would dare, but then my logic caught up with me and I reminded myself what kind of strain he was under.

"I know that you know everything there is to know about magic, things that us mere mortals can only dream about, but some of us have more stakes to deal with than just wanting to know something!" Draco continued to rant hatefully. "I have my life and my mum's riding on this and you sitting there spouting off like a Merlin-damned encyclopedia doesn't actually help, it's just obnoxious!"

I blinked again as Draco fell silent, panting slightly. He glared at me for a moment longer and then his face fell, followed almost immediately by his shoulders.

"Done?" I asked mildly, though I was unable to keep a slight hint of annoyance out of my voice. Draco winced and looked at me guiltily.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I know," I assured him, standing up and walking over to him. I slipped my arms around his waist and laced my fingers behind his back, pressing our fronts together and looking up at him. "I know. You're angry and stressed. I'm not going to hold it against you. Besides, I know I can sound like a know-it-all," I admitted wryly. Draco gave a tired laugh at that and wrapped his arms around me as well, lowering his head so that his chin rested on top of my head.

"I just feel like I'm so close…" he murmured. "Like it's staring me in the face and I'm just too stupid to see it…"

I scoffed. "Well, you've proven you're not stupid, so clearly that's hippogriff crap." I hesitated and then added, "I wish I could help you with this, I honestly do, but…"

"No, I know," Draco said quickly, pulling back and looking down at me. Those stormy grey eyes were soft and understanding and loving as he stared. "There are some lines neither of us can cross for each other unless it's a last-ditch effort. You helping me would be a betrayal that the Barbequed Chicken would never forgive."

I snorted and buried my face in his chest, hugging him tightly. One of his hands came up to the back of my head, knotting in my hair and holding me in place as the other slid around my waist. "Do you think these up? Is there a list somewhere you've written down?"

Draco laughed softly. "No, I'm just smart, remember?"

"Barbequed Chicken," I repeated, laughing softly against the expensive fabric. "Fricasseed Pheasant?

"Fiery Duckling," Draco chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. He heaved a sigh that shook my body as well as his, I was pressed to close to him. "I'm tired, phoenix, I really am," he murmured into my hair, and I could hear it in his voice, the bone-deep weariness that was starting to become more than he could bare. I already was worried by how much this mission weighed on him. But if he went much longer without some kind of progress I was concerned there would be real consequences for him.

"I don't know if it makes much difference," I admitted, looking up at him and cupping his cheeks between my palms. "But I am so proud of all the progress you've made. There are a lot of trained Enchantment Restorers that wouldn't mess with something as complex as a Vanishing Cabinet. And you're nearly done."

I leaned up and kissed him on the lips. Like I'd handed him a lifeline Draco clung to me, pressing his mouth firmly against mine. I sighed, completely content with how this was going, and let my weight rest against him. His hands were large and long-fingered, and they nearly covered my waist as they settled on my hips. I always felt oddly fragile when he held me like that, but even stranger was that I sort of loved it.

"You'll be alright," I breathed against his lips when I pulled back for air. "I swear you will."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning," he replied.

I pulled back and gave him a knowing look. "When was the last time you slept, sweetheart? Really slept, a full night, no potions."

Draco frowned in thought, and the fact that he didn't have an immediate answer was telling in itself. "Maybe sometime before Christmas?" he admitted sheepishly, seeming surprised himself by how long it had been. I shook my head and stepped back, letting one of my hands slide down his arm to wrap around his. I dragged him back towards the day bed and sat down, pulling one of the pillows into my lap and patting the cushion beside me invitingly.

"Are you serious?" Draco asked in surprise, looking down at me. I nodded and patted again, more insistently. He was smiling a little as he kicked off his shoes and laid down on the space next to me, laying his head back on the pillow. I reached down and began to lightly drag my fingers through his hair. Almost against his will, his eyelids immediately began to droop and he gave a content sigh.

"Feels nice…"

"Go to sleep," I urged him. "There's no class tomorrow, no one will bother us. I'm here. Just sleep…" I whispered, and began to hum a soothing song I remembered hearing in a movie once, though I couldn't remember where. It sounded something like a lullaby so I went with it, and Draco gave another sigh, letting his eyes fall closed as his hands folded comfortably on his stomach.

I could tell the moment he really fell asleep because the worry faded from his features. The perpetual tightness in his brow loosened and his mouth softened. His breathing evened out and deepened and I smiled at the sight of it, feeling a rush of some tender, warm emotion in my chest as I looked down at Draco. I wasn't much for prayer, but at that moment I prayed to whatever deity might be listening that we would survive this mostly intact.

I knew what that feeling was, the one that felt like gentle waves washing against my heart. I couldn't say it to his face, not yet, but he was asleep, and I was determined.

"I love you."

I forced the words out, barely louder than a sigh. It felt like something in my loosened and then exploded. It was at the same time immensely freeing and completely terrifying to finally let the words out, even if Draco had no idea I'd said them and I had no idea if I could do it again when he woke up. It was out in the world and if that was all I got… well. At least I said it once.

Smiling like an idiot, I drifted to sleep with one hand still tangled in Draco's hair and the other resting on top of his.


	101. Apparation and Sneaking Out

**I've had people asking for more Drena scenes for a good long while, and it occurred to me that most of the time they've spent together lately has been nothing but stressful or supportive in turns, and that sucks for them and for my readers. So, be warned, this chapter only has plot in the first section. After that is straight FLUFF. And it's about time too, there hasn't been a whole lot of it thus far.**

* * *

The tables had disappeared from the Great Hall. Rain lashed against the high windows and the enchanted ceiling swirled darkly above them as we assembled in front of Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout - the Heads of House - and a small wizard whom I took to be the Apparition Instructor from the Ministry. He was oddly colourless, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair and an insubstantial air, as though a single gust of wind might blow him away. I wondered whether constant dis-appearances and reappearances had somehow diminished his substance, or whether this frail build was ideal for anyone wishing to vanish. Maybe years of malnutrition might have some advantage.

"Good morning," called the Ministry wizard, when all the students had arrived and the Heads of House had called for quiet. "My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry-Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. 1 hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition test in this time-"

"Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!" barked Professor McGonagall.

Everybody looked round. Draco had flushed a dull pink; he looked furious as he stepped away from Blaise, both of them smirking. Harry glanced quickly at Snape, who also looked annoyed, though I strongly suspected that this was less because of Draco's rudeness than the fact that McGonagall had reprimanded one of his house. Draco glanced at me and I rolled my eyes at him.

"- by which time, many of you may be ready to take your test," Twycross continued, as though there had been no interruption.

"As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try.

"I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you."

There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of House moved among the students, marshalling them into position and breaking up arguments. I noticed with some annoyance that Harry had separated from Hermione and was moving quickly through the crowd, past the place where Professor Flitwick was making squeaky attempts to position a few Ravenclaws, all of whom wanted to be near the front, past Professor Sprout, who was chivvying the Hufflepuffs into line, until, by dodging around Ernie Macmillan, he managed to position himself right at the back of the crowd, directly behind Draco, who was taking advantage of the general upheaval to continue his chat with Blaise, standing five feet away and looking annoyed.

"Look, I know it's been a long time," Draco shot at him, oblivious to Harry standing right behind him. "It's taking longer than I thought it would. Sorry I can't join you in Hogsmeade every weekend for drinks."

Blaise opened his mouth, but Draco appeared to second-guess what he was going to say.

"Look, it's none of your business what I'm doing, Blaise, you know the basics and that's all you are safe knowing!"

"I tell my friends what I'm up to, if they're worried about me," Harry said, just loud enough for Draco to hear him. "It's just good manners."

Draco spun round on the spot, his hand flying to his wand, but at that precise moment the four Heads of House shouted, "Quiet!" and silence fell again. Draco looked from Harry to me and turned slowly to face the front.

"Thank you," said Twycross. "Now then ..."

He waved his wand. Old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appeared on the floor in from of every student.

"The important things to remember when Apparating are the three Ds!" said Twycross. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!

"Step one: fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination. In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now."

Everybody looked around furtively, to check that everyone else was staring into their hoop, then hastily did as they were told. I forcibly pushed the idea of Harry still looking at Draco as some kind of criminal from my mind. My conversation with him at Christmas seemed to have eased his suspicions of Snape somewhat, but he was still just as determined that Draco was up to something as he had ever been. I bit my lip – I would have to tell him soon before his suspicions got even worse and irreparable fallout as unavoidable.

"Step two," continued Twycross, "focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!"

Ernie Macmillan was contemplating his hoop so hard that his face had turned pink; it looked as though he was straining to lay a Quaffle-sized egg. I bit back a laugh and hastily returned my gaze to my own hoop.

"Step three,'" called Twycross, "and only when O give the command ... turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation. On my command, now ... one-"

Lots of people were looking positively alarmed at being asked to Apparate so quickly. Th truth was that much like Occlumency and Animagus transformations Apparition, while being more common, still had to be largely worked out on an individual level. People had to find their own methods for keeping destinations fixed in their minds.

"Three!"

I spun on the spot and tried to feel my way into the center of the circle. tHere was something there, a kind of pull against my stomach, but it wasn't anything close to Apparation. It was, however, enough to knock me off balance. I staggered and, thankfully, Daphne had done the same next to me. We both took two steps and then managed to cling onto each other for support.

The whole Hall was suddenly full of staggering people. Neville was flat on his back. Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, had done a kind of pirouetting leap into his hoop and looked momentarily thrilled, until he caught sight of Dean Thomas roaring with laughter at him. Draco was scowling heartily at not having managed it and I saw him hastily straightening the robes that had tangled around his ankles and tripped him up.

"My father makes this look so easy," Daphne muttered irritably as we pushed off each other and returned to our spots. Nott gave her a supportive look and she smiled back at him faintly.

"Never mind, never mind," assured Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions…"

The second attempt was no better than the first. Daphne and I managed not to topple into each other this time, but neither of us could manage more than a slightly more elegant spin. The third was just as bad. Not until the fourth did anything exciting happen. There was a horrible screech of pain and everybody looked around, terrified, to see Susan Bones of Hufflepuff wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she had started.

The Heads of House converged on her. There was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which cleared to reveal Susan sobbing, reunited with her leg but looking horrified.

"Splinching, or the separation of random body parts," explained Wilkie Twycross dispassionately, "occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continually upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation ... thus."

Twycross stepped forwards, turned gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched and vanished in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall. "Remember the three Ds," he said, "and try again ... one -two – three-"

"You'd think she just tripped, not separated from her leg!" Daphne hissed at me.

"In fairness, he's probably seen people splinch themselves so often its lost all its charm," I replied.

An hour later, Susan's splinching was still the most interesting thing that had happened. Twycross did not seem discouraged. Fastening his cloak at his neck, he merely said, "Until next Saturday, everybody, and do not forget: Destination. Determination. Deliberation.'

With that, he waved his wand, Vanishing the hoops, and walked out of the Hall accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Talk broke out at once as people began moving towards the Entrance Hall.

It was easy for me after all this time to wind through the crowd and find Draco. I grabbed him and dragged him into a classroom. It said something that he didn't even flinch when he was yanked into a dark room, just looked down at me and smiled faintly.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

I scoffed. "And here I was thinking you liked the danger of it."

"I've got enough danger in my life already, thanks."

"What was going on with Blaise?" I asked curiously. "What's this about Hogsmeade?"

Draco shook his head. "He was giving me a hard time because I wouldn't go for drinks at the Three Broomsticks with him. I haven't been to Hogsmeade…" He blinked and seemed surprised to realize, "I haven't gone but once all year, actually."

I sighed and reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "What have we said about doing things for yourself? It may not feel like it, but it is important. I promise."

Draco sighed. "I know. I don't like being secretive and busy all the time, trust me. But I don't really have another choice, do I?"

I bit my lip, mind working to come up with something, some way to bring Draco back into the world. Of course it wasn't like we could run down to Hogsmeade for a drink at the Three Broomsticks together and have a grand old time. For one, we were only allowed off the grounds on certain days, and for another, we still had to pretend to hate each other. It just wasn't an option for us…

My mind came to a screeching halt as an idea blared in bright neon letters. "Saturday after Apparition lessons, meet me here."

He looked at me blankly. "Why? You'r smiling," he said warily. "Why are you smiling?"

My smile went tight and slightly warning. "You don't like my smile?"

"I've learned to be respectfully wary of your smile," Draco corrected, reaching up and tracing the shape with one finger. I softened a little bit under the gentle stroke, and he bent down, kissing me quickly. "That's all. Usually when you're smiling, you're about to break a lot of rules. Are you going to break a lot of rules?"

I grinned. "Maaaybe."

"Phoenix, what are you planning?"

"You'll see!" I assured him, and he was right, I was grinning widely at the prospect of breaking rules. "Just meet me here after lessons and we'll have some fun, alright sweetheart? I've got to go get things together…"

* * *

Exactly a week later the Apparation lesson let out and I headed straight for the classroom I'd told Draco to meet me. I hadn't made much progress on Apparating, there was stil just the faint tugging sensation in my abdomen, but at least no one had splinched this time. Once was enough for all of us. Frankly, I was too excited for what was coming to focus much on Twycross and his three Ds.

"Oh good, you're already here!" I smiled when I stepped into the room and saw Draco already waiting, arms crossed over his chest and looking slightly suspicious.

"I am," he replied, looking me up and down. "Come on, tell me what you've cooked up in that wonderful brain of yours?"

"You'll just have to trust me!" I sang as I dug in my pocket and pulled out the Marauder's Map.

I hadn't felt like this in ages. The last time I'd done something to break the rules that wasn't for a reason related to the war was… Merlin, I couldn't even remember. The Disney Curse, as the incident last year had come to be known? I used to cause almost as much stress to the staff as Fred and George, but not recently. It had seemed too… childish. But now I felt childish, like I was any other sixteen year old girl, and it felt good. For all I'd warned Draco about taking time for himself, I hadn't really done much for my sake lately.

"This doesn't have the potential to go horribly wrong at all," Draco muttered, but nonetheless he walked over to me and wrapped an arm around my waist. He peered down at the grubby piece of parchment, then gave me a sideways look. "You know it's blank, right?"

"Hm, is it?" I teased, and drew my wand, prodding the parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good!"

"Bloody hell," Draco swore as the ink lines began to spread out and shape into the halls and corridors of Hogwarts. He squinted at the labeled dots on the paper and gaped, poking one empty classroom on the first floor where he and I stood. "That's us!"

"This is the Marauder's Map. It shows every person and where they are in Hogwarts… unless they're in the Chamber or the Room of Requirement," I admitted. "I don't know if the Room's Unplottable – it would make sense if it was – and obviously my father never found the Chamber of Secrets…"

"Hold on," Draco interjected. He gestured to the map in disbelief. "Your dad made this?"

"With his friends," I nodded, and pointed at the names on the top. "This was all of them. Sirius Black, Padfoot. Remus Lupin, Moony…"

"Because of his Animagus form and Professor Lupin being a werewolf," Draco realized, and I nodded.

"And here's Pettigrew, Wormtail." I sneered the name. "He turned into a rat. And my dad, Prongs. He was a stag. They made this when they were in school. They all became Animagus to help Remus through his transformations, and because of all the wandering around after hours they did they got very familiar with Hogwarts and all its secrets. That led them to make the map."

"This is seriously advanced magic," Draco said, impressed despite himself. "You get your potions smarts from your mum, sure, but your dad was powerful too."

"I know," I said proudly. "But showing off my inheritance isn't why I brought you here. We're going to use it to get through the castle unseen. Now, come on," I urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind me.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked as we moved through the halls. I looked down at the map and realized that we only had a few seconds before Sinistra hit this corridor with a couple of Ravenclaws.

I looked backat Draco, eyes glittering. "Run!"

I dragged him after me as we took off sprinting down the halls. Several portraits made sounds of distaste as we ran past, and suits of armor turned hteir heads to follow us. I glanced down at the map. Sinistra in three… two… I grabbed Draco and hauled him into a niche behind a tapestry just as Sinistra rounded the corner, conversing with two seventh year girls about an outside project they were working on.

I looked up at draco in the darkness behind the tapestry, panting more form excitement than exertion. The space was small and we were pressed chest-to-chest, my hands resting on his shoulders.

"I figuring out why you never get caught skulking around the castle," Draco breathed as Sinistra and her students vanished around the corridor.

"Years of practice?"

"And some extra help." He nodded to the map and I laughed lightly.

"Well, that too," I admitted, and looked down at it. The coast was clear, so we stepped out into the hallway again. Draco seemed to have accepted that I wouldn't be sharing any secrets with him and he was just going to have to go along for the ride. He followed me without question until we arrived at the statue of the one-eyed witch with the hump. I drew my wand and tapped her hump.

"Dissendium," I cast, and checked the map. The closest person was McGonagall, but she was in her office one floor up and didn't look like she'd be moving any time soon. I climbed up onto the statue's base and wiggled down the hole, giggling slightly as I slid to a stop in the tunnel that led to the cellar of Honeydukes. I looked up in time to see Draco slide down after me. He wasn't quite as prepared for the slide as I was and fumbled at the end, smacking into me. I hit the dirt, Draco on top of me. Thankfully he had the foresight to clap a hand to the back of my head so I wasn't seeing stars. I did have storm clouds an inch from my eyes, so perhaps that was similar.

"Fancy running into you here, Mr. Malfoy." I laughed sotto-voce as our noses brushed.

"Where are we going?" Draco whispered back as I flicked my wand at the trapdoor above us and it slid shut, cutting off the light in the tunnel. In the sudden darkness I couldn't see him, but I could feel his weight on top of me and feel warm breath on my cheeks.

"Surprise!" I sang lightly, still whispering even though, with the passage shut, we didn't need to. Somehow, speaking regularly seemed too much, pressed together like we were.

"I could kiss it out of you," he threatened. His lips hit my chin first, then my cheek and the side of my nose, before finally managing to make contact with my mouth. I was giggling as I kissed him, which abruptly turned into a soft sigh as his tongue slipped in and stroked mine. I melted, feeling quite content to lay there for a while. But I still had a surprise.

"I planned this…" I murmured against his lips. "And all you want to do is lie here and kiss me?"

"It hardly seems like a bad use of my time…" he replied, and I laughed again. I felt blissfully happy and incredibly ridiculous, laying in the dark of a dirty tunnel with Draco Malfoy on top of me nibbling my neck.

"Oh Merlin," I huffed, reaching up and tangling my fingers in his hair. I tugged gently, pulling his head away from my neck. "You keep doing that, you won't get your surprise," I threatened lightly, and Draco drew back, rolling off of me and sitting up against the edge of the tunnel.

"By all means… surprise me," he requested teasingly, although there was still a hint of a smolder in his eyes when I lit my wand. He wasn't kidding when he said he'd happily just lay there and kiss me the rest of the day and the thought made my cheeks warm.

I fumbled in my robes and pulled out a silver flask, passing it over. "Drink this."

"You don't have to get me drunk, Potter," he joked, bobbing his eyebrows as I waved my wand and cleaned the dirt off of us. I rolled my eyes and drew out my own flask, bringing it to my lips and tossing back and shot with a grimace. Across from me, Draco choked and sputtered on his.

"What the devil was that?" he demanded, yanking it from his mouth and passing it back while giving the flask a filthy look.

"Polyjuice Potion."

"Poly-"

Draco was cut off as the transformation hit him, skin bubbling and shifting as the same thing happened to me. I took on my favored disguise of the Muggle teacher who frequented Amity's shop, but hers wasn't the only hair I'd ever snatched while I was there. Draco now looked like a scarecrow of a thirty-year-old man with dark hair and eyes.

"Lorena…" Draco said slowly, looking from his new body to mine. "Where are we going that we needed disguises?"

"I wonder," I replied lightly, hauling myself to my feet. He mirrored me and I gestured for him to start following me down the tunnel.

"We're leaving the school grounds," I explained to Draco. "Under Hogwarts' defenses. The headmaster doesn't know about this passage, and it's been left unguarded." Draco remained silent beside me, his face grim. "I know what you're thinking, and don't. It would be risky sneaking them in this way and you'd have a far greater chance for casualties. As a last resort, fine, but I'd prefer it if we kept this passage between ourselves."

Draco ook a deep breath and I looked at him in concern in the light of my wand. It had to be impossible tempting, to use this passageway as a route in for the Death Eaters. All the pressure would be gone, he could just give the entrance to his aunt and his job would be done, his family would be safe. But he had seen what his plans could do with the incident with Katie Bell – who still wasn't back from St. Mungo's – and he knew what it felt like to cause undue harm. He wasn't eager to do the same again.

"Okay," he submitted, and I nodded in satisfaction, lacing my fingers through his and squeezing fondly as we made our way down the tunnel. At the end was a large square around which a little bit of light poured. I stood up on the steps leading up to it and lifted the slab with a grunt. There was no one down there, so I pushed it to the side and climbed out, brushing some dust from my robes. Draco followed me out and I kicked the slab back into place.

"Where are we?" he asked blankly, looking around at the random boxes and crates. His eyes landed on the label of one: Bertie Bott's. He looked at me in disbelief. "Is this Honeydukes?"

"The basement," I nodded, grinning widely, and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the stairs. "Come on."

He followed me up the stairs and I paused at the door, cracking it ever so slightly and peering outside. It would have been easier if there was a massive press of students inside the shop, but as it was there were enough people to keep all the attendants busy.

"Okay, come on."

Nonchalantly, we slipped out from the basement and quickly turned our attention to a display of various lollipops.

"We're in Hogsmeade," Draco mumbled, looking beyond impressed as he stared from me to a butterbeer lollipop. "You broke us out of school."

I looked at him and couldn't keep the softness and affection off my face as I explained, "I thought we'd both earned some normalcy. We're not ourselves, but we can still have a date like a normal couple this way."

Draco's eyes burned as he looked at me, grateful and loving and deeply appreciative. We were in public and there was still some nervousness about physical affection like there would be if we were standing here as ourselves. He squeezed my hand in a vice and brought it to his lips, pressing an intense kiss to my knuckles. The skin there burned and I flushed under his stare.

"If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up."

It was corny, it was overused, and it was completely perfect and he meant every word, cliché or not. I beamed at him and used his grip on my hand to draw myself closer to him.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked him. "This is your day."

"Our day," he corrected gently, before looking around and saying decisively, "The Three Broomsticks. I want to buy you a butterbeer." He winced and admitted sheepishly. "Is it silly to be excited about being able to do that?"

"I'm a little excited too," I admitted, before cracking a smile and saying innocently, "I was hoping you'd say Madam Puddifoot's thought." I batted my eyelashes at him like a love-struck Hufflepuff.

He looked down at me shrewdly. "No, you weren't."

I scoffed. "You're not wrong."

It was halfway through February, well on its way to May, and it was starting to warm up. For the moment our regular weekend clothes were enough to keep us warm but we didn't linger in the outdoors long, making a beeline for the pub and ducking into the warm interior.

"Find a table," Draco urged softly, placing a hand on the small of my back and I nodded, heading for one of the smaller private tables in a back corner. I had only been in the Three Broomsticks when it was packed to the brim with students crammed around tables. The place seemed emptier now by comparison even though there were only a handful of empty tables.

I tilted my head as I watched Draco order the drinks by the counter, smiling slightly. He looked like some random, nameless Muggle, but I fancied that I could still pick out bits and pieces of him under it all. The straight-backed posture and regal bearing that most purebloods had, the ever-so-slightly smug quality to his polite smile when he took the bottles from Rosemerta.

I took the bottle from him as he sat down opposite me and brought it to my lips. There as the familiar sweetness undercut with a shot of firewhiskey for added burn. I blinked and choked a little in surprise, looking from the bottle to Draco.

"Advantages to Polyjuice, phoenix," he said smugly, taking a sip from his bottle without flinching. I flashed him my best seductive smile and repeated what he'd said to me in the tunnel.

"You don't have to get me drunk."

Draco snorted. "Now if only _you_ were the one saying that, I might be tempted." He looked around, somewhat disappointed. "I guess we'll have to watch what we say here, too."

I drew my wand with a faint smirk and flicked it. " _Muffliato_." Stowing my wand, I invited, "Say whatever you like, everyone just hears a faint buzzing sound."

Draco looked at me, his expression caught between jealous and amused. "Where do you get these spells?"

"That was actually invented by our dear, beloved Head of House," I told him proudly, smug on Snape's behalf for the nifty little spell he'd dreamed up. And when he was no older than us, too.

Draco's brows rose. "I didn't know he invented spells!"

"I don't think he does anymore," I admitted. "Just something he toyed with in school."

As we sipped our drinks we talked about everything and nothing. Somehow amongst the conversation our hands had stretched across the table, fingers lightly twinging around each other. My thumb moved over the back of his hand every now and then, and he periodically squeezed mine. It felt like one of the most intimate conversations we'd ever had despite being held in public. Perhaps because, for the first time in a long time, we weren't talking about class or Draco's mission or the Basilisks.

"When I was little, my dad would come home from meetings and the first thing I would do would be ask how his day was. And he'd sit me down with him in his study and tell me all about what he'd done. The business meetings, why they were happening, what was accomplished. He never tried to dumb it down for me and welcomed it when I asked questions. It was his way of teaching me about the family holdings, though I didn't know it at the time. But I liked it… that he didn't talk to me like a kid." Draco sighed. "But we haven't been like that for a while."

"Tell me about your mother," I requested, squeezing his hand comfortingly. "I've spoken to your father a time or two, but I've only ever seen your mum at the World Cup and that time in Madam Malkins."

"She's great," Draco said, and he still had the glowing sort of untouchable affection on his face when he spoke of his mother. I was glad that he was able to still keep at least one of his parents on a pedestal. Everyone should be able to have that unwavering child's faith in their parents for at least a little while.

"When she was getting ready for Ministry galas or society balls I would sit on her bed and watch while she put on her jewelry and fixed her hair and did her makeup," he recalled. "She would turn on the radio in the background and we would sing along with whatever was playing. Well, she would," he admitted. "I never really knew the words, but I liked spending that time with her."

I tried to imagine what that would be like. Lily Evans had married into the Potter family. She probably would have attended some of the events Draco's mother had. Would I have sat on her bed and watched as she pinned up her hair and draped herself in heirloom jewelry from my dad's family? Somehow I couldn't imagine it. My mother was a dim, hazy, red-haired phantom in my mind. Pictures weren't enough to hold a clear image of her in my mind.

Draco seemed to know where my thoughts had gone because there was another squeeze on my hand. "I wish you had memories like that."

I shrugged. "Sometimes I do too," I admitted. "But honestly I can't be as upset about it as I feel like I should be, if that makes any sense. It hurts more to think of the time I didn't get with… with Remus or Sirius than time I missed out on with Lily and James. Even just talking about them…" I smiled as I realized, "I can't make myself call them mum and dad aloud. It feels too strange. They're James and Lily, because that's what they are to everyone who's ever told me about them."

"Still, you had some kind of childhood," Draco reasoned. "Tell me what it was like growing up."

I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. "It's not a pretty story, sweetheart, and you know the basics. Why get into it?"

Again he squeezed. "I want to know you. Good and bad," he said earnestly, and while on the surface his words were simple they held a wealth of promise. He wanted to know all of me because he wanted all of me. Forever. We had never discussed what would happen after the war, not in any detail. We didn't really need to. We had both reached the assumption that, barring any impossibly horrifying occurrences, nothing would change between us, war or no. And, with that in mind, he did deserve more of the details.

"What do you want to know?" I asked warily, and he shrugged.

"Anything you're willing to tell me."

I racked my brain for something that wasn't completely depressing to start out with. If we were going to get into every beating and food deprivation there ever was then I'd need more firewhiskey than just a shot to spice up a butterbeer.

"My first bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs," I began softly. "There was only a single bed inside, and lots of times there were spiders on the ceiling. The room was big enough for a twin bed, but that was it. Harry and I grew up sleeping in the same bed… we still do," I admitted. "I didn't hate it though. Honestly, going to bed was my favorite part of the day when I was little because it was just me and Harry, no Dursleys, and we could stay up as late as we wanted because they never checked on us as long as we weren't too loud. We'd make up stories about distant relatives of my dad's coming to take us away. They had, of course, been off on some grand adventure and that was why they'd never shown up before, and we'd be going off on adventures with them.

"Primary school was hell," I admitted. "People knew about my scar even though I wore my hair to hide it and they never really stopped staring or asking nasty questions. They were kids, I don't honestly think they meant to be hurtful, but they were. And all of my clothes were old ones from Aunt Petunia, so I was always dressed in pastel old lady clothes… That did wonders for my popularity."

"They wouldn't even buy you your own clothes?" Draco asked, disgusted. I smiled slightly. Closet clothes horse that he was, this was anathema to him. The very idea of second-hand clothes was something he'd never experienced.

"My first clothes that no one else had worn before were my Hogwarts robes," I admitted.

"I can't imagine," Draco replied, and it wasn't just a meaningless platitude. He was saying that he wouldn't try and soothe me or make the most of it, say something about struggle building character, because he truly couldn't judge what life had been for me. Money was never an object for him and though it wasn't for the Dursleys either, Harry and I had never seen a penny of it.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, and glanced over my shoulder. The bar was starting to get a little louder, and no wonder. The sky outside was rapidly getting darker, people were coming in for nightcaps or a quick nip after work. I should have known time was passing, we'd both had to refresh our disguises at least once since we'd been sitting here. "Honeydukes will be closing soon. We have to get back."

Draco nodded in agreement and stood up, offering me his hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet. It was hardly necessary, but the gentlemanly gesture was appreciated all the same. Just as much as his tucking my hand into the crook of his arm and laying his own over it to guide me out of the pub.

We started back along the lane towards Honeydukes, but Draco paused suddenly. I looked at him in confusion. He dipped down and kissed my cheek swiftly.

"Won't be a moment," he murmured in my ear, before darting through the door of the place we'd just passed. I was confused for a moment, then I saw that it was the Hogsmeade florist. I stood and smiled, not even minding the chill in the air, and I wasn't remotely surprised when not three minutes later Draco emerged with a single white tulip in his hands.

We stood about three feet apart, me with my arms crossed against the cold and him with the stem of the flower held between his fingers.

"This," Draco pronounced slowly, "is our first date. And I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't get you a tulip for the occasion." He slowly stretched out his arm, offering me the flower. I took it happily. I must have had two dozen of the things now but I didn't care. I treasured every single one, and if forty years from now we had a room somewhere in whatever house we ended up in that was completely filled with dried tulips, I would be totally fine with that. The idea of throwing away even one couldn't be considered.

"You're going to make some woman very happy someday, talking like that," I murmured into the petals as I brought the flower to my nose to sniff. Draco smiled and took my hand in the same way again. Once more he leaned down and kissed my cheek just above where the top curve of the S would be if it wasn't covered with one of Pomfrey's patches.

"Hopefully, I already have," he whispered.

It was easy business to sneak back into the Hogsmeade cellar and down into the tunnel again. We both had more than enough practice creeping around Hogwarts these days that we could probably in every game of hide and seek we were ever challenged to, were someone inclined to do such a thing.

No sooner had I floated the slab back over the opening to the tunnel then Draco swept me into his arms, pressing me back against the wall of the tunnel. I gave a small, surprised squeak and quickly melted against him as he kissed and nipped and sucked his way from my lips to my shoulder. My hands came up to thread into his hair and I was once again eternally grateful he'd laid off the hair gel helmet he used to sport before his lips hit a spot on my throat that he _knew did that_ and I saw stars.

"I didn't think we'd ever be able to do that," Draco murmured, burying his face in my shoulder and ceasing his attentions. His words meant more than the physical gestures ever could. "But you gave that to me, right when I really needed it. Thank you, phoenix."

I smiled softly. Draco was rarely so vulnerable, but here in a tunnel no one else knew about, in complete darkness, seemed like a perfect time for a little vulnerability.

"Hmm, it makes me happy to make you happy," I whispered back, lowering my face so that I spoke into his ear. I moved one hand to massage the back of his neck and keep him where he was. He sighed in pleasure. "Keeping you safe, making you happy… I'd be content to do it for… a good long while."

Saying forever seemed slightly premature. The foreseeable future was one thing, it left room for potential disasters. Forever, though, that was permanent. I'd never imagined 'permanent' would be a feature of any relationship I ever had but the one with Harry. But if I was ever going to change that opinion for anyone else, I had admit that it would probably be for Draco.


	102. Battle in the Bathroom

**We will be skipping quite a bit of time now. There was some confusion the last two chapters as to where we are in the school year. Last chapter was about mid-February. This chapter will be events from early March at the beginning to late April at the end. Why? Because there's a lot of stuff that is a non-issue now. Ron will not be poisoned, so there's no need for McLaggen to fill in for him, so Harry doesn't take a Bludger and end up hospitalized, he can't command Kreacher to follow Malfoy because Lorena owns him… But I doubt you all will be mad, because we're getting to a scene that's been very highly anticipated since we hit sixth year!**

* * *

Snape and Dumbledore walked side-by-side through the grounds at twilight. It was late enough that no students should be out on the grounds and, if they were, they'd be easy to spot. It was actually easier to have a private conversation outside the school than in it.

"What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?" Snape asked bluntly, the question that he had asked the headmaster out here to discuss. Lorena Potter trusted him, believed in him, and as such she let him in on her plans far more than the headmaster ever did. It was both touching and completely pathetic that a student had more faith in him than the man he'd served loyally for nigh two decades now.

Dumbledore looked weary. "Why? You aren't trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out."

"He is his father over again…"

"In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's," Dumbledore mused, and Snape sneered at the implication. "I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late."

"Information," repeated Snape. "You trust him... but you do not trust me."

"It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time," the headmaster stressed. "It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do."

"And why may I not have the same information?"

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

"Which I do on your orders!" Snape replied hotly.

That was rich. If he had his way, Snape would have packed up and fled the country after the death of Lily, Voldemort and Dumbledore and their war be damned. No, that wasn't right… After she died, the only thing keeping him alive was the idea that he might be able to gain some small revenge in her name. That was what had driven him to Dumbleodre. If he wasn't spying… well. He might have ended it long ago.

"And you do it extremely well." Dumbledore spoke as if he were pacifying a child having a tantrum. "Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."

"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!" Snape could have rattled off a far longer list of the boy's faults but he contained himself.

"Voldemort fears that connection," Dumbledore pointed out. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way. He moved eagerly to Lorena, and could tolerate her no better."

"I don't understand."

"Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame…" The headmaster was starting to wax poetic. Snape wasn't going to allow it.

"Souls? We were talking of minds!"

"In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other," Dumbledore reasoned.

The headmaster glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them.

"After you have killed me, Severus…" he said blandly, as if they were discussing the weather.

"You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!" snarled Snape, and real anger flared in him now. "You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!"

"You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"

Snape was angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.

"I suppose you have left that task up to Miss Potter?"

Snape scowled and turned away, staring into the trees. "She has proven very effective in the past. I see no reason why she shouldn't be able to monitor her own… whatever Draco is to her. She took over the job without even being asked, after all."

"That relationship could be problematic," Dumbledore considered. "But if anyone could manage it I don't doubt it would be our Miss Potter…"

Snape sneered. "You have never given her her due before now, headmaster. Why the change? Have you become fond of her during your lessons?"

Dumbledore smiled placidly. "I cannot deny Miss Potter is brilliant anymore than I can deny the grass is green, Severus. It is not her mind that concerns me, it's her heart. Come to my office tonight, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you..."

Later that night they retreated to Dumbledore's office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking. Snape felt rather like he was being circled by a vulture ready to claw his flesh from his bones. It was not a pleasant feeling.

It didn't help that the headmaster seemed agitated. He clearly didn't want to give Severus this information – which didn't surprise him. The headmaster had always been loathe to keep him informed. But now that Snape was pressing, making comments about not killing the man in the end, Dumbledore was being forced to give up a little to keep his spy in line…

Severus smirked. It was always entertaining when he managed to manipulate the headmaster for once instead of the other way around.

"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?"

That was not encouraging. Potter had shown remarkable bravery – stupidity – in the past when it came to things involving Lord Voldemort. What could be so bad that it would cause him to balk? Only a year before he had run to the Ministry to confront the Dark Lord and rescue his godfather with a troupe of school children in tow without giving it more than a moment's thought. "But what must he do?"

"That is between Harry and me." Of course. "Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time… after my death…" He opened his mouth to argue that fact, but Dumbledore cut him off harshly. "Do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."

"For Nagini?" Snape was startled. The snake was a pet to him, certainly, but he doubted that Voldemort would become protective over his pet.

"Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."

"Tell him what?" He was getting frustrated. Dumbledore was deliberately dancing around the topic and it was doing nothing for his own temper.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto one of the only living souls left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."

The words burned into his mind. All of this, all that he'd endured these past years had been to protect the little parts of Lily that remained on this earth, the try and make up for the relationship he'd destroyed that had meant to much to him, to try and be worthy of the forgiveness she'd denied him then. 'Protect the boy' had been one of the things that rang in his ears when he felt he could no longer stand the stress or the pain…

And it was all for nothing.

"So the boy...the boy must die?" asked Snape, and he was quite proud of how calm me sounded. That was probably because Dumbledore had only mentioned the boy, not Lorena.

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential," Dumbledore stressed.

Long silence stretched between them. Then Snape said, "I thought...all those years...that we were protecting him for her. For Lily."

"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength," said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. Clearly, sending a child to die didn't sit well with the headmaster. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort."

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape was horrified. This was more than asking the boy to martyr himself. This was sending him out to dig his own grave, then walk before the firing squad willingly, under his own power. Dumbledore wanted the boy to knowingly suicide for the good of the wizarding world… and the boy would do it, too, the sacrificial fool.

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?" Snape demanded.

"Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?"

That was hardly fair. "Lately, only those whom I could not save," said Snape shortly. He stood up, glaring, and the headmaster stopped his circling. "You have _used me."_

"Meaning?"

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's children safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter…"

"But this is touching, Severus," said Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For _him?_ " raged Snape. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

From the tip of his wand burst a silver doe, but something was different. She came less willingly than she had before, and now that she was here, she seemed less solid. Edges blurred into streams of silver, making her seem to shift. She was no less playful than she had ever been though. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

"After all this time?"

"Always," croaked Snape, lowering his wand. "If you say the girl must die too… If that is your plan, I will kill you where you stand, damn all your plans!" His voice came out ragged. Lorena Potter, who, at eleven years old, had walked into Hogwarts as the tiny mirror of her mother. Who willingly got detention to spend time with him and talk to him. Who had grown into something akin to the warrior-scholars of old. Who, to this day, protected those she cared about with a fierceness that would put the lions and badgers to shame even while they bared their teeth at her. He was so… so proud of her, the kind of pride he imagined a father felt for his daughter, though he had no right to be.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "No, the girl need not die, Severus." He sagged in relief, nearly falling back into his chair. "Her connection to Voldemort is not nearly so tight or so dangerous. She need not die." He smiled humorlessly. "Ironic, is it not? All these years Miss Potter has been jealous of her brother's position, and yet she was the lucky one." He sounded almost bitter on the boy's behalf. Dumbledore didn't have that right either.

"Jealous?" Snape repeated dangerously. "Jealous? You insult her headmaster. For all of her life she has been looked on as less-important than her brother. Is it jealousy to want to be recognized for your own accomplishments when the person closer to you than anyone else is recognized for _sitting in a crib and drooling?_ She has only ever wanted her due, and yet you sit there and _sneer_ at her for it!"

Dumbledore remained quiet for a moment, examining him. Then a small smile picked up the corners of the headmaster's mouth. "You are nearly as protective of the girl as she is of you. She came to me, you know. She asked to be the one to kill me, to spare you and the young Malfoy boy. It seems you have finally gotten your revenge on James Potter. You have taken his daughter from him."

Snape snarled. "Do not turn her into part of a schoolboy rivalry. I would prefer if the girl hated me, it would certainly be easier, but no, for some unfathomable reason she has decided to try and keep me alive. So I will tell you now… if I find that you have lied to me, that you intend for her to die…"

Dumbledore was still looking at him with that damn placid smile. "There is a Muggle saying… you would kill or die for her, wouldn't you Severus?"

"In a heartbeat."

He couldn't stand there and listen to Dumbledore casually plan the deaths of children any longer. Robes swirling around him, he stormed from the headmaster's office and down the staircase, nearly panting in rage. He didn't stop until he was safely ensconced in his own office. The temptation to let his anger fly, to shatter one or two of the glass jars holding potions ingredients, was strong, but he restrained himself. The anger was still there though, coiling in his gut.

" _Amity helps, sir…"_

He could hear Potter's voice in his head, hear her advice. Yes, strange as it was, Amity Raincrow's particular brand of carelessness and crassness and humor sounded like exactly what he needed.

* * *

"Damn," I cursed tiredly as I returned to my normal form. I was taking lunch to work on my Animagus transformations. It had sort of fallen by the wayside lately. I had improved… my body was now shrinking and changing into that of a phoenix. The bones and skin changed, I became completely covered in feathers…. But I couldn't quite go all the way. The trouble was getting my organs to change. I could feel my ability to breathe going away as my chest cavity shrank but my lungs didn't, feel my heart being squeezed, and I immediately had to ease up or risk killing myself.

It was like I'd told Draco, organs and internal changes were tricky. That was why everybody and their house cat couldn't fire off Entrail-Expelling curses at the drop of a hat. It took mental preparation and practice. Still, aside from that my transformation was complete. My head became an overlarge phoenix head, my arms began wings, my legs became thin and clawed, and I lowered to be the appropriate size.

I made a mental note to beg McGonagall for some advice. But first, Remus. He wasn't an Animagus but he'd been there with my father and his friends when they were going through it, so maybe he knew something. McGonagall, who'd tossed me over, would be the last resort if Remus had nothing and I could find no answers in the Hogwarts Library.

I sat down at my counter and pulled out a parchment, quill, and ink.

 _Remus,_

 _How are you doing? Managing your furry little problem? That rabbit can be nasty… Things are good as you can expect here. I'm doing well in classes, don't worry, staying out of trouble. Dad and Sirius would be ashamed, I know, but you have to grow up sometimes. We're doing Apparation lessons right now, have been for a couple of months. I've managed to splinch myself once, left my pinkie finger behind, but the professors got it reattached and there haven't been any issues going forwards. Granted, I'm not ready to take my tests yet, but hopefully soon._

 _I'm writing about my other project. I wondered if you had any advice on Animagus transformations. I know you do things a little differently, but still. Everything is changing but my insides. I keep going like this and I'm going to crush my organs before I manage to fully transform. Any hints? I_

I flinched and swore as my hand hit the bottle of ink, spilling it over the letter. Cursing quietly I drew my wand with one hand to clean up the mess while my other dove into my pocket to pull out the mirror that was burning against my thigh. I waved my wand and cleared the ink away and flipped open the compact.

I frowned. It wasn't a face I was seeing, but the ceiling of a room in the castle. And then I heard voices.

"Get out of here, Potter!" It was Draco's voice, but it wasn't. It was his voice thick with tears, a sound I'd only heard once before. I was briefly confused. I wasn't there, so who was he-

Then I heard Harry's voice, seething with anger. "I know what you did, Malfoy. I know you cursed her!"

My heart was pounding as I understood. Somewhere in the castle Harry had cornered Draco and was going to get the answers he'd been searching for but had yet to catch a break on. This was… _oh_ , this was bad. Harry and Draco had never gotten along, never, and Harry sounded angry enough to start throwing spells. If he did, Draco would have to defend himself. I'd taught him like I'd taught all my Basilisks, to fight to win no matter what. He'd hold back as much as he could for my sake, I didn't doubt that, but…

I leaped off the stool, knocking it to the ground, and snatched the Marauder's Map off the rumpled sheets of my cot. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I rattled off ,the words blurring together in my haste. As usual the ink began to bloom across the parchment starting with the greeting, but I was suddenly very aware of how long it took to fill in the whole castle.

"I don't have time for your melodramatics, dad!" I screamed at the parchment. The ink stopped moving, and I froze. _What?_ Had I broken it? Made it mad? _I needed to know!_

But then, all at once, the map was covered without any more nonsense of slowly unfolding lines, and my heart thudded. I breathed a thank you as I scanned the map frantically, looking for Harry's name, Draco's, anything. I spotted them in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

I was out the door and running before I'd even folded up the Marauder's Map. I tucked it up as I ran, tearing through the halls like a madwoman. Thankfully it was lunch, so there weren't many people in the halls I had to dodge around, but those that were out looked at me in disbelief. It didn't matter, had to get to them, had to get to them… And when I did, who knew what shape they'd been in? How long had it been since I'd heard their first words? Had things dissolved into a fight yet? I couldn't stop to check the mirror and trying to look while sprinting through the castle would just result in me tripping over nothing and breaking my head open on the cobblestones. Were they hurt? Had the hurt each other? _Oh Merlin…_

I raised my wand and cried, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ The phoenix burst from my wand and soared down the hall. It knew what to do. Find Snape, bring him, he'd be able to patch everything up and get people to the Hospital Wing if they needed it, and he knew more about the situation than anyone else did. I needed Snape…

"No running in the halls!" I heard Filch yell as I shot past him. I yelled something probably very impolite over my shoulder but didn't slow. Like he'd be able to catch me anyway, and detention had long since ceased to scare me…

I hit the right floor and sprinted down the hallways. There was no one else here. I didn't think I'd ever run so fast in my life, I had to be setting a record for fastest time in the halls of Hogwarts. The portraits exclaimed in surprise when I ran past them, but they were of less than no concern to me at this point. I could see the door at the opposite end of the corridor. It was open, I could see the faint flashing of lights and hear voices yelling from inside… My heart was in my throat. They were fighting…

And then the lights stopped, the yelling stopped, and I was fairly sure my heart stopped as well. The only reason that would happen… was if one of them had gone down…

I nearly overshot, skidding to a stop on the wet floor and seizing the edge of the doorway to keep myself upright. I was panting, there was a stitch in my side. I saw that a couple of mirrors had been shattered by spells, there was glass in the sinks below them and glittering on the floor. Two sinks had taken hits too, and were spilling water at an alarming rate across the floor.

Harry was standing by the stalls. His wand was clenched in a white-knuckled hand, shaking slightly from the force of his grip. It was pointing at the floor, but I didn't doubt it had been firing off spells moments before. Harry was pale, paler than usual. Behind his glasses, his eyes seemed curiously bright and at the same time foggy. Adrenaline had him, I was sure, but he seemed shocked into stillness by what he'd done here.

Laying on the ground was one of my nightmares. Draco was flat on his back, the water soaking into his pants and white shirt, his hair a mess across his forehead. He was twitching and whining and groaning in pain, and I didn't blame him. Stretching across his chest and stomach, across his arms, were rosettes of red that were spreading at an alarming rate. He was… bleeding… not a curse, not a spell, but actual, physical wounds, and somehow that was even more terrifying as the red ran rivulets into the water around him.

"What did you do?" I breathed, and Harry whipped around. There was a horribly guilty expression on his face. He knew he'd done wrong, but where had he learned a spell like this? How could he not have known what would happen? What would have made him cast something to vicious?

"I-"

I didn't care what he had to say. I ran forwards and collapsed onto my knees by Draco. The water soaked into my skirt and socks weighing down my robe, but I was far past caring as I dropped my wand carelessly and reached out, uncertain of what to do.

"Draco… Draco… sweetheart, can you hear me?" I whispered frantically, my fingers tracing along his cheeks and down his jaw, moving his hair off his face. I was learning to be a mediwitch, and yet right now I couldn't for the life of me remember a single healing spell.

"L-Lorena?" he coughed, eyes opening ever so slightly. He winced and his arm jerked like he was trying to raise it and couldn't. "H-Hurts…"

"I know, sweetheart, I know…" I murmured, stroking his neck and shoulders. I whipped around, glaring hatefully at my brother, who was staring at the two of us like he couldn't believe his eyes.

" _What did you do, Harry?"_ I roared at him.

"I-I didn't… I didn't mean…" Harry was floundering. He looked guilty, surprised, confused, and altogether pathetic, but at this moment he wasn't my twin brother, he was the man who'd attacked and injured the one I loved.

Snape was there, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. His eyes swept critically over the scene, reading what must have happened in Draco's injuries, my face, the damage to the bathroom. The door shut and locked behind him as he strode in to keep out unwanted eyes and then he was kneeling beside me, dark gaze sweeping over Draco's injuries. He raised his wand.

" _Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera Sanentur…"_

The blood that had been flowing through the water began to recede, looking like worms crawling back through and up Draco's limbs. The scarlet was sucked from his clothes as it all began to seep back into him. The sight of the red vanishing, knowing he was in capable hands, filled me with relief. He would be okay, Draco would be okay… And Harry…

I shot to my feet with a wild shriek, my wand pointed damningly at my brother. Snape reacted with well-honed reflexes, wrapping one arm around my waist and using the other to force my wand away from Harry. Somewhere along the way I'd started crying. When in the world had that happened?

"He hurt him!" I screamed, and Harry still looked confused, but he withered against the side of the stall like I was a dementor coming at him. "He hurt Draco!"

"He is your brother, Potter!" Snape hissed in my ear, and somehow that made its way through the rage. This was Harry, my brave and stupid and kind and thoughtless twin brother, the one who I loved more than any. Or at least, I thought I did, but what he'd done to Draco, carving him open like that, blood spreading across the floor… I shuddered as the image of it flickered in front of my eyes. I could never forget that sight. I would have nightmares of it for weeks.

"Draco is the concern right now, Potter, pull yourself together!" Snape snarled to me, and he was right. He cautiously released my wand and I lowered it instead o pointing it at Harry. My face was streaked with tears, my vision blurring with them. Snarling at Harry one last time as I wiped the wetness away on my sleeves, I turned back to Draco on the floor. Moving in concert, Snape and I knelt on either side of him.

"The main concern is blood loss, but I've neutralized that," Snape murmured to me. "It was a shock to his system, losing that much that quickly and then gaining it back. He's passed out. Pomfrey should give him a good going over, but he should be alright after a day or two."

I let out a sigh of relief and reached out, stroking my fingers along Draco's cool cheek. I didn't care that Harry was standing there, that he had seen the truth. I was too relieved to care.

"Th-Thank you, sir," I said, my voice shaking with gratitude. "That spell… How did you know what to do?"

Snape's expression was dark as he glared over his shoulder at my brother. "I invented it," he said icily, and I knew that it was the Half-Blood Prince's spell. "Return to your Common Room, Potter, and know that you will serve detention with me from now until the end of the year."

Harry's voice shook behind me as he asked, "R-Rena?"

"Get out of here!"

I heard Harry's feet splashing in the water as he beat a hasty retreat. I let out a loud breath, pained at talking to him like that despite my anger at him, and looked down at Draco. I waved my wand and conjured a stretcher under him. It was Snape, though, who cast the spell to raise it into the air. I looked at him questioningly.

"You may want to collect yourself before leaving," he murmured.

I looked at him blankly, but then realized what it would look like if I came out of the bathroom following Draco's stretcher with tears on my face. Flushing, I rose and went to one of the intact mirrors. Sure enough, my makeup was smeared in black rivulets and my eyes were bloodshot, not even considering the state of my hair from my wild dash through the school. I let loose a flurry of spells, first erasing the streaky makeup and replacing it with fresh, fixing my hair, cooling the puffiness under my eyes, and finally drying my clothes.

I followed Snape and Draco down the hall. People stared as we passed. Lunch was emptying out and there were more people in the halls now, staring in shock as they watched Snape and I escort Draco to the Hospital Wing. In another world I would have been walking next to him and holding his hand, but now I had to feign a look of cool disinterest.

"Lorena?"

I looked around. Daphne, Nott, and Zabini were coming around the corner. They looked shocked, staring from Draco to me.

"Later," I replied coolly, and they nodded as I hustled after Snape.

The Hospital Wing was blessedly empty and the minute we walked in I moved to Draco's side, looking down at him in concern. Madam Pomfrey was hardly going to sell me out.

"Severus?" Pomfrey came hustling from her office and looked startled. "What happened?"

"A fight between students got out of hand," he replied as I took over control of the stretcher and lowered it onto the hospital bed before Vanishing it out from under him. A flick of my wrist and Draco was dressed in hospital-issue pajama bottoms. I heard Snape and Pomfrey mumbling behind me as he told her about had happened.

Draco's torso was criss-crossed with thick, ropy pink lines of scar tissue. I knew enough about scars by this point to know that these would take not months but years to fade down to smooth silvery-white, if they ever did. I ached at the idea of Draco being scarred.

Pomfrey gasped when she saw the angry black tattoo on Draco's arm and went pale.

"No, Madam," Snape said, placing a hand on her shoulder to restrain her. "The headmaster is fully aware already. Young Malfoy was forced to join under threat of his mother being injured or killed."

Pomfrey looked like someone had just struck her in the stomach as she lowered her hands from her mouth. "How horrible… Move back, Miss Potter, I need to run diagnostics."

Shock could not stop Madam Pomfrey from doing her job for long. I moved to the other side of the bed and laced my fingers through Draco's. She saw but didn't comment as I sat down in the chair by Draco's bed and took his hand between both of mine. I looked at his face fearfully. He wasn't waking up… logically I knew that he wouldn't for a while, and when he did, Pomfrey would probably pour Dreamless Sleep down him a second later, but it still made my stomach lurch and the fear rise to see him laying still and silent against the sheets as Pomfrey examined the marks.

"He will be fine, Miss Potter," Pomfrey said when she moved her wand away. I sighed in relief, feeling like all the bones had just been turned to rubber by one of Lockhart's horridly-executed spells. I brought Draco's hand to my mouth and kissed the back fondly.

"Lasting damage?" I asked her softly.

Pomfrey sighed. "Dark magic..."

Snape looked guilty. "I don't blame you, sir," I said dully. "You couldn't have known."

Pomfrey looked confused. She had no way of knowing that the spell she'd been treating was Snape's invention. I didn't blame him, either. Certainly it was a nasty spell to make up but you couldn't always help what ideas popped into your head, and Snape had been a scholar of the Dark Arts before he was a practitioner. I was sure there were many spells that had been dreamed up by someone who was simply curious or had a half-formed thought they decided to follow up on.

But it was, nonetheless, Dark magic. Dark magic was terrible about scarring. It helped that the spell's creator was there when the spell was cast, that he knew what healing spell would be most effective against the curse, but Snape hadn't been able to get rid of the scars, and I knew he would have if he could have. Draco would likely have these marks for a good long while. Not years. Decades.

I glared at the wall and rose, bending down to kiss Draco's still lips before standing up and heading for the door. Snape grabbed my upper arm as I passed him, drawing me up short. I whipped around and gave him a dirty look. He stared back at me, unimpressed.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go give my brother a stern talking to."

"Mm, like you did in the courtyard?" Snape wanted to know if I was going to go after Harry like he'd gone after Draco. I rolled my eyes.

"No, not like that. But I am going to scream at him for a good long while, I believe," I said determinedly, and pulled my arm away. Snape didn't stop me as I stormed from the Hospital Wing.

* * *

"How long has that been going on?"

"A little over a year, I believe."

"And they know it's dangerous?"

"Neither of them are stupid."

"But why risk-?"

"Because love makes fools of us all."

"… I see."

* * *

The anger was starting to roll through me again as I marched my way up to the Gryffindor Common Room, but I had to keep a calm expression on despite that because there were still late students hustling through the halls on their way to class. I didn't doubt, though, that Harry would be up in the Common Room exactly where Snape had told him to be. Probably accompanied by Ron and Hermione.

The Marauder's Map was still in my pocket and it was an easy thing to check it for the password to Gryffindor Tower. I approached the Fat Lady, who opened her mouth to complain about my continued insistence on entering another house's Common Room, but something on my face made her stop short.

"Regality," I barked, and the portrait swung open. I stepped inside, ducking to keep from banging my head, and popped out in the Common Room. Warm reds and golds, a cheerfully-blazing fire, a few older students who had a break period scattered around the room studying. And, sitting on an overstuffed couch by the fire, was Harry, with Ron and Hermione on either side, both of them trying to get him to talk.

"Come on, mate, tell us what happened…"

"You ran off so quickly after you spoke to Katie…"

So, Katie was back, was she? That must have been what set all of this off. Draco saw Katie and the guilt hit him hard. He left, and Harry saw him react to Katie, so he followed him to the bathroom. He would have been relentless once he saw Draco's reaction, which he would count as undeniable proof that Draco was the one who cursed Katie.

"You need to tell us what's going on, Harry…"

"Yeah, it's not healthy to keep it all in, my mum says…"

"Harry," I said sharply, and head around the Common Room snapped up. The Gryffindors rolled their eyes when they saw me, most of them contenting themselves with glares before turning back to their work.

"Lorena?" Hermione asked blankly. "What are you doing here? Do you know what happened to Harry?"

"Oh, nothing _happened_ to Harry," I said darkly. Harry's head had jerked up when I spoke. His gaze had sharpened into something like fear when he saw me and he winced when I added, "But I know what he _did."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron demanded, but I shook my head.

"Not your concern."

Ron's face flushed in annoyance. "It is when my best mate comes wandering in like he's just had a run-in with a bloody dementor!"

"She's right," Harry said hollowly, standing up and licking his lips nervously. "It's not your business."

Ron gaped and Harry looked at me sorrowfully.

"We need to talk," I informed him, and he nodded dully. I turned on my heel and stormed from the Common Room. I could tell Harry was following me and as we moved through the halls I heard his footsteps getting heavier, angrier behind me. He was starting to come out of the shock of what he'd done enough to register other things that had happened… like me kneeling beside Draco's bleeding body and calling him sweetheart.

I turned into an abandoned classroom and Harry followed me in. I closed and warded the door behind us so that we wouldn't be disturbed. Harry was standing there staring at me distrustfully.

"Oh, you do not get to give me that look, Harry James Potter!" I said sharply. "What were you thinking, using a spell like that?"

"Talk to your pal Snape!" he retorted. "It was in his book under the heading 'for enemies.' I read it just before I went after Malfoy and it just popped into my head."

I rolled my eyes. "Well that's even worse, because that means you were dumb enough to fire off a spell you knew nothing about! You could have killed him, Harry!"

"And what a loss that would have been. He's a Death Eater, Rena! You should have seen the look on his face when he saw Katie Bell was back. I told you, he was the one who cursed her in Hogsmeade."

"For the love of Merlin, Harry, _I know!"_

My words echoed in the silence around us. Harry looked thunderstruck. I pressed my hands over my face and sighed. This was going horribly, but it all had to come out now or it would just be for the worse.

"What do you mean," Harry said slowly, "you _know?_ "

I threw my hands up. "Because I'm the one who found him crying after he heard to news that Katie Bell had accidentally touched the necklace meant for Dumbledore. Who, yes, he has been trying to kill, because Voldemort told him that either he killed Dumbledore or Voldemort would kill Draco and his mother. What would you have done, Harry?" I beseeched him. "He took the job, and Dumbledore knows all about it already! He's going to die anyway, he's letting his death mean something, letting it save a young man's life!"

"Back up, wait!" Harry cried, holding up his hands. "You knew he cursed Katie and you said nothing… This whole time you've been acting like he was completely innocent when you've known he was involved for… for _how long!_ How long, Lorena?" he demanded angrily.

"Since this summer in Knockturn Alley. I followed him after he left and cornered him. He showed me the Mark and he told me he'd been forced to take it, to take his father's place."

Harry scoffed. "Of course he'd tell you that-"

"It's the truth!" I replied hotly. "He wouldn't lie to me, not about the little things and certainly not about something so serious!"

"Why not? He's Malfoy, he lies all the time!"

Harry knew the answer already, but he didn't want to believe it, I could see it on his face. He was going to make me say it so that he knew for certain if it was true or not. I slumped in front of him, leaning back against a desk and lowered my head.

"Because he loves me."

It was silent, and I couldn't look up, because there was no way I was going to see something I wanted to see on Harry's face. He wouldn't take this well, that was a given, and sure enough...

"I'll kill him," Harry said darkly, and turned like he was going to storm the Hospital Wing and do just that. I jumped up and rushed to grab his arm, pulling him back. "Get off me, Rena! How dare he joke about something like that?"

"It's not a joke!" I yelled at him. "He loves me, Harry, and Merlin help me, I love him too!"

Harry was panting, I was panting, and it was hardly fair that Harry knew but I'd never managed to tell Draco when he was cognizant enough to hear it. Harry was frozen, staring at me in disbelief.

"You… you what? N-No you don't…" He laughed weakly. "Stop playing, Rena, it's not funny."

"It's not a joke, Harry," I said miserably, letting go of his arm. "He loves me, I love him, we're in love. Since… since last year, really."

It was all pressing up against my tongue to be spoken, the things that had happened that I should have been able to tell my brother but I couldn't because of who he was and who Draco was and what they were to each other. I knew his first kiss was Cho Chang, that he was conflicted about his feelings for Ginny because of his friendship with Ron, that he had briefly had a crush on Hermione but hadn't said anything because he knew better, that he still didn't have any plans for a future family because he didn't want to start something with a girl that he wouldn't be able to finish. I knew everything, and Harry knew nothing.

"After the maze I came back to the Common Room, and he was so wonderful Harry, he played chess with me until I passed out because I was afraid if I went to bed I'd realize it was a dream and I was still back in the graveyard. When I finally did pass out, he was the one who carried me to bed. The next year he helped me out against Umbridge, supported my efforts to make her miserable. He was with me when I sent Dobby to warn you, he helped me take her down finally.

"And then this year… god it's been a mess!" I buried my face in my hands. "With this burden he's had to take on it's been killing him, it's why he always looks like hell. I've been trying to make him take care of himself and support him as much as I can, but I don't support what he's been forced to become a part of and he knows that and tries to respect it… But he needs me or I really think he'd be in even worse shape than he already is.

"At first I was as wary as you are – it sounded insane, Draco Malfoy with feelings for me! But after the maze and what he did I- I decided to give him a chance, one chance, and he took it and made the most of it. I was so wary, looking for any sign that he was playing me or using me, but it n-never came and I… I stopped looking, and after that, for a while it was just… just p-perfect. I never thought anyone would ever love me like this, Harry, I really didn't." I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. "My face, my past, my future, my attitude, my devotion to my studies, none of it is what guys want in a girl, and it sounded so silly to be hung up on. I-I'd accepted it, and then…. And then Draco came and he… he…

" _God,_ Harry, it's always been him, the white tulips, it's _always been him_!" I sobbed because I'd been holding this in for so long and I was already emotionally wrung out and I was waiting for the hammer to fall, for Harry to pass judgement and say that he never wanted to see me again, for him to let fly insults against Draco. It was going to be like fifth year all over again, when we didn't speak but to insult each other and didn't so much as glance in the other's direction except to glare and I couldn't do that again, not now, not with everything coming…

"I _should_ have told you, I _know_ I should have, but you've been so focused on hating him and trying to pin something on him… I didn't want to start that fight, because I _knew_ you wouldn't approve and I _love you_ Harry, I do, you mean _so_ much to me… I couldn't put us back like we were last year, because it's _always_ me that ruins it Harry, _always_ , I-I-I…"

I gasped as Harry stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me to him tightly. I was a sobbing mess as I clutched him back, burying my face in his chest.

"I don't like him, Rena, I really don't, and I still don't trust him not to hurt you," Harry whispered fiercely in my ear, and I was surprised to hear his voice shaking too. "But you don't break down like this for nothing, so I know you mean what you're saying. I wish it was someone else… _anyone_ else… but I c-can't tell you _no_ , not when you obviously care so much about him."

"Thank you," I breathed, hugging Harry tightly. "Thank you, Harry, oh Merlin, thank you."

Harry pulled back and grabbed my shoulders, making me look him in the eye. "If he hurts you, if it turns out he's not what he's told you he is, then I'll kill him," he swore, and I knew he meant it. His mouth quirked up slightly. "But… I know you're not an idiot, it would be awfully hard for Malfoy to fool you, so…" He let out a long, deep breath. "So I have to give him a shot, at least."

I looked at him, horrified. "Oh no Harry! You have to keep acting like you don't trust him, like you hate him! If word ever got back to Voldemort that we were involved, you know what would happen. He'd use Draco to get to me, or vice versa. We'd be killed if we're lucky, tortured if not. It's why I didn't tell you immediately, because of the danger as much as because I wasn't sure if Draco was being honest. What we're doing is… is insanely dangerous, it's nearly suicidal."

"Then why risk it?" Harry stressed, shaking me lightly and squeezing my shoulders. "For Malfoy?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I love him. Would you risk your life if it meant you could be with Ginny after this was all over?"

Harry flushed as red as Ron's hair. "That's not… I don't…"

"You totally do," I laughed around my sniffle as I scrubbed the tears from my eyes. I'd ruined my makeup twice in an hour, it was actually rather impressive.

"Yeah, well, at least it's not Malfoy," he snapped, and there was at least as much genuine rebuke in it as there was teasing. He immediately stiffened slightly and looked at me like he was worried I'd start crying again. I gave a watery laugh and shook my head.

"I don't expect you to suddenly love him, Harry. I just expect you to give him a shot. And if you attack him again, I will kick your ass, got it?"

Harry sighed. "Got it." He looked at me curiously. "The white tulips were Malfoy?" He narrowed his eyes and gave the wall over my shoulder a dark look. "Well, I guess I can give him credit for effort." He blinked as it occurred to him, "You've been getting those for ages!" I nodded shyly. "And you've only been seeing him for a year?" he asked suspiciously.

I nodded. "Since Voldemort came back."

Harry scoffed. "He picked a time to come forward…"

I flushed slightly. "He said he was willing to risk it for a few months with me, because if he didn't try then he'd never get a chance to."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "That's cheesy."

I shook my head, smiling in helpless affection. " _He's_ kind of cheesy. It surprised me too. But I kind of adore it," I admitted, and Harry wrinkled his nose.

"You're acting like a… like a… _girl,"_ he struggled, and I scowled at him.

"Well, I _am one_ , so that makes sense, doesn't it?" I asked tartly.

"I know," Harry said quickly, stepping back to a safe distance and holding up his hands. "I just… I've never seen you like this." He gestured to me in general. "All… giddy and… girly."

I sighed. "I know. I've told him I'm not thrilled about how soft he's made me, but he refuses to apologize, and then I tell him I'm just using him for his access to potions ingredients and it's a whole long debate..."

"Rena?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop it. It's gross."

"Okay. You don't hate me?"

I was uncertain, wary. I had been so ready for Harry to hate me that the idea that he didn't was... slightly mind-boggling. Somehow I'd managed to underestimate him. He was supporting me even though I knew he had to be furious about the news. I hadn't considered one thing into the equation - he was my brother. I'd only chalked it up as a negative, that it would make the news harder for him to hear. I hadn't considered that he had known me longer than anyone, that he... actually loved me.

"Never. I'm not happy…" Harry stressed.

I smiled faintly. "No, I don't suppose you would be."

"I'll try," Harry stressed. "I'll... I'll lay off Malfoy a little and try not to hate him as much."

"That's all I can ask for."


	103. Dawn Conversations

**I'm sorry I'm a little later than usual getting this one up and posted, and it's slightly shorter, but adding more just seemed to make it a little draggy. This chapter gave me just as many fist as the one right before it, but they were both sort of critically necessary, so... I actually wrote this one almost immediately after I finished writing the last one, which I normally don't do. Unless I'm really on a roll I usually take a day between finishing one chapter and starting another to think about what sort of timeline and events I want to go into the next one. And like the last chapter, I wrote a couple different drafts of this one. Some with more yelling, some with Rom and Hermione, but neither of those seemed to mesh well with last chapter.**

* * *

The Hospital Wing was quiet and dark. Visiting hours were long since over, but Madam Pomfrey hadn't bothered to kick me out. Probably because she knew I'd sneak back in. I'd taken up post in the chair by Draco's bed, much like he had after the last attack on me. It was late and my eyes itched with sleep, but I was staying awake. If my calculations were right, the Dreamless Sleep should be wearing off soon and he would be waking up.

I stared ta Draco, laying in the hospital bed. The image of him bleeding out on the floor of the bathroom still flashed in my mind every now and then and I had to shake it away. That had been a nightmare of mine for months, seeing him dead or dying on the ground, and I'd never wanted to see anything close to it in real life, but I had.

I held Draco's hand in mine as I watched him sleep fondly. My other hand reached out, brushing some strands of hair off his forehead.

"You just have to be difficult, don't you?" I muttered softly as I stroked his skin. "If you'd just wake up, I have things to tell you, Draco Malfoy. You're being difficult, as usual…"

"I don't think that you're allowed to insult people while they're in the hospital…"

I looked up and saw slit of grey peering at me from under blonde lashes. Draco was awake, a small, tired smile on his face as he stared at me.

"You're here," he noticed somewhat blearily.

"Of course I am," I murmured back, bringing his hand to my lips and kissing his knuckles. "Where else would I be?"

"In bed, getting the sleep you need."

I looked at him pointedly. "Oh, hark who's talking."

Draco laughed wearily and ran one hand down his front. I looked at him in concern. "Are you hurting?"

"No," he admitted. "That's what's surprising. I figured I'd be in more pain. It certainly hurt when Potter first fired off that damn spell."

"What's the last thing you remember?" I pressed.

Draco frowned slightly. I didn't blame him for having a little trouble remembering. Battles made things blurry, I knew from experience, even if it was just one on one. "I realized Potter had followed me, so I used my mirror to call you. I thought you'd come and diffuse the situation. But Potter had his wand out and he raised it, I just… I don't even know if he was going to cast, but I thought he was, and I… I'm sorry, I shot off the first spell."

I shook my head. I didn't mind that he'd been the first to fire. That was what I'd trained him and all my Basilisks to do. From the moment wands were drawn, be ready to cast. If it even looked like the person might attack, you fired first. You tried to get that first advantage if you could, rules of engagement be damned.

"I understand," I assured him, squeezing his hand between mine. "What happened after that?"

"Spells," Draco said with a small shrug. Potter shattered some mirrors, and then I took out a sink. There was water and glass everywhere, so he hid behind the stalls. I shot a Trip Jinx at his feet, but he bent down and almost got it in the face. Then he popped around the corner and shouted some spell I'd never heard. Sectum… something."

"Sectumsempra," I replied with a scowl. I had read the spell in my copied version of Snape's old textbook. A quick check in a Latin dictionary had told me that it was some kind of cutting curse and I'd resigned myself to using it only in the heat of battle against someone who really deserved it.

"I was on the floor, it hurt, and I was bleeding," Draco said, his voice going lower as he undoubtedly remembered the fear of the moment, laying in the water and feeling the blood leaking from him. It had to be scary. "Then you were there and…" It hit him what I'd done, the things I'd said, and Draco looked terrified as he turned his head on his pillow to face me. "He knows," he said hoarsely. "Your brother knows, doesn't he? About us?"

I sighed and nodded, leaning forwards and planting a kiss on his cheek. "He does," I said softly. "After Snape and I got you here and Madam Pomfrey checked you over, I went into Gryffindor Tower-"

Draco snorted, and I looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Just no matter how serious things get, I can always rely on you to casually flout every single rule the school has."

I huffed a laugh. "Well, it's good to have a hobby. Anyway, I dragged him into a classroom and let him have it. Apparently he didn't even know what the spell did, he was as shocked as you were, it was something he'd just read about."

Draco looked, understandably, annoyed. "What, do he just fired it off without knowing if it would kill me or not?"

"Trust me, I gave him enough of an earful that I doubt he'll ever make that mistake again," I assured him. "And then the tried to turn it around on me. At first, he wouldn't believe it," I admitted softly. "He thought it was some kind of joke when I said I was seeing you. I had to tell him, Draco, I'm sorry, he was ready to go on the warpath because he thought a Death Eater was… seducing his sister to the Dark Side or something," I floundered.

"Well, he wasn't entirely wrong, was he?" Draco replied drily, casting his left forearm a bitter look. I whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey! You're _definitely_ not supposed to do that to people in the hospital!"

"Well then quit looking so damn pitiful," I rebuked. "To get him off his charge to defend my honor," I rolled my eyes, "I had to tell him everything, about you and Katie… which he'd already pretty much worked out… the thing with your mother being held over you and your mission to kill Dumbledore…"

"Merlin, Rena!" Draco sat up sharply, giving me a dirty look. "Tell everyone why don't you? This is hard enough without you running your mouth!"

I arched an eyebrow calmly and gave him a cool look, telling him clearly how little I appreciated that little comment. "He knew already Draco, he'd worked much of it out himself. Reckless my brother may be, but he does usually get his information straight eventually. All I did was turn you from a vile Slytherin into someone caught between a rock and a hard place in his mind." My tone was biting.

Draco winced. "Sorry. I just… I don't really want Potter knowing that he's holding my mum over me, you know?" he tried to explain. I nodded.

"You have your pride, I understand that. But I will run my mouth precisely as much as it needs to be run. Accuse me of 'telling everyone' again and we will have words," I informed him tightly.

Draco sighed and fell back against his pillow. "So Potter knows it all, huh?"

"You're lucky," I explained. "He already knew Dumbledore was going to die, that someone was going to do it. I told him originally that it was Snape doing it, but it wasn't much of a leap for him to imagine it was young. And Harry, as a Gryffindor, can understand doing something not-so-nice to protect someone you love."

"And I'm sure he's thrilled we're together?" Draco asked sarcastically.

"Oh, he's beyond infuriated that I decided to start dating his school nemesis," I replied bluntly. "But I told him some things you've done for me – Umbridge's office, after the maze, being with me when I sent Dobby to warn the DA the unholy pink monstrosity was on her way. He's still not happy but after hearing what I had to say in your favor he's willing to at least give you the benefit of the doubt. He was mostly surprised that I had anyone, I think," I admitted. "Let alone that the man I loved was one of his least-favorite people." I sat very still, waiting for my words to click into place in Draco's mind.

"I'm no fan of Potter's either," Draco admitted. "But I don't _hate_ him. I'm not sure I ever _hated_ him, to… be… honest…" Dawning comprehension washed over his face, then shock, and then delight. His head snapped around to look at me and he sat up again, turning on his side so that he was facing me. He changed his grip so that he was holding my hands. _"What did you say?"_ he breathed, staring at me with hope, happiness, and maybe a bit of desperation in his eyes. "Say that again!"

"Say what?" I asked innocently, and Draco groaned.

"You never make is easy… Come on, phoenix, please?" he begged, and he looked awfully pitiful… I feigned understanding washing over my face and smiled.

"Oh, you mean the bit where I said that I love you?" I repeated slyly.

He was on me in a flash, pulling me close so that I was half on his bed, kissing me fiercely, yet softly. I beamed against his lips and I could feel laughter rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah… that bit…" he murmured against my mouth, pulling away enough that it was the softest brush of skin on skin instead of a true kiss. It made me shiver.

"I love you," I said a third time, and I was staggered. Somehow I could say it now. I'd needed the kick in the face to show me that these feelings really were love and not something else. How would I know? I'd never been in love before, never read any silly romantic novels. I didn't know what love was supposed to feel like, but now I did, and I was completely confident that I loved the man sitting in front of me.

"I love you too," Draco breathed, his head lowering to nuzzle into my shoulder. "I love you… so much… Merlin, thank you," he said, laughing weakly and shaking his head. "I've been waiting for that for ages."

"Me too," I admitted sheepishly, and a moment later we were both laughing softly and holding tight to each other. I wasn't quite sure how it happened, but Draco drew me up into the bed next to him and the next thing I knew I was laying against his side, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders, breathing deeply and listening to his heartbeat. I loved it, laying like this, being close and just listening to his heartbeat. Something about it felt impossibly peaceful.

"I love you," I found myself saying yet again, and flushed slightly. Draco chuckled as he looked down at me, stroking his fingers through my hair.

"Get you going and you just can't stop, can you?" he asked smugly. I scowled and hid my face in his side. He laughed again. "That's fine, I don't mind hearing it."

The next thing I knew, pre-dawn greyness was filtering through the windows of the Hospital Wing. I heard the heavy doors close and looked up sharply, realizing firstly that I must have dozed off and secondly that we were about to be caught…

By Harry.

Harry was standing just inside the door and I blushed slightly as I realized that I was laying curled up in the bed next to Draco, who seemed to have fallen asleep as well with one hand tangled in my hair and the other around my waist. He was blinking, obviously just waking up as well.

Harry gave me a hard look. "This is not what I wanted to come in to," he said bluntly, and Draco's eyes snapped open. They landed on Harry just inside the door, then flicked to me.

"Shite," he swore, and pulled his hands away from me, holding them up in surrender. I gave him and Harry matching dark looks and whipped back the covers, showing that I was still in my uniform and Draco was in hospital-issue pajamas.

"Everyone's still dressed, brother dear, no need to get over protective," I said bluntly.

Harry sighed and walked towards us. "Good, I'm too young to be an uncle," he said sternly, looking from me to Draco, but mostly at Draco. I obligingly slid from the bed into the chair and tried my best to straighten my skirt and hair, but it was a lost cause.

"Rena, can I speak with Malfoy alone?" Harry asked, looking at me.

I tried to read his intentions, but the light was shining off his glasses and making it difficult to see his eyes. His jaw was set, he wasn't happy, but he didn't seem like he was about to try and murder Draco in his sickbed either, so I nodded cautiously. I looked down as fingers brushed mine. Draco took my hand and squeezed.

"Go and get some sleep before classes start," he urged me, looking from me to my brother somewhat warily. "I'll be fine. You and Snape took care of me."

I nodded slowly. "Alright."

I considered not doing it because Harry was there, but he needed to get used to the idea and I wasn't going to let his presence stop me, so I bent down and kissed Draco chastely on the lips. "Come see me later on tonight, I want to run my own diagnostic spells."

Draco gave me a half-amused half-exasperated look. "You're going to get me cursed again," he muttered, glancing at Harry, who did indeed look like he'd just bit into something sour. I smiled and him and shook my head, kissing him again quickly for good measure before stalking from the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Lorena was gone with a swirl of red hair and the soft sound of the door shutting. Harry found himself standing over the hospital bed of someone he'd put there. And it was Draco Malfoy, the boy who'd been his enemy at school since day one, who was apparently dating his sister and had been for a while without Harry ever suspecting anything.

It made sense though, sort of. Looking back, there were little things that he'd always chalked up to them getting along a little bit better after being forced together in prefect duties and on the Quidditch pitch. And Malfoy was part of her Basilisks, which had blown Harry's mind – how could Lorena trust him? She'd said that she'd been teaching him Occlumency, but from what he'd understood she was teaching all of her students that…

Always had an answer, his sister.

He wanted to be furious and call out all the reasons she shouldn't trust him, but Lorena had admitted that she'd already considered all those reasons. He didn't doubt her. His sister was the farthest thing possible from someone who swooned over the first guy that paid her attention… probably because she never thought any guy did. Harry knew better though, he'd seen the Ravenclaws toss her apprising looks in the hallways between classes. He knew for a fact that Seamus had a crush on her back in fourth year but eventually got over it. If Malfoy had some kind of ulterior motives, if they'd been together as long as Lorena said they had… she would have seen the signs.

All the things Lorena had told him since Christmas... Dumbledore was dying and Snape was supposed to kill him to solidify his position in the Death Eaters – Snape was an ass, but Lorena trusted him, and Harry was trying to trust his sister. Only now it wasn't Snape, but Malfoy who was supposed to kill Dumbledore because Voldemort was essentially holding his and his mum's lives hostage. Dumbledore died or they did, and Voldemort probably wouldn't make it a quick, painless death either. Harry could imagine him torturing Narcissa Malfoy in front of her son before finishing her off easily. She was hardly the nicest woman in the world, but Harry didn't want her _dead_ , much less like _that._ He could almost be proud of Malfoy for trying to protect his family. It was almost Gryffindor of him.

Harry tried to imagine what he'd do if it was his mum that was being dangled over his head… and while he'd like to think that Lily Potter would tell him to do the right thing and forget her for the greater good, he didn't know if he'd able to live with himself if he did. He knew that he was a large part of the reason Sirius had died and even now, almost a year later, thinking about it still opened up a massive pit of guilt in his gut that nearly drove him to his knees. If it was his mum… He'd probably do the exact same thing Malfoy was doing.

This was exactly the kind of convoluted plan he could see Lorena injecting herself into.

Which still left the problem that _Malfoy_ was dating his sister. Everything involved with the war aside, Death Eaters and Order and marks and missions taken out of it, Malfoy wasn't the nicest person in the school. Since they were children he'd been an arrogant, bigoted, hateful little prick and Harry had been quite content to continue thinking of him that way. Though thinking back, Malfoy had let up a little in the past years in things he'd said directly to Harry. With a jolt, he realized that was probably Lorena's doing, or she was at least the cause of it.

"If you're going to curse me again, at least let me grab my wand so we can do this properly," Draco spoke up dully. Harry had been staring at him for nearly a minute, green eyes so like his sister's roving over his face. He felt vulnerable, twitchy, laying down in the hospital bed while Harry Potter stood over him. Duel or not he wanted his wand in his hand just to make him feel a little less pathetic. This was the same guy who'd caught him bawling his bloody eyes out in Myrtle's bathroom not even a day ago.

They were about to get into a conversation that Draco knew had to happen but had at the same time hoped would never come. If they were going to be together after all of this was over, and Lorena had said they would be, then they would eventually have to come clean to Potter. It was a conversation that was destined to be awkward and tense no matter where it happened, and this was probably one of the worst times and places for it to occur.

"You're not good enough for her," Harry spat at the Slytherin laying in front of him, lowering himself to sit in the chair Lorena had just vacated. He was surprised when Malfoy replied with a scoff, shaking his head.

"You think I don't know that?" he retorted archly. "I know she's too good for me, but I had to give it a shot, and by some miracle, she actually decided she liked me." Malfoy shook his head again. "I still don't know what I did to deserve her."

"Nothing," Harry said bluntly. " _Nothing_ you've done is good enough for you to… to have _earned my sister!"_ he said, voice growing louder as the anger bubbled up.

"Watch it!" Malfoy hissed, sending a pointed glance towards Pomfrey's office. "She shouldn't be up yet but you keep yelling like that and she will be!"

Harry forced himself to calm down a little, taking a few deep breaths. "You've always been a right arse to her, so explain why my sister would want anything to do with you."

Malfoy gave Harry a pointed look this time. "That hasn't changed, and she still picks and prods at me as much as she always has. It's just said a with a little more… affection." It was uncomfortable as hell trying to explain this stuff to Potter, who was fully in protective big brother mode. "Besides, have you met your sister? She can't really judge on that front…"

Harry had to restrain himself from chuckling at that, because Malfoy was right there. Lorena was an arse to people too half the time, and that would never change. He knew what Malfoy meant too, because Lorena would give him hell at any given moment, but it was lighter, teasing, not said with any genuine judgment or dislike. Snark and sarcasm were some of the defining characteristics of Lorena's personality.

He hastily covered his smile because no way he was laughing at a joke Malfoy made. He was easily reminded that he was supposed to hate him just by looking at his face. He looked so much like Lucius Malfoy, who'd stared them down in the Department of Mysteries last year and gotten locked up for his trouble.

"You're a Death Eater," Harry said bluntly, and he half-expected Malfoy to straighten up and brag about his mission like he had on the train. But instead he just looked… old. He'd noticed it since the beginning of the year, that Malfoy wasn't as confident as he had been in years past, and he looked physically ill these days. You couldn't fake that kind of effect on a person.

"I'm marked," Malfoy hedged, because in his mind there was a difference. There had to be, otherwise there was nothing separating him from his mad Aunt Bellatrix and her husband or that weasely bastard Pettigrew or any of the half-dozen others who'd popped in and out of his house over the summer, a lot of them people he'd grown up around now showing their true colors.

"Explain," Harry ordered. He'd give Malfoy a shot, one shot, to convince him that he wasn't some Death Eater spy sent to murder the headmaster and seduce his sister away from him to the Dark. "Now."

Malfoy sighed and brought one hand up, rubbing the skin around the mark through the sleeve of his pajamas and wincing slightly as the skin throbbed. "My dad was supposed to get the prophecy last term. He failed, and not only did he fail, but he got himself and a half-dozen other members arrested and chucked in Azkaban. H-He couldn't forgive that. Mum's never been much for the cause, honestly, she only got involved because dad was. And I was his son and heir, only two years from graduation… so he picked me to pay for my father's mistakes.

"He made out like it was some huge honor to be chosen, and Aunt Bella wouldn't shut up about how now I had a chance to make up for my dad's failures and 'bring glory back to the family.'" He didn't notice how Harry's fists clenched when he called Bellatrix 'Aunt Bella.' "But I never… I never _wanted_ to get involved in any of this. I was content to be like mum, just quietly support my dad on the side and… and sit it out."

Sharing these things, things he'd only ever told Lorena, felt wrong when he was telling them to her brother. Potter hadn't earned the right to these secrets, these deep feelings he'd had to fight to admit even to himself, but he had to or no way was Potter ever going to trust him. Much as he'd like to flatter himself that Lorena loved him – and he nearly beamed at the memory that _she finally said it_ – he wasn't stupid enough to kid himself that he trumped Harry. If Potter was determined to hate him, it would a hurdle that he couldn't possibly cross.

"I think he knew my heart wasn't in it, not like some of his other supporters," Draco admitted. "That was why he gave me the ultimatum: join or die, and take my mother with me. What was I supposed to do? She's my mum. I couldn't sentence her to die just because I wasn't _brave enough_ to try and face this head-on."

Harry blinked slightly. Malfoy actually sounded… ashamed? Ashamed of his lack of bravery. He'd never considered the idea that maybe Slytherins wanted to be brave, it was just a little harder for them. He suddenly felt very ignorant. For years Lorena had told him that Slytherins weren't just black and white, and he was seeing the evidence of it in front of him, in Malfoy's self-loathing scowl and the way his hands were fisted in his sheets.

"Then I got my mission and I realized… I was going to die either way. I'd been set an impossible task. How was an unqualified kid supposed to kill the best wizard the world had seen in five centuries?" Malfoy said darkly. "He fully expected me to die in the attempt. That's when mum went to Snape and had him make an Unbreakable Vow to help me. I was… angry. I wanted to think I could do it on my own, even if I didn't want to actually do it, you understand." He struggled to explain his feelings.

"Malfoy, Merlin knows you've got pride," Harry replied baldly. "What next?"

"Well, then I find out that not only does Dumbledore already know all about this plan to kill him, he knows I'm the one that's supposed to kill him, and he's going to let me!" Malfoy shook his head helplessly. "Like I'm worth that sacrifice! And Lorena tells me that the second half of my task, sneaking Death Eaters into Hogwarts, can be easily taken care of by having a few Order members in the castle, supposedly for a meeting with Dumbledore. And she's got all these ideas for how to minimize loss… she's fought me every step of the way to take care of myself when I started to slip… She even offered to kill Dumbledore for me so I wouldn't have to do it, but he wouldn't let her when she brought it up!"

Harry choked. "Lorena offered to kill him?" he asked in shock, and Malfoy nodded.

"She did. Snape and I were both furious because she was doing it to try and spare us."

It was actually alarmingly easy for Harry to imagine his sister making that offer. There were very few people in the world that she gave any kind of damn about, but those she did were under her protection, completely and totally. Nothing would stop her from doing what was necessary to spare them the smallest of discomfort, certainly not pesky things like laws or morals. That was what had always separated them really. Harry wanted to save everyone; Lorena only cared about a few. It wasn't… necessarily a wrong way to think, he supposed.

Hermione's words drifted through his mind and Harry settled back into his chair with a scowl on his face.

"And people accuse me of having a savior complex," he grunted. "Lorena's twice as bad as I am, she's just sneakier about it." He glanced up and straightened himself up once more, glaring. "I still don't like you, Malfoy."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. What, he thought that just because Malfoy was in love with his sister he'd suddenly want to become bosom buddies with Potter? There was too much water under that particular bridge to be put aside in the space of one conversation. But he wanted Lorena, and Potter was a necessary evil that came with the territory.

"Feeling's mutual, Potter," he replied with his trademark sneer.

Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth, but… "You've got one chance. I'm going to be watching you, watching how this year turns out. So much as one person dies in whatever the hell is going to go down…. that isn't meant to," he had to hedge, "and all bets are off. You've got until this war is over to prove that you're not the same prejudiced little bigot you've been since we were eleven."

Malfoy scowled. "I have a cover to keep, Potter. My mum's on the line here, I have to keep up appearances…"

Harry frowned, because Malfoy had an actual point. Much as he'd like to be able to, he couldn't sit here and try and force Malfoy to choose between Lorena and his own mum. That would be like Ron asking him to choose between Ginny and… _never mind._

"Just know that if you cross the kinds of lines you can't come back from, I'll duel you every day until you get the message to stay away from my sister if I have to," Harry said grimly. He frowned. "And this is mostly because Lorena would hex my knees backwards if I tried to tell her who she can and can't date, even if I think you're an even worse choice than Crabbe."

Malfoy winced at that. "Potter, really? Words hurt." He rolled his eyes. "besides, you think if I did something like that Lorena wouldn't come after me herself. She'd descend on me like some kind of bloody avenging angel, probably with a speech that would make orators weep and a soundtrack."

This time Harry couldn't restrain his snort, because that was _exactly_ what Lorena would do. "We're both whipped," he was forced to admit, and Draco nodded in agreement.

"I love her, Potter, but… you sister is damn scary."

Harry inwardly cringed at hearing those three words and replied with, "Trust me, I grew up with her. I'm aware."

* * *

 **When I started writing Draco and Harry talking I expected more yelling, but every time I tried to write them getting in a shouting match it seemed forced. Harry's had all night since he spoke with Lorena to - we can safely assume - brood about it in his bed up in Gryffindor Tower so the idea has sunk in enough that he's not in 'big brother rage mode.' Plus, he may not always think his sister's on the side of the angels but he does know that she's not stupid and she's not very trusting, so Draco must have done or said something that convinced her he was genuine. Basically what we've got here amounts to nothing more than an uneasy cease-fire between Harry and Draco.**


	104. Cabinet Repaired

**Fair warning, we've got a little bit of plot and then straight fluff ahead. We're about to get into end-of-the-year drama over the next few chapters and then into seventh year. I didn't want to chop that up too much, so I stopped before we got there, but you can anticipate some action over the next few chapters. Ah! I'm excited! I'm actually really looking forwards to writing seventh year because I plan to go over some old material at first and then sort of run off and do my own thing for a pretty decent portion of the story. Much Voldy, very drama!**

* * *

"He took it better than I thought he would," I commented as I sat on the half-dilapidated couch in front of the Vanishing Cabinet as Draco worked his magic on the bit of furniture.

Draco shook his head tiredly. "You didn't have to spill your heart out to him."

"Oh, there was a fair amount of heart spilling," I replied drily. Draco smirked faintly at me over his shoulder.

"That's right, I seem to recall Potter mentioning that you cried," he said slyly.

I sniffed. "For effect, of course, they were only crocodile tears," I insisted, shifting on the couch and crossing my legs, turning a page. It was from a book Lupin had recommended to me to help in the final stages of my transformations and thus far it was presenting some interesting ideas and personal anecdotes on how to progress to a final transformation.

"You sure?" Draco asked, turning to face me. He swaggered towards me, wand held loosely in his hand.

"Of course," I replied smugly, straightening up and closing my book with a sharp snap. I set it aside just in time for Draco to bend down and place his hands on the arm and back of the couch, trapping me in place. There was heat in his eyes and a confident smirk on his face that made me melt into jelly in all the right places. I arched an eyebrow and replied with a lazy half-smile.

"Can I help you with something, love?"

"Love." Draco repeated the word with obvious relish. "You know, I think I like that better than sweetheart."

"Hmm, then love you shall be," I purred, leaning up and placing a soft peck against his cheek. He caught my chin in one hand before I could pull completely away.

"Say it again?" he requested, giving me a look like a child asking for just one cookie before dinner. I smiled. I knew what he wanted to hear. That didn't mean I had to make it easy for him.

"Say what?" I asked, widening my eyes and feigning innocence. "What would you like me to say?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know…"

"I'm sure I don't!" I protested, pouting slightly. "Just tell me what you'd like to hear and I'll be glad to say it."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Tease."

"And proud." I looped my arms around his neck and brought my forehead up to rest against his. Our eyes locked, green to grey, and I could feel his soft breath against my lips. "I love you," I said warmly, and Draco closed the distance between our mouths. I hummed and happily wound my hands in his hair, keeping him there. I found that, despite having waited so long to say it, now that I had it felt as though a dam had broken. I love yous seemed to be welling upon my tongue at any given moment for the littlest reasons – Draco was giving that frown of concentration I found so adorable, I was admiring the elegance of his hand moving and shaping letters on a page, he gave me a soft look across a room.

We broke apart but I kept him close, glancing over his shoulder and nodding at the cabinet. "How's it going?"

"Ready for another test." Draco pulled away and I let my hands fall into my lap, watching as he walked over to the detritus scattered across the top of the table. Buttons, thimbles, bits of parchment, a broken quill, even a shoelace and a cheap, bent tie clip. He picked up one thimble and gave it a tap with his wand. I drew my legs up onto the couch under me and watched curiously as he approached the cabinet, now holding a frog in his hand. He opened the door and set the frog inside. It gave a ribbit and tried to hop out, but Draco quickly shut the door.

" _Harmonia Nectere Passus,"_ he murmured, and stepped forward to open the door again. There was no sign of the frog. Draco gave me a hopeful look before eagerly shutting the door and casting the spell again. " _Harmonia Nectere Passus."_

He opened the door and a frog jumped free, smacked into his chest, and fell to the ground. Before it could leap off into the piles of rubbish filling the room Draco shot it with a spell and turned it back into a thimble. The bauble rolled towards me across the floor. I bent down ad picked it up, looking over it to Draco, who was smiling widely.

"It worked!" he said, both looking and sounding absolutely enraptured. I didn't blame him. If he had finally done it, then that meant that his worry was over. The stage was already long-since set for Dumbledore's death, so the only thing that had still been hanging over his head was the prospect of getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. If he had finally found a way that didn't involve the Hogsmeade passage, then his year of helpless paranoia was over.

"Try something else," I urged him. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"You're right, you're right…." Draco mumbled quickly, running his fingers thorough his hair. A moment later he'd snatched up a button and turned it into a mouse. Holding it by its tail, he set it in the cabinet. A spell later and it was gone. A second time, the mouse was back.

The mouse was faster, scampering off into the rubble. In a final test, Draco picked up a piece of parchment and it became a pigeon. The bird vanished and then returned, completely unharmed.

"You did it," I breathed, watching as Draco hit the pigeon with a spell to turn it back into parchment. The piece fluttered to the ground and Draco rushed, wrapping his arms around me and picking me up, swinging me around in a circle. I laughed along with him as he set me down and buried his face in my shoulder.

"Oh Merlin… I haven't felt this good in over a year," he murmured into my skin and I smiled.

"It's not over yet, let's not get ahead of ourselves," I reminded him gently. "But what you've done, repairing the cabinet… There are trained artifact restorers that wouldn't have bothered with something as finicky as that. But _you did it!"_

"I did it," he echoed back to me, and I nodded.

"I'll need to speak to Dumbledore," I murmured, and stepped back. Draco's face fel slightly.

"Dumbledore?"

I smiled and put my hands on his shoulders. "Your part is done until you pull the trigger. It's up to myself and the headmaster to set the rest of the wheels in motion. There's a lot of planning to do..."

"And that's where you need to be," Draco replied, sliding my hands off his shoulders and nodding to the door. "Go on, I know you want to go and plot with the headmaster."

I smiled and took two quick steps forwards, pecking his lips. "Come to my lab tonight and we'll celebrate," I urged, before turning on my heel and leaving quickly.

We needed to celebrate now because we wouldn't be able to in the future. If this was all successful and everything went as we planned, Draco would be outed as a supporter of the Dark Side to the whole school. There would be no justification for having him back that Hogwarts could offer that wouldn't be suspicious. In all likelihood, unless Hogwarts truly fell – which we were trying to avoid – this would be Draco's last year here for a while. And if Hogwarts did fall, I would be leaving. This year would be our last together in school for a long while, probably until the war was over.

"Kreacher," I hissed, and wasn't surprised when there was a faint pop and the wizened house elf appeared in front of me. Kreacher bowed so that his nose brushed the stone, but it was clear he would rather be licking grime from a toilet that prostrating himself before me.

"Kreacher comes to the Mistress, but Kreacher doesn't want, oh no, Kreacher wants a better Mistress…"

"Yes, we all know you like me just as much as I like you," I told the house elf shortly. "Kreacher I want you to prepare fruits, chocolate, and wine for me for later this evening. Deliver it to the apprentice's lab. Make the food good, and don't do anything to dirty it," I added, because I could completely see Kreacher spitting in the food if he thought he could get away with it. Kreacher grumbled and grunted, but nodded his head, flapping his bat-like ears. "Dismissed."

That business done I continued on to the headmaster's office. The up side to having lessons with him was that I always knew the password so I could come and go as I pleased. The gargoyle leaped aside at the first mention of blood-flavored lollipops and I rode the spiraling staircase upwards to the office. I knocked on the wooden door.

"Lorena Potter, sir," I announced myself."

"Come in."

I pushed the door open and saw Dumbledore's machines going as usual, Fawkes on his perch by the desk. Dumbledore himself was sitting behind the desk, an eagle-feather quill in his hand and he scrawled on a piece of parchment about some business or another. I approached the desk, pausing to stroke along Fawkes's soft wings while Dumbledore finished whatever he was working on.

"To what do I owe this visit outside of our normal lessons, Miss Potter?" Dumbledore asked, setting the quill aside in his inkwell.

"Draco has fixed the Vanishing Cabinet," I informed him bluntly, settling myself in the chair opposite Dumbledore's that I was far too used to occupying. I crossed my legs and let my hands rest on the arms. "So the Death Eaters will be coming soon. What are we going to do about that, headmaster?" I asked lightly.

Dumbledore fixed me with a piercing stare. "You're certain? The Vanishing Cabinet is repaired enough for them to use?"

"Certain," I replied confidently. "I've seen it in action. All they've got to do is send themselves through from Borgin and Burkes and they're in. And I doubt Mr. Borgin will be terribly bothered with them tramping through his store," I added sarcastically.

"No, indeed he won't be," Dumbledore mused, steepling his fingers and observing me over the top. The blackness of his ruined hand seemed to stand out even more sharply when placed in front of his snowy beard.

"If we give them a time when you'll be out of the castle on one of your 'excursions' then they'll think their only opponents are the teachers," I continued. "Which, no offense to them, but I really doubt Trelawney and Binns will be much of a deterrent. Snape would have to fight with them, of course, and I'm sure Flitwick, McGonagall, and Sprout are highly capable. Slughorn too, possibly, in a crisis," I admitted. "But still, against people like Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband with a castle full of kids to protect… they're at a disadvantage. We don't know how many Death Eaters will come through."

"Wouldn't it be terribly convenient if several Order members were meeting with Minerva on that evening?" Dumbledore asked leadingly, and I smiled and nodded.

"And she would, of course, not be nice enough to tell Snape about that because she trusts him about as far as she can throw him."

"In point of fact, Minerva is actually rather friendly to Severus, but house rivalry can make up for a lot," Dumbledore corrected.

"We need a way to get as many good fighters in here as possible without it looking like we've amassed a force against them," I reasoned. "Like we knew they were coming. If McGonagall was meeting to discuss security, it's completely conceivable that Moody and Tonks would be here, possibly Kingsley too. That's three trained Aurors on the grounds."

"Not a bad idea," Dumbledore agreed, before observing, "Have you noticed that we only speak civilly when planning maneuvers?"

"Probably because that's the only time we have the same goal," I retorted. "Maximum effectiveness with minimal risk."

"As it happens I believe I'm close to locating a Horcrux," Dumbledore said calmly, and I perked up. That was hardly the sort of thing you expected to hear in that tone. That sort of voice was reserved for commenting about the weather or polite chitchat between strangers on a train. Not for the announcement that you'd possibly found part of a person's mutilated soul.

"Have you?" I asked eagerly. "Where?"

"I'll not say yet until it's certain," Dumbledore replied firmly. "I have a few more tests I would like to conduct in the area before I'm certain, but I am reasonably confident. Once I'm certain, I will tell Severus to recommend that night for the assault. Voldemort wouldn't question his recommendation like he would young Mister Malfoy's. There's no reason a student would know my plans.

"When I am certain about this," Dumbledore said slowly, now eyeing me up and down. I had the strangest feeling, as if I was being surveyed across a chessboard. I could almost imagine Dumbledore's blackened hand fingering a piece and watching my microexpressions to see my reaction. I merely smiled serenely and waited for him to continue.

"When I'm certain I've found a Horcrux, I would like for you and your brother to accompany me."

I blinked, surprised. Not so much by the fact that he was letting Harry come – I'd have been shocked if Harry hadn't asked to come along – but because I didn't expect him to want me there.

"And why are you letting me come along?" I asked slowly, leaning back more deeply into the chair and narrowing my eyes. "Civility in our lessons aside, I know that you're still half-expecting me to start skipping through the flowers with the Death Eaters singing show tunes."

Dumbledore smiled. "As entertaining as such a scene would undoubtedly be, I don't expect it."

"Good, because last practice Greyback kept tripping over his feet," I quipped.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Over the course of your last few visits I've come to a realization about you, Miss Potter."

"Hm, and what's that?" I asked archly.

"That despite what you would have others believe you are an inherently kind person, even to those you dislike." I blinked and my mouth fell open slightly. Dumbledore continued. "You despise me because you see me as pulling your brother's strings and manipulating him into dangerous situations." I opened my mouth in a snarl, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stall what I was about to say. "A judgment which is not entirely false."

"I'm glad you don't try and deny it."

Dumbledore gave me a pointed look. "However, you have created those emergency kits for the Order – many of which have made their dislike of you clear – and you recommend a method many wouldn't have thought of to ease the pain in my hand. One that has proven somewhat effective," Dumbledore admitted, though it looked like he didn't want to.

I smirked. "Are you trying to tell me you think I'm some kind of angel, headmaster?"

"Quite the opposite. My opinion on your wrath and revenge has not changed and I still do not support many of your decisions and actions," the headmaster replied shortly. "But I had been forced to acknowledge that there is more than simple pettiness to you."

"Sir," I cooed, pressing a hand daintily to my throat. "You'll make me blush!"

Plans were finalized and I took my leave of Dumbledore's office, heading back down into the dungeons and into the apprentice's lab. I gave a hiss when I entered and Sasha and Silas slipped obligingly out from under the counter where they'd been curled up into a ball.

"What is it, boss?" Silas hissed as I bent down and extended my arms. He and Sasha slid up and draped themselves over my shoulders. Something about their undulating movement, the soft pulling of scales and the cool weight of them was actually rather relaxing, like a reptilian massage, and I hummed happily as I set myself down on the stool by the counter.

"Dumbledore's hatching plans again," I replied, pulling from my bag the book on Animagus transformation I'd been reading before Draco's success took precedent. My journals were lined up along the back of the counter and I selected the one detailing my transformations, opening it to a new blank page with a quick tap of my wand. I pulled out a quill, dipping it in ink, and dated the top of the page.

"I want one of you to get into his office if you can," I explained as I began to scrawl out important, key pieces of information paraphrased from the chapter of the book I'd been focusing on concerning internal transformations, comparing it to my last attempt at transformation.

"What do you want us to listen for?" Sasha hissed, and I smiled faintly. I was so glad Silas met her. She asked the right questions. "Anything specific?"

"Dumbledore is hunting horcruxes," I clarified. "He thinks he's found the location of one. I want you to listen for as much as you can and report back to me, please. He's invited me to come along, but I doubt that he'll give either Harry or I the full story of what we're walking into unless its becomes entirely necessary."

"The old goat still isn't very trustworthy," Silas snickered, his tongue darting out and tickling my wrist. I made a small noise of distaste at the gesture and tickled his nose with the feather of my quill. Silas bared his teeth and recoiled up my arm a little bit. Sasha laughed at him as he slid along my arm and off onto the table, curling into a sulky coil. I relented and reached out, stroking my now-free hand down his coils and feeling the texture of his scales.

"No, he's not and he never will be," I mused. "But at least we won't have to deal with him for very long."

I tried to think about how I would react to Dumbledore's inevitable demise. Would I grieve? Yes, I decided, but not for the man. Dumbledore as a person was not at all what history had pained him as, the selfless champion for justice. I would mourn the loss of knowledge, for surely there was more to be learned from the old man that I wouldn't get the chance at unless I looked into it on my own. I would mourn the loss of the Order's leader for the chaos and loss of morale that would occur. But on the whole? No, I would not miss Albus Dumbledore.

I reached up and gently eased Sasha off my shoulders, settling her down, at her request, on my pillow. I think she was getting rather used to the luxury that came from living with a human and not fending for herself in the forest, and I watched fondly as Silas slithered down from the counter and over to her. It was ridiculously sweet in a rather Disney way.

"Just whistle while you work," I trilled lightly as I slid off the stool and raised my wand, focusing hard.

This sort of training was different from Occlumency or Apparition, which I was very happy to now be fully capable of. Apparition was straight-forward magic at its core, the reason it was overseen to strictly was because it had the potential for injury and for being seen by Muggles. But the benefit of having it overseen was that the Ministry had developed a very effective way of teaching it, and as such we students all caught on reasonably quickly. The only disappointing part was that Ron and Hermione, being older than Harry and I, were already licensed to Apparate and I was not. I couldn't wait to pass the test.

Occlumency and Legilimency were very much about finesse and precision. You could feel when your defenses began to give and it was a very delicate balance between devoting enough attention to shoring up that weak point while not abandoning the rest of your wall. Legilimency required precise strikes and quick responses to any opening. While brute force could be employed, a surgeon's scalpel tended to yield better results, even if it took slightly longer. You had to work out the best way to balance all of that for yourself.

My Animagus transformations were now over a year in the making and I was close to my first transformation, I would feel it. As I phased back and forth in the middle of the room I found that with the new approaches from the book I was able to shrink my torso and change it that much closer to what it should be every time. Soon, soon, probably less than a month, and I would be able to fully transform. I couldn't wait. The idea of just going up to the Astronomy Tower and jumping, falling, shifting, and then surging up into the sky, flying, wind in my face, under my own power, no broom… I beamed at the very idea.

It was late when Kreacher appeared with a crack, bearing a large tray over his head. I smiled at the assortment of dark, milk, and white chocolate arrayed. There were saucers with different breads and cheeses arranged in elegant spirals and a bowl of assorted berries. I was suddenly reminded that, before he lost his marbles, Kreacher had served a noble house. This was probably the closest that he'd come to that in years, decades. It showed, too, the house elf actually looked very proud as he set the tray on the counter and produced from nowhere a flagon of elf-made wine and two glasses. I smirked. Hogwarts house elf he may currently be, who were forbidden from giving students anything stronger than butterbeer, but Kreacher served me before the school and he knew that this sort of spread demanded a wine.

"Thank you, Kreacher," I said gratefully, and the house elf looked slightly staggered by my thanks. He grumbled as he levitated the wine and goblets up onto the counter, eyes on the ground, but he couldn't hide the redness on the tips of his ears. "This is lovely."

"Kreacher lives only to serve Mistress," the house elf grunted, bowing. "Anything else Mistress needs?"

"No, Kreacher, that will be all. You're dismissed."

The elf nodded and vanished. Perfect timing, too, because a moment later there was a knock on the door. I flicked my wand first at the counter to straighten up my books and send my quill and ink back into the drawer and then at the door. It opened and Draco stepped inside, watching in amusement as a book floated from the counter over to the sagging bookcase stacked two deep.

"You need more shelving," he noted, shutting the door behind himself, and I nodded in agreement, more concerned with working my magic on the cot. I turned it into a comfortable daybed, jostling the snakes slightly as their pillow suddenly shifted position.

"Some of us are trying to sleep!" Silas whined, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"It's barely nine," I retorted, but nevertheless I picked up the pillow containing the snakes and settled it on top of my trunk, putting a small bubble of silence over it for their benefit. Draco's arms wrapped around my waist from behind and his chin rested on my shoulder. I smiled, my free hand coming down to rest over his at my stomach as I raised my wand once again and turned the stool into a low table that I levitated over in front of my new seating.

"It's a party," Draco said with a smile as he watched me send the food and wine over to the table. I pulled away from him, shifting my hand so that I tugged him behind me as I led him over to sit down. Draco settled himself there comfortably , surprising me when he kicked off his shoes and drew his long legs up onto the cushions as well. Then he spread his knees and I understood, smiling as I kicked off my own shoes and settled in the space he'd made, leaning back comfortably against his chest. Draco flicked his wand and set the wine to pouring, the glasses floating over to us. I plucked mine from the air and took a sip.

"I'll give the elf credit, he has taste," I mused as I considered the flavor. I wasn't overly fond of wine – as a rule I preferred butterbeer – but it would pair well with the chocolates and cheeses.

"Kreacher or Dobby?" Draco asked, and I scoffed.

"Both, probably, but Kreacher in this case. He might not be terrible to have on hand," I admitted.

"So you're not a proud charter member of SPEW?" he teased, fiddling with a strand or my hair. I elbowed him lightly in the stomach in response.

"I think SPEW is all but gone at this point, I hear Hermione's not even trying to trick the house elves into taking clothes anymore," I considered. "Though in fairness there are slightly more important things going on these days than freeing the best-treated house elves in the country."

"You'd better be nice to me," Draco chided, prodding me in the side with a finger. "Or I'll hoard all this chocolate to myself."

"Try, sir, and you shall face my wand," I retorted lightly, reaching over and picking up a piece of cheese and settling it on a dark bread. The combination was pleasant and I sighed, leaning back further into Draco's chest. "Can we stay like this forever? You've just done something wonderfully magical and we're celebrating and everything is happy and bright?" I asked, fully aware that we couldn't do something so simple.

"Unfortunately, no," Draco replied, popping a raspberry into his mouth with his free hand. "Not yet."

"After the war?" I asked, and he nodded, taking a sip of his wine. I shivered as he leaned down so that his mouth brushed my ear as he spoke.

"After the war we'll find a little place of our own, how does that sound? No other Malfoys or Potters, just us. We'll spend days at a time with each other. We'll have wine with dinner every night and berries and cream for dessert."

"But what will be do if we get bored?" I asked archly, tilting my head to the side and humming happily as he took the cue and nestleed his face into my neck, placing soft kisses there.

"Aside from this?" he retorted, and I giggled. "We'll have a yard, and we'll fly together and pass a Quaffle back and forth and show off, and we might even spar every now and then. I, of course, will knock you on your arse every time," he said smugly, and bit lightly at just the right spot that I was too surprised to cover the slight moan. I reached up and back, burying my fingers lightly in his hair and holding his face closer.

"Is that so?" I gasped, a little annoyed at how breathless that sounded. "And what about Silas and Sasha?" I asked him, nodding to the snakes on their pillow.

"Oh, you'll have brought them and your owl with us, of that I have no doubt," Draco said with confidence, backing off a little. He set his wine down on the table and wrapped his arms around me. His arms brushed the bottoms of my breasts. "And you'll be holding court for every snake within hearing.

"You wouldn't have a problem with me keeping them?"

"You'd let me stop you if I did?"

"Fair point." I hummed and began to trace patterns on his arms over the expensive fabric of his shirt. "Could we get a cat?" I asked softly, remembering months ago when we'd ben curled together and Draco had been a wreck worrying over the Vanishing Cabinet that was now fixed. It seemed long ago that I'd imagined that life after the war. In my dream there had been a cat and children. Children seemed rather a lot still, daunting, though I could admit to wanting them someday. A cat, though, that seemed reasonable.

"Are you trying to turn our theoretical house into a menagerie?" Draco accused teasingly.

"Only theoretically," I promised. I shifted in his grip, turning so that I was more on my side. I rested one hand on his hip and the other over his own. "A cat?" I asked hopefully, and I felt him shake under me as he laughed.

"Fine, you absolute Hufflepuff, we can get a cat."

I tilted my head back to look at him sternly. "Talk to me like that and I might decide to settle down in this theoretical house without you." I reached over and picked up a berry, holding it up against his lips. Draco opened his mouth obligingly and took it, chewing and swallowing. He was looking down at me with this expression that made me feel oddly small and vulnerable, yet not insecure. I found myself flushing.

"I love you," I murmured, and Draco chuckled.

"How was I supposed to know that the first time would open some sort of hole in the dam?" he wondered, shaking his head fondly. I smiled as he leaned down and kissed me sweetly. "I love you too."

"Well I needed you to know," I insisted as he drew back. "One or both of us might not be here next year. It'll be strange," I admitted. "Not seeing you every day."

"I know," Draco murmured, and I could see the hint of fear in his eyes, feel it in the way he drew me closer and tighter. "But let's not think about it right now. We have a theoretical house to discuss."

"This theoretical house will need to have a basement for me to brew in," I offered, smiling slightly.

"And a massive library for both of us, because I don't think a single shelf will cut it between the two of us," Draco added, nodding to my own library. I winced and nodded in agreement.

"Would you mind if we went to visit Harry every now and then?" I asked him curiously, and Draco shook his head.

"It'd be good if Potter and I could at least… maybe not bury the hatchet, but put it up somewhere out of reach."

"Yes, because if one of you killed the other I'd have to kill whichever one was left, and then where would I be?" I reasoned, and Draco snorted. I smiled slightly and added, "You know, none of this is completely out of reach. I did inherit Grimmauld Place from Sirius."

Draco arched an eyebrow, smiling at me slyly. "Lorena Potter, are you asking me to move in with you?"

I flushed hotly, but honestly? The prospect sounded insanely appealing. The house still needed work but it wasn't nearly as daunting if I had some help. The idea of waking up in the morning and eating breakfast in the kitchen with Draco before adjourning for an hour or two of cleaning, maybe an afternoon spent in the library reading. There was space for a lab, too, so I wouldn't be without a place to brew and research, and there were no shortage of rooms. We'd take tea in the lounge and then dinner. I could very much get used to the idea of it all. At the end of the day, we might share a glass of wine before retiring to our own rooms, perhaps the same one…

All in all it sounded intensely appealing.

"Well, there's no yard," I admitted, "but… yes, I think I actually am."

Draco paused, looking thrown. He hadn't been serious, but he could read on my face that I was. "Wait, what? Really?" he asked in disbelief.

"If you'll help me fix it up so it's habitable, then yes," I said determinedly. It seemed crazily sudden and yet completely appropriate. A solid plan of us staying together after the war, not just vague promises. Now there was a real offer being made, a shared home. "It's not as if there aren't enough rooms, and I'd probably spend some time with the Weasleys and Lupin, and you with your parents, but a space that is our would be _mph!"_

Draco was kissing me intently, forcefully, tilting my chin up to press his mouth more firmly against me. I felt the hardness of teeth and before I could really process it I was back to soft lips. I was falling, drowning in his kisses, and when he pulled back we were both panting slightly.

"You… are… absolutely… perfect," Draco murmured against my lips between softer, sweeter kisses. "Have I told you that lately?"

I laughed breathlessly and reached out, picking up a chocolate and offering it to him. "Hush up and eat the food, love. It's getting late and you need to get back to the dorms at a reasonable time. We don't live together _yet_."


	105. The Night Begins

**Bit of a shorter chapter but we're officially going off horcrux hunting this chapter and that will take up quite a bit of time. I'm going to split up the whole end-of-the-year drama into a few different chapters, and it seemed an appropriate place to stop, so don't be too mad at me please.**

* * *

My brother was dating Ginny Weasley.

Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.

And, in other completely unsurprising news, my Basilisks were doing phenomenally well with their studies. Our sessions had become somewhat of a free-for-all now that so many topics had been introduced. Some dueled back and forth, spells flying across the chamber, and others practiced their Parseltongue, hissing back and forth at each other and occasionally asking me how to correct their pronunciation. A decent group of them had also decided to pair off and practice Occlumency.

Daphne stared hard at Nott, who was looking back at her just as determinedly. Neither of them were experts, so it wasn't terribly hard for them to resist each other for a respectable length of time. Judging by the faint scowl on Daphne's face, Nott was holding her off very well. I stepped forwards, smiling mischievously, and prodded her in the back of the neck. Daphne jumped and Nott let out a sigh of relief as her concentration broke.

"What was that for?" Daphne demanded irritably. "I almost had him!"

"With no distractions," I pointed out. "You're still learning yet, but you always need to be prepared. If something surprises you it wouldn't be hard for Nott to press back and end up getting a glimpse in your mind." I turned around and whistled loudly. The sound echoed in the chamber. Around the room duels stopped and hisses faltered as all eyes turned to me.

"We're coming up on the end of the year," I began, pitching my voice louder so that it echoed off the stone. "You all have made such amazing progress…" I faltered slightly at the sight of Molly, Emilia, and Chastity all beaming at me. I remembered them as little first years with chubby faces and wide eyes taking in everything around them. Now their features were changing and shaping into teenagers, they watched the world around them with calculation and understanding. They had learned to think.

I quickly cleared my throat and continued, "No matter how this ends, no matter what changes over the next few years, I don't want any of you to feel like the Basilisks are over. Even when I've graduated, you all know the words to get down here now. You're free to come and practice whenever you like, whatever you like. The books will keep everyone apprised of what you're learning, even those that have graduated and moved on."

"Potter," Blaise said slowly, "why is this sounding suspiciously like a goodbye?"

I smiled faintly. My decision had been made the moment Harry's decision had been made. The horcruxes had to be found and Dumbledore wouldn't be here to do it for us. So, the task would fall to Harry. No way was I going to let him traipse around to what amounted to an active war zone on his own. Or, more likely, with Ron and Hermione, but still. I had to go with him, because I had to see this through as much as he did. Maybe I wasn't the one destined to end Voldemort, but I didn't need a prophecy to tell me that my job was to support Harry. That was what family did.

"That's probably because it is, Blaise," I continued softly. There was an explosion of protests. Draco looked nervous and I knew why. It wasn't just what I was saying, it was that the time was quickly coming when he would be carrying out his duty. Daphne clasped her hands to her mouth in surprise and Nott looked grim. Emilia and Chastity clutched each other and my two fourth year boys yelled their protests.

I raised my hands for quiet. "Next year I won't be back. I can't give you details, but you can probably work out for yourselves that there's something I need to do in regards to the war. Something that definitely trumps Binns' lectures or watching the stars. No matter what happens here in the coming years, know that while your house affords you some safety from the enemy, it will paint a target on your back for others. Be wary, be cautious. Constant vigilance," I said with a wry smile. "Moody may be mad, but he's right on that front."

"But Potter," Shelburne protested. "What are we supposed to do when you're gone?"

I shrugged. "Learn. Improve. Become better versions of yourselves. You don't need me for that. I've given you the basics. It's up to you to take them and make them your own. I-"

Something brushed up against my foot and I glanced down. Silas was stretched out next to me, looking up at me expectantly. I reached down and picked him up, wrapping him around my arm and holding him up to my face.

"What is it?"

"Dumbledore wants you and Harry. It's going down tonight," he replied, and I nodded. I gave Draco a meaningful look and he nodded back, paling slightly. He knew that in a matter of hours we would be on opposite sides of a battlefield and that we might have to get violent with each other. Neither of us exactly savored it – in particular I dreaded misreading him in a fight and throwing a spell he didn't manage to block - but for the sake of our sides, we'd have to.

"I have to go now," I addressed the Basilisks. "Harry and I have something we need to do with Dumbledore. I don't want you all to worry," I stressed. "Even if I'm not here, you'll all still have one important thing going for you that no one can touch."

"And what's that?" Blaise asked sarcastically. "The power of friendship and love?"

I gave him a pointed look. "Hell no, what do you think we are, a bunch of Hufflepuffs?" I gestured, pointing with the hand Silas was wrapped around to the statue looming up behind us. "You're all Slytherins, and what's more, you're true Slytherins. Self-serving, cunning, ambitious we might be," I admitted, "but the image of our house has become polluted and corrupted over the years by too much hatred and racism. We're what Slytherin was meant to be."

"Potter's right," Nott said, his voice echoing in the chamber. He sounded stronger and more confident than I'd ever heard him. We all looked at him in bemusement as he continued, "We are not our parents, and we are not what the other houses tell us we're supposed to be." He spoke firmly, every word holding weight. "We're Slytherins, and it's partially because of Potter than we know what it means to be a Slytherin."

I beamed at him and felt water welling in my eyes. I tried to fight it down but, damn, the way they were all looking at me like I was something to be admired, like I was Dumbledore, like I was Harry… It hit me right in the heart and I couldn't help it. I let out a loud sob and pressed my hand over my mouth.

"Theodore!" Daphne shouted, swatting him in the shoulder and rushing to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. "By _Merlin_ , you made her cry!"

"Looks like reading all those novels gave you a way with words, huh Nott?" I hiccupped, wiping my eyes quickly. I gathered myself, taking a few deep breaths. Nott was flushed and Blaise was nudging him teasingly in the side while the younger girls looked at me in worry. Draco gave me a soft, supportive smile from near the back of the group and I wished I could go and just have him hold me for a moment before I walked off to destroy a horcrux – but I couldn't. Our year might know, but we were still safer the fewer people that had any idea we were together.

Leave it to Blaise to break the tension. "So Potter? Your orders?" he asked drily.

I huffed and dried the last of my tears. "Stay in the Common Room while I'm gone. I don't care what you hear, I don't care what the older students say, you stay safely in the Common Room."

"Why?" Dominic asked slowly. "What's going to happen?"

'You're safer not knowing," I explained. "I'm sorry that's all I can give you." Silas's tongue tickled my wrist and I looked down at him. "I have to go now. Everyone, get back to the Common Room. Stagger exits, the usual drill."

With that I turned on my heel and started walking out. I heard murmuring behind me, echoing through the tunnels, but soon I was up and out and I knew the others would follow me soon. I stopped and sent Silas off to the lab for the night. I was confident that they'd do what I told them and I was confident that they would stay safe tonight. Still, that didn't stop the knot of worry that settled in my stomach as I moved towards Dumbledore's office or the vague stray thoughts of 'what if something happened to them?' Was this what it was like having kids?

I reached the staircase to Dumbledore's office the same time Harry did, and he didn't seem surprised to see me. He didn't seem to know what it was about though, going by the look of curiosity glittering in his eyes.

"Do you have a memory again?" he asked me drily as we rode the staircase upwards.

I shook my head. "No Dumbledore has a horcrux," I replied bluntly, and Harry's eyes widened.

"Wha- seriously? He's found one?" I nodded. "Wow… honestly I'm surprised he call you to come."

"Me too," I replied drily as I opened the door and stepped inside. I wasn't overly concerned with the politeness of knocking considering Dumbledore had summoned us here himself. Fawkes the phoenix looked round, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the window. Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black travelling cloak in his arms.

"Well, Harry, I promised that you could come with me. And I think your sister has made her desire to help very clear. Only if you wish it, of course."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "If I..." He shook his head. "Of course I'm coming! Rena was right, then, you've found one? You've found a Horcrux?"

Dumbledore nodded seriously. "Yes, I believe so." Harry stood silent for a moment, seeming stunned. "'It is natural to be afraid," offered Dumbledore.

"I'm not scared!" Harry burst out. "Which Horcrux is it? Where is it?"

"I am not sure which it is - though I think we can rule out the snake," Dumbledore smiled faintly, "but I believe it to be hidden in a cave on the coast many miles from here, a cave I have been trying to locate for a very long time: the cave in which Tom Riddle once terrorized two children from his orphanage on their annual trip; you remember?"

"Yes," said Harry. I was somewhat lost, I'd never seen that memory, but I was hardly surprised he'd done such a thing. Even young, Tom hadn't been the most well-adjusted or friendly boy. "How is it protected?"

"I do not know; I have suspicions that may be entirely wrong." Dumbledore hesitated, then continued, "I promised you both that you could come with me, and I stand by that promise, but it would be very wrong of me not to warn you that this will be exceedingly dangerous."

"I'm coming," answered Harry forcefully, almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking. There was anger on Harry's face, an unusual amount of anger. Dumbledore moved away from the window and looked more closely at Harry, a slight crease between his silver eyebrows.

"What has happened to you?" he asked slowly.

"Nothing," lied Harry.

"What has upset you?"

"I'm not upset."

I scoffed. "Harry, you're trying to lie to your sister and a Slytherin and you're already crap at it-"

Something in what I said was the spark that ignited Harry's fury.

" _Snape!"_ he yelled and Fawkes gave a soft squawk behind them. "Snape's what's happened! He told Voldemort about the prophecy, it was him, he listened outside the door, Trelawney told me!"

I froze. Snape was the one who – however indirectly – killed my parents? Somehow that both surprised me and didn't. It certainly explained some things, like the obvious guilt and bitterness Snape held towards my mother's memory. He had been the one to load the gun and point Voldemort towards her. I knew that at one point he had been a loyal Death Eater and that it was likely my mother's death that triggered his change, but it was more than just serving the man who killed his love – it was being the one who pointed Voldemort in her direction.

I tried to hate him for a moment, for what he'd done. If it had been me hearing a prophecy that implicated, say, Pansy Parkinson, would I have hesitated to hand the information over and have her taken care of while my hands stayed clean of all of it, my own private revenge? I couldn't say I would have with confidence and James Potter had been to Snape something like what Pansy was to me. Chief tormentor. Snape had spent every moment since then trying to make up for that mistake and it would have easily killed him. In fact, he fully expected it would and was fine with that.

I couldn't hate him, not after all that he'd done for me, not knowing what I did about his past.

Dumbledore's expression did not change, but his face whitened under the bloody tinge cast by the setting sun. For a long moment, Dumbledore said nothing.

"When did you find out about this?" he asked at last.

"Just now!" said Harry, who was trying to refrain from yelling with what seemed to be enormous difficulty. And then, suddenly, he could not stop himself. " _AND YOU LET HIM TEACH HERE AND HE TOLD VOLDEMORT TO GO AFTER MY MUM AND DAD!"_

Breathing hard as though he were fighting, Harry turned away from Dumbledore, who still had not moved a muscle, and paced up and down the study, rubbing his knuckles in his hand and exercising every last bit of restraint to prevent himself knocking things over. I could see on his face that there was more Harry wanted to say, more that he wanted to yell.

"Harry," called Dumbledore quietly. "Please listen to me." Harry paused, biting his lip, and looked into Dumbledore's lined face. "Professor Snape made a terrible-"

"Don't tell me it was a mistake, sir, he was listening at the door!" Harry interrupted hotly.

"Harry, Snape may have served Voldemort at th time but he changed," I stressed.

"Please let me finish." Dumbledore waited until Harry had nodded curtly, then went on. "Professor Snape made a terrible mistake. He was still in Lord Voldemort's employ on the night he heard the first half of Professor Trelawney's prophecy. Naturally, he hastened to tell his master what he had heard, for it concerned his master most deeply. But he did not know - he had no possible way of knowing - which boy Voldemort would hunt from then onwards, or that the parents he would destroy in his murderous quest were people that Professor Snape knew, that they were your mother and father-"

Harry let out a yell of mirthless laughter. "He hated my dad like he hated Sirius! Haven't you noticed, Professor, how the people Snape hates tend to end up dead?"

"You have no idea of the remorse Professor Snape felt when he realized how Lord Voldemort had interpreted the prophecy, Harry. I believe it to be the greatest regret of his life and the reason that he returned-"

"But he's a very good Occlumens, isn't he, sir?" countered Harry, whose voice was shaking with the effort of keeping it steady. "And isn't Voldemort convinced that Snape's on his side, even now? Professor... how can you be sure Snape's on our side? You've planned to let him kill you! How can you know that that isn't what he'd been here to do since the beginning! And you're going to let him, him or Malfoy!"

Dumbledore did not speak for a moment; he looked as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. At last he said, "I am sure. I trust Severus Snape completely."

Harry breathed deeply for a few moments in an effort to steady himself. It did not work, because he rounded on me and demanded, "What do you think of that, Rena? Do you trust him so much now?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I do." Harry gaped at me, flabbergasted. I sighed. "There are things about Severus Snape that you don't know Harry, things that I do for… certain reasons we don't need to get into. Dumbledore isn't wrong. It was doing what he did and causing our parent's deaths," I choked slightly there, "that made him change sides. But since then he has been on our side Harry, and he'll stay there, whole-heartedly, until the day he dies." I finished confidently.

"Enough," cut in Dumbledore. He said it quite calmly, but Harry and I fell silent at once. That tone brooked no more on the subject. "Do you both wish to come with me tonight?'

"Yes," answered Harry at once, and I nodded.

"Very well, then: listen." Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height. "I take you both with me on one condition: that you obey any command I might give you at once, and without question." He looked at me in particular and I couldn't help but smile faintly.

"Of course," Harry chimed as I nodded my agreement.

"Be sure to understand me, Harry. I mean that you must follow even such orders as 'run,' 'hide' or 'go back.' Do I have your word?"

Harry faltered slightly. "I - yes, of course."

"If I tell you to hide, you will do so?"

"Yes."

"Without question."

"If I tell you to flee, you will obey?"

"Yes."

"As fast as I can."

"If I tell you to leave me, and save yourself, you will do as I tell you?"

"I-"

"Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him sternly. I grabbed Harry's arm and beamed at the headmaster.

"Don't worry sir, I'll make him abandon you."

Oddly enough, Dumbledore didn't seem bolstered by that and he didn't continue until Harry reluctantly nodded his assent. "Very good. Then I wish you to go and fetch your Cloak and meet me in the Entrance Hall in five minutes' time. Miss Potter, I somehow suspect that you will have your own tools to collect?"

I smirked. "You would be correct."

Dumbledore turned back to look out of the fiery window. The sun was now a ruby-red glare along the horizon. Harry and I turned and walked quickly from the office and down the spiral staircase. In my head I had a list of things to gather as I made my way through secret passages down into the apprentice's lab.

Somehow, I wasn't surprised when I opened the door and found Snape and Draco standing there.

"It's tonight," Draco said grimly and I nodded, going to my trunk and liftin the lid, reaching inside and pulling out a dueling vest made of glittering green scales. Basilisk skin. It was the magical equivalent of a bulletproof vest.

"Turn your backs, please," I ordered, and both men complied. I stripped down to my bra, pulled on a tank top to prevent rubbing, and then fastened the vest shut. Over it went a white button-front. "It's clear."

"Are you both ready?" Snape asked sternly, looking between Draco and I. Draco looked pale and scared but there was a determination in the set of his shoulders as he nodded.

"I'm getting there," I replied as I grabbed the emergency kit that I'd assembled and dug inside, checking to make sure that all the potions I could possibly want were inside, as well as my mirror and a spare wand. I had no idea what we were walking into and anything at all could be useful. "Are we all clear on how tonight should go down?"

"The death of the headmaster?" Snape replied archly. "Yes we're all 'clear' on how this night will end, Potter. You needn't worry."

"When are the Death Eaters coming through?" I asked, tucking the bag into the pocket of my jeans and tying the strings that held it shut to the belt loop to keep it safe even if it happened to fall out of my pocket.

"Shortly before midnight," Draco replied.

"And the arrangements for the Order to be here?" I asked, looking to Snape.

"Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley seem to have a sudden desire to discuss the security of the school. The attack on Miss Bell has given them pause," Snape said with a faint smirk. Confident as he might appear, though, I could see the faint tenseness in his shoulders. No matter what happened, this wasn't going to be a good night. We would suffer a loss. I could only hope that, like in chess, sometimes sacrifice led to victory.

"Good," I murmured, and turned to face both men, smiling at them softly. "Stay safe, won't you? Both of you. If you got yourselves killed, I'd… Well." I trailed off, because if I didn't I'd end up crying and it would hardly look professional.

"You too," Draco said gruffly. He cast one slightly uncomfortable look at Snape before stepping forwards and grabbing me, pulling me into a crushing hug. I wrapped my arms around him as well, squeezing tightly and digging my fingers into his back. "I love you, phoenix."

"Love you too," I murmured inot his ear as I pulled away. If Snape weren't there I would have had no qualms about planting a searing kiss on Draco, but it felt odd to do in front of a man who was like my father. Instead I gave him a chaste peck before turning to the professor.

"Do I get a kiss as well?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, sir, but I haven't done it yet this year, so…" I flung myself at the professor and hugged him tightly. Snape huffed and grumbled, but one of his hands came up to gently pat my back and I grinned into his robes, savoring the smell of herbs and the dungeons.

"That's enough, Potter," Snape groused. "Or our headmaster will leave without you."

I pulled back obediently, giving Snape a dark look. "Not funny, sir."

Dumbledore was waiting beside the oaken front doors when I arrived in the Entrance Hall. He turned as I stepped out of the dungeons and raised an eyebrow as Harry came skidding out on to the topmost stone step, panting hard, a searing stitch in his side. I looked at my brother askance – why exactly was he sprinting?

"I would like you to wear your Cloak, please," said Dumbledore, and he waited until Harry had thrown it on over both of us before saying, "Very good. Shall we go?"

Dumbledore set off at once down the stone steps, his own travelling cloak barely stirring in the still summer air. Harry and I hurried alongside him under the Invisibility Cloak. Harry was still panting and sweating rather a lot. It made walking smashed up next to him not entirely pleasant.

"But what will people think when they see you leaving, Professor?" Harry asked.

"That I am off into Hogsmeade for a drink," said Dumbledore lightly. "I sometimes offer Rosmerta my custom, or else visit the Hog's Head ... or I appear to. It is as good a way as any of disguising one's true destination."

We made our way down the drive in the gathering twilight. The air was full of the smells of warm grass, lake water and wood smoke from Hagrid's cabin. It was difficult to believe that we were heading for anything dangerous or frightening, or that in a few hours this place would be the sight of an assassination.

"Professor," spoke up Harry quietly, as the gates at the bottom of the drive came into view, "will we be Apparating?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "You can both Apparate now, I believe?"

"Yes," admitted Harry.

"But we can't get our licenses yet." I scowled. I still wasn't happy about that.

"No matter," reassured Dumbledore, "I can assist you again."

We turned out of the gates into the twilit, deserted lane to Hogsmeade. Darkness descended fast as we walked and by the time we reached the High Street night was falling in earnest. Lights twinkled from windows over shops and as we neared the Three Broomsticks they heard raucous shouting.

"- and stay out!" shouted Madam Rosmerta, forcibly ejecting a grubby-looking wizard. "Oh, hello, Albus ... you're out late ..."

"Good evening, Rosmerta, good evening ... forgive me, I'm off to the Hog's Head ... no offence, but I feel like a quieter atmosphere tonight..."

A minute later we turned the corner into the side street where the Hog's Head's sign creaked a little, though there was no breeze. In contrast to the Three Broomsticks, the pub appeared to be completely empty.

"It will not be necessary for us to enter," muttered Dumbledore, glancing around. "As long as nobody sees us go ... now place your hand upon my arm, each of you. There is no need to grip too hard, I am merely guiding you. On the count of three - one ... two ... three ..."

There was that wretched feeling of being squished again, like I was a square peg being forced down a round hole. I could feel Harry banging against my side and it didn't help matters either. My hand remained glued to Dumbledore's, and he dragged Harry and I along, like we were caught in his wake. It was impossible to breathe, and just when I felt like I never would again, I was standing on solid rock with salt filling m nose and wind tugging my hair.


	106. The Cave

I could smell salt and hear rushing waves. A light, chilly breeze ruffled my hair as I looked out at moon-lit sea and star-strewn sky. I was standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. I glanced over my shoulder. A towering cliff stood behind us, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, such as the one upon which we were standing, looked as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. It was a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by any tree or sweep of grass or sand.

"What do you think?" asked Dumbledore calmly, as if he was expecting a comment on the weather.

"They brought the kids from the orphanage here?" asked Harry, who peered cautiously over the edge of the ledge with a frown on his face.

'I don't know," I mused as I looked down. There was a certain beauty to the idea of this place, a wall standing strong against the continual pounding of the sea. Maybe the wall would give eventually, but it would hold firm for centuries, millennia, before that happened. It was motivating, in a way. "It's not so bad.

"Not here, precisely," corrected Dumbledore, giving me a sideways look. "There is a village of sorts about halfway along the cliffs behind us. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little sea air and a view of the waves. No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs, the waters around them are too dangerous. I imagine that Riddle climbed down; magic would have served better than ropes. And he brought two small children with him, probably for the pleasure of terrorizing them. I think the journey alone would have done it, don't you?"

It was strange, standing in a place my boy had stood decades ago. Granted I did that every day I was at Hogwarts, but it didn't make so much of an impression on me. He had been there but so had hundreds, thousands of other students since him. Here, on this ledge, we were one of a handful of people who had been here. Something in my core shuddered at the idea and I almost cast it off as a silly emotional reaction, but it didn't stop. A light pulsing of warmth behind my sternum, that's what it was, and it made me feel both sick and whole. I pressed my hand to the spot with a faint wince but quickly dropped it when Dumbledore spoke again.

"But his final destination — and ours — lies a little farther on. Come."

Dumbledore beckoned us to the very edge of the rock where a series of jagged niches made footholds leading down to boulders that lay half-submerged in water and closer to the cliff. It was a treacherous descent and Dumbledore, hampered slightly by his withered hand, moved slowly. I moved more carefully than I ever had, mentally noting to myself that I would never take up mountaineering or roc climbing as a hobby after this. The lower rocks were slippery with seawater, as if someone had decided this wasn't bad enough without a little extra challenge. I could feel flecks of cold salt spray hitting my face.

 _"Lumos,"_ said Dumbledore, as he reached the boulder closest to the cliff face. A thousand flecks of golden light sparkled upon the dark surface of the water a few feet below where he crouched. The black wall of rock beside him was illuminated too. "You see?" said Dumbledore quietly, holding his wand a little higher. Harry saw a fissure in the cliff into which dark water was swirling. "You will not object to getting a little wet?"

"No," said Harry quickly.

"I would," I said crossly. "And if you'll let me, I may be able to save us a particularly frigid swim."

Dumbledore looked at me questioningly. "Miss Potter? You have a suggestion?"

"Yes, I would," I said, and laid my hand inside my pocket, resting over the top of my wand. I closed my eyes and focused. It was now or never, and if not now it would be supremely humiliating, standing there with my eyes closed shivering by the sea and waiting for something to happen. But something was happening, I could feel it. The prickling of my skin as feathers bloomed, clothing magically whisked away to return later, my bone structure changing and morphing. There was no pinching and crushing feeling now as my torso shifted, I had finally done it, managed it for the first time barely three days before, but now, now that I knew I could do it…

"Phoenixes," Dumbledore murmured quietly as he stared down at my new body where I hopped on the rock, flaring my wings proudly, "can carry immensely heavy loads."

"Rena!" I tilted my bird head back and Harry was beaming. He quickly crouched down next to me and reached out, stroking the top of my head with a finger. The feeling of my feathers being rubbed was a new sensation and it nearly made me melt. I made a note to give Fawkes all the love I ever had occasion to give him if it felt like this. "That's amazing! You've finally done it!"

"I believe that brings your totally time spent to about a year and a half?" Dumbledore noted. "I see you beat your father and his friends. And yes, Miss Potter, that would make this far easier. Thank you. Harry, if you'd hold onto me."

Harry was still grinning like an idiot as he let Dumbledore crush him to his side. I flared my wings and flapped hard, getting just enough lift to get me in the air. A few more quick strokes and I was doing it, flying, the wind brushing across my feathers and making them shake ever so slightly, like I was getting the lightest of massages. And oh! The idea of no longer being tied to the ground! It was so tempting to wheel off and soar over the openness of the sea but now was the time to get serious.

Dumbledore gripped my trailing tail feathers tightly and I had to flap harder to get their weight up. But I'd seen Fawkes once tote the lot of us out of the Chamber of Secrets and Harry and Dumbledore weren't much compared to what that must have been. I felt the weight but it wasn't difficult to lift, surprisingly, nor did the grip on my feathers really pull.

I flew toward the dark slit in the rock face, guided by the lights of Harry and Dumbledore's wands in their teeth as we made our way deeper into the cliff. The fissure soon opened into a dark tunnel that would be filled with water at high tide. The slimy walls were barely five feet apart and glimmered like wet tar in the passing light of the wand. A little way in, the passageway curved to the left, and I saw that it extended far into the cliff.

I knew we'd arrived when I saw the first signs of something not entirely natural. Manmade, or, far more likely, magically made steps led up out of the water into a large cave. I set them carefully on the ground and Dumbledore released me, pulling his wand from his teeth. I landed somewhat less gracefully that I would have preferred on the stone floor nd closed my eyes, concentrating. Turning back was far, far easier. My body knew what it should be shaped like so it was a matter of just letting my magic flow, guided by that innate knowledge. Soon I was a girl again, albeit a rather windblown one, crouching on the stone in the freezing air. I quickly straightened up and reached for my hair, dragging my fingers through it. A single phoenix feather came loose. I smirked faintly and tucked it in my pocket, trying to ignore the shivering warmth that was still there.

Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the cave, his wand held high as he turned slowly on the spot, examining the walls and ceiling.

"Yes, this is the place," he said, as if he'd just found a sign reading ' _Lord Voldemort's horcrux, this way._ '

"How can you tell?" Harry spoke in a whisper.

"It has known magic," said Dumbledore simply. I watched as Dumbledore continued to revolve on the spot, evidently concentrating on things Harry could not see. That, perhaps, was the source of that damn feeling behind my sternum. Not just awareness of magic, but awareness of _his_ magic. Lord Voldemort and I were tied together in a way far deeper than normal people could be. I wondered if this warm shivering was the echoes of his magic resounding down whatever cord connected us.

"This is merely the antechamber, the entrance hall," decided Dumbledore after a moment or two. "We need to penetrate the inner place... now it is Lord Voldemort's obstacles that stand in our way, rather than those nature made..."

Dumbledore approached the wall of the cave and caressed it with his blackened fingertips, murmuring words in a strange tongue that I did not understand. Twice Dumbledore walked right around the cave, touching as much of the rough rock as he could, occasionally pausing, running his fingers backward and forward over a particular spot, until finally he stopped, his hand pressed flat against the wall.

"Here," he said confidently. "We go on through here. The entrance is concealed."

I had never seen a wizard work things out like this, simply by looking and touching; but I could understand it. Curious, I held up a hand to stay Dumbledore as he stepped back from the wall and lifted his wand. Obligingly, he lowered his wand, and I laid my hand on the stone, closing my eyes. The warmth stuttered in its pulsing and then became warmer. The stone, though, did not feel… quite right. Under my fingertips it was cool, hard, yes, all that. But it was as if I had slid my fingers through the thinnest of films that now clung in a thick, wet, dark way to my skin. Oddly warm and tingling. I drew my hand back, scowling. Whatever magic was there it was old and bestial and brutal.

I stepped back from the cave wall and Dumbledore pointed his wand at the rock. For a moment, an arched outline appeared there, blazing white as though there was a powerful light behind the crack.

"You've done it!" praised Harry, but before the words had left his lips the outline had gone, leaving the rock as bare and solid as ever. Dumbledore's attention never left the solid cave wall. He did not try any more magic, but simply stood there staring at it intently, as though something extremely interesting was written on it. I glanced at Harry and he at me and we were both thinking the same thing, or at least some permutation of it: we would have been lost without Dumbledore's mind.

Then, after two solid minutes, Dumbledore murmured, "Oh, surely not. So crude."

"What is it, Professor?"

"I rather think," explained Dumbledore, putting his uninjured hand inside his robes and drawing out a short silver knife of the kind used to chop potion ingredients, "that we are required to make payment to pass."

"Payment?" repeated Harry blankly. "You've got to give the door something?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Blood, if I am not much mistaken."

 _"Blood?"_

"I said it was crude," said Dumbledore, who sounded disdainful, even disappointed, as though Voldemort had fallen short of higher standards Dumbledore expected. Frankly, I was almost on his side on this one. Surely he could have come up with something better than a little cut? A wizard could heal themselves easily. "The idea, as I am sure you will have gathered, is that your enemy must weaken him- or herself to enter. Once again, Lord Voldemort fails to grasp that there are much more terrible things than physical injury."

"Yeah, but still, if you can avoid it..." murmured Harry softly. I was with him there. I wasn't terribly keen on slicing myself open. Maybe that was the point of this, it wasn't only physically painful, but difficult psychologically.

"Sometimes, however, it is unavoidable," said Dumbledore, shaking back the sleeve of his robes and exposing the forearm of his injured hand.

"Professor!" protested Harry, hurrying forward as Dumbledore raised his knife. "I'll do it, I'm -"

Dumbledore merely smiled. There was a flash of silver, and a spurt of scarlet; the rock face was peppered with dark, glistening drops.

"You are very kind, Harry," Dumbledore praised, now passing the tip of his wand over the deep cut he had made in his own arm, so that it healed instantly, "But your blood is worth more than mine. Ah, that seems to have done the trick, doesn't it?"

The blazing silver outline of an arch had appeared in the wall once more, and this time it did not fade away: the blood-spattered rock within it simply vanished, leaving an opening into what seemed total darkness.

"After me, I think," ordered Dumbledore, and he walked through the archway with Harry and I on his heels. Harry lit his wand hastily and I copied him as we stepped into the unknown darkness.

An eerie sight waited through the archway. We were standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast that Harry could not make out the distant banks, in a cavern so high that the ceiling too was out of sight. A misty greenish light shone far away in what looked like the middle of the lake. It was reflected in the completely still water below. The greenish glow and the light from the three wands were the only things that broke the otherwise velvety blackness, though their rays did not penetrate as far as I would have expected. The darkness was somehow denser than normal darkness.

"Let us walk," urged Dumbledore quietly. "Be very careful not to step into the water. Stay close to me."

I had no desire to get anywhere near the water. The impenetrable blackness of It was far from inviting, and I kept tight to the wall as we started around the edge of the lake. Our footsteps made echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. On and on we walked, but the view did not vary. On one side of us the rough cavern wall, on the other the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness, in the very middle of which was that mysterious greenish glow. The aura of malevolence that hung in the air was oppressive, and the warmth in my chest seemed to agree. It's pulsing was faster and more staggered, agitated.

"Professor?" Harry asked finally, his voice a mild shock after so much quiet. "Do you think the Horcrux is here?"

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore confidently. "Yes, I'm sure it is. The question is, how do we get to it?"

"We couldn't... we couldn't just try a Summoning Charm?" Harry offered. It wasn't a terribly bright idea. If Voldemort had gone to all the trouble of making this place so difficult to get to and so damn creepy than surely he would have thought to keep people from simply Summoning a bit of his soul, pocketing it, and strolling off for tea.

"Certainly we could," reasoned Dumbledore, stopping so suddenly that Harry almost walked into him. "Why don't you do it?"

"Me? Oh... okay..." Harry seemed surprised by this, but cleared his throat and said loudly, wand aloft, "Accio Horcrux!"

With a noise like an explosion, something very large and pale erupted out of the dark water some twenty feet away. I couldn't get a good look at it before it had vanished again with a crashing splash that made great, deep ripples on the mirrored surface. Harry leapt backward in shock and hit the wall. I pressed tighter to the wall as well, hissing with distaste. Whatever that was, it wasn't good for us.

"What was that?" Harry demanded, eyes wide and shining behind his glasses.

"Something, I think, that is ready to respond should we attempt to seize the Horcrux."

The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass. The ripples had vanished unnaturally fast. It actually made me crack a bit of a smile. Much like I'd decorated the Chamber of Secrets before inviting my Basilisks down, Voldemort had put extra effort into making the place look as terrifying to the uninitiated as possible, even in the little things.

"Did you think that would happen, sir?" Harry asked.

"I thought something would happen if we made an obvious attempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry; much the simplest way of finding out what we are facing," Dumbledore congratulated him.

"But we don't know what the thing was," said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.

"What the things are, you mean," corrected Dumbledore. "I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?"

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?"

" _Into_ it? Only if we are very unfortunate."

"You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?"

"If I had to wager a guess I'd say it's there," I interrupted, pointing to the greenish glow in the middle of the lake.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with Miss Potter."

"So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?" Harry offered.

"Yes, I think so. Aha," said Dumbledore, and he stopped again. Harry walked into him and I barely managed to keep from crashing into him. For a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. "So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I have found the place."

I closed my eyes and tried to consider the area, placing my hand over the spot in my chest. It was still there, and it still unnerved me, but if nothing else it was useful, like a sonar for Voldemort's magic. It's presence was something I could panic about at a later date. And I could feel something, something solid and firm in the air…

When I opened my eyes again, Harry was looking at me questioningly. I shook my head at him and turned my attention to Dumbledore. He was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something invisible.

"Oho," said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something I could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water. I watched nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the other and tapped his fist with the point.

Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain, which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple, toward the place on the bank where we Dumbledore stood.

"How did you know that was there?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"Magic always leaves traces," explained Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, "sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style."

"Is ... is this boat safe?" Harry asked uncertainly, giving it a wary look. I didn't blame him. It had just emerged from the depths of the lake like the Flying Dutchman and I was skeptical of it myself.

"Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux."

"So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore sighed. "Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat."

"Because Voldemort is nothing if not supremely arrogant," I said quietly, looking around the cave and gesturing to it with a wave of my hand. "Look at this place, it's not exactly a tourist destination. He'd expect no one would be able to find this place, much less find the boat, except him. And I expect there's more ahead to test us just in case someone _did."_

Harry looked at the boat skeptically. "It doesn't look like it was built for three people. Will it hold all of us? Will we be too heavy together?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it."

"We're both underaged," I reminded Harry. "I doubt his wards would register us."

Dumbledore added, "Age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth... now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water."

Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. I followed him on board. Dumbledore stepped in last, coiling the chain onto the floor. We were crammed in together. Harry and I crouched, backs together, knees jutting over the edge of the boat, to give Dumbledore room to fold his tall frame inside. The boat began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of the boat's prow cleaving the water. It moved without our help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the center. I wondered if it was the same spell as on the first years' boats at Hogwarts and somehow knew it was. That would have appealed to him, incorporating magic from Hogwarts.

Soon we could no longer see the walls of the cavern. We might have been at sea except that there were no waves. It was almost peaceful, if you ignored the heavy blackness in the air. I looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wandlight sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror...

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water. I started so badly I had to grab the edge of the boat to keep myself from losing my balance and pitching overboard.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think I saw a hand in the water-a human hand!"

With a wretched twist in my stomach I realized what that white thing that had leaped from the water must be. It was no magical creature – not in the traditional sense- but an Inferi. And I doubted it was the only one, either. Voldemort's previous rise in power had not been bloodless. He would have had no shortage of victims that could be used to guard his soul.

"Yes, I am sure you did." Dumbledore seemed alarmingly calm about the prospect of us sailing over an underwater zombie graveyard. Presumably his infinite knowledge had already worked out what was lurking below the waves.

Harry pressed ever-so-slightly tighter to my back, seeking my support, and I leaned into him just as gently, giving it freely as he asked, "So that thing that jumped out of the water-?"

Before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed a dead man lying face-up inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.

"There are bodies in here!" exclaimed Harry, his voice going higher in his fear and disgust.

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore placidly, "but we do not need to worry about them at the moment."

"At the moment?" Harry repeated, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore.

"I expect once we actually have the Horcrux, that'll be the time to start caring about them," I reassured him. "But for now they're just… drifting."

Dumbledore said comfortingly, "There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."

"But one of them jumped," he protested, trying to make his voice even again and only partially succeeding. "When I tried to Summon the Horcrux, a body leapt out of the lake."

"You had just tried to take the Horcrux," I reminded him. "Like I said, I imagine once we've gotten our hands on the thing, that's when they'll start getting angry."

"However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry," Dumbledore added with a smile, in response to Harry's bewildered expression.

"Oh... right..." said Harry quickly. He turned his head to look at the greenish glow toward which the boat was still inexorably sailing. Once again he pressed back to me and I leaned into him in turn. I reached behind me with one hand, fingers lightly brushing his in a gesture so quick it could be accidental, but I knew Harry had understood and was smiling, even though I couldn't see his face.

"Nearly there," called Dumbledore cheerfully.

Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within minutes, the boat had come to a halt, bumping gently into something that I could not see at first, but when I raised my illuminated wand I saw that we had reached a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake.

"Careful not to touch the water," reminded Dumbledore again as Harry climbed out of the boat. Harry reached back and helped me stagger out, my legs almost numb from crouching with my knees jammed into my chest for so long. I winced and took a few clumsy steps closer to the center of the rock, just in case.

The island was no larger than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close to. I squinted at it. First blush I thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then I saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.

Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry and I followed. Forming a triangle around the pedestal, we looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow. I expected that the spot in my chest would react to whatever was inside as a result of Voldmort's magic, but it didn't seem to care at all about whatever potion it was.

Potion… because Voldemort hadn't brewed this, and I had a sneaking suspicion of exactly which brilliant but excluded and bitter potioneer had made this brew a decade and more ago.

"What is it?" asked Harry quietly.

"I am not sure," admitted Dumbledore. "Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however."

"Any ideas, Rena?"

"Lots of potions glow, but I've never heard of one quite that color," I was forced to admit.

Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand, and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the surface of the potion.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Sir, no, don't touch-!"

"I _cannot_ touch," said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. "See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try."

Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. I reached out at well and, an inch from the top of the potion, encountered an invisible barrier. I didn't bother trying to push, I doubted brute force would get me through. But if you couldn't reach inside, then the potion had to be emptied out another way, and that raised a whole different alarming concept.

"Out of the way, please," ordered Dumbledore, and Harry and I stepped aside.

He raised his wand and made complicated movements over the surface of the-potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened. We remained silent while Dumbledore worked and I recognized only a scattering of the spells Dumbledore was running through quickly, spells nearly blending into each other. He was trying to get through the potion in as many different ways as he could think of. He was also failing dismally. The potion seemed to glow a little brighter, like it was laughing at his efforts.

After a while Dumbledore withdrew his wand, and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.

"You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore peered more closely into the basin. "But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, Vanished, parted, scooped up, or siphoned away, nor can it be Transfigured, Charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature." Almost absent-mindedly, Dumbledore raised his wand again, twirled it once in midair, and then caught the crystal goblet that he had conjured out of nowhere. "I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk."

"What?" gaped Harry. "No!"

"Yes, I think so: only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths."

"But what if- what if it kills you?"

"Why should it do that?" I said darkly. "If it killed the drinker, then Voldemort himself would have to die to get at the thing if he wanted to move it. Of course, it's highly likely he has some special way of looking through the potion only he can use. And if whoever got this far is dead, how's he supposed to know how they managed it and how they found out to come here anyway?"

"You're really alarmingly good at following his trains of thought," Harry muttered, giving me a wry look, and I shrugged.

"I'm a Slytherin. I know the twisty roads our minds take."

Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.

"Undoubtedly," he began heavily, "this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyze me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, it will fall to you both to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"

I stared into the potion. I had no way of knowing what it would do, but if my theory about who brewed it was correct then it would certainly be nasty. Snape had held a lot of rage in him back then, a lot of hatred, and this potion was the result of that. I doubted that the potion would be so kind as to simply make Dumbledore forget why he'd come. The _unendurable pain_ was probably the most likely option.

"You remember," said Dumbledore, "the condition on which I brought you with me?"

Harry hesitated. "But what if-?"

The idea of having to force someone to drink something like that turned my stomach. Puppeteer or not, doing something like that to Dumbledore struck me as very wrong. Certainly in some lights he deserved it for the way he'd played my brother and I and guided us to march to his tune, but it still seemed like a great form of cruelty, perhaps even greater than the Cruciatus.

"You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?"

"Yes, but-"

Perhaps if we stood here for a while and thought about it we could figure out a way around all of this nonsense and no one would have to drink it, but the fact remained that this wasn't the only thing going on tonight. I had carefully avoided thinking about Snape and Malfoy and what must be happening at Hogwarts right now. Had the Order members arrived for their 'meeting' with McGonagall yet? Were the Death Eaters already inside? I had no way of tracking the time in this cave, and I almost didn't want to. Having a ticking clock would have made this a thousand times worse.

"I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?"

"Yes, but -"

Dumbledore was going to die tonight anyway, and perhaps that was a mercy. This potion, whatever it was, would not leave his system lightly if it ever did. A few extra ingredients here and there, it was surprisingly easy to make a potion permanent, or at least long-wearing in the extreme. And there was the Living Mummy curse to consider. After all of this happened Dumbledore might really welcome death, and wasn't that a rather sad thought?

"Well, then," said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, "you have my orders."

"Why can't I drink the potion instead?" asked Harry desperately.

Because we were the Potter twins and we were symbols of different things to different people. To the Order, Harry was the savior that was prophesied to liberate them from Voldemort's ideals and bring peace back to Wizarding Britain. To Voldemort I was the trophy waiting for him to claim, the thing he would be able to point to as proof of his dominion over the Wizarding World, and that couldn't be allowed to happen. The time of Dumbledore's curvy, twisting plots was coming to an end. Soon it would be decided in spellfire and blood.

"Because I am much older, much cleverer, and much less valuable," answered Dumbledore. "Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?"

"You have mine."

I raised my eyes and met Dumbledore's over the basin. Harry looked at me in surprise and maybe a little dislike for offering. Dumbledore's face was curiously blank. He knew that tonight was his last on this world, and perhaps that made it easier for him to offer. But Harry, who adored Dumbledore as his mentor, should not have to be the one that made Dumbledore suffer for this.

"It has to be him," I told Harry coolly. "And I won't make you do that to him. I know how much you care about him."

Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. The crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had. When the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.

"Your good health."

And he drained the goblet. Harry watched with a stricken expression on his face, hands gripping the basin so hard his knuckles were white. I stood, feeling curiously numb as I watched the last of the glowing potion in the goblet slide down Dumbledore's throat. This was it, no turning back now.

"Professor?" Harry said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. "How do you feel?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. He looked as if something was wrong, but it wasn't quite an expression of pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more.

In silence, Dumbledore drank three goblets full of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.

"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry, his voice strained. "Can you hear me?"

Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening. The potion was about to spill from it. This was what I'd offered to do, the burden I'd offered to take on. I reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

"Professor, can you hear me?" Harry repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.

Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice so shockingly frightened it was hard to believe it came from the mouth of such a powerful wizard.

"I don't want... don't make me..."

Blue eyes, flowing beard, and half-moon spectacles, this was one of the most powerful wizards in the past century and he was reduced to whimpering like a child after a night terror. I stared down into the goblet in horror. What _was_ this magic?

"...don't like... want to stop..." moaned Dumbledore.

Something inside me screamed for me to stop, the vestiges of my morality, but I forced myself to harden my heart. I called on my Occlumency, wrapping myself in a protective layer of thoughtlessness and floating in the depths of my mind as I carried out my duty.

"Drink this, sir, it will help," I lied, and pressed the goblet to Dumbledore's lips. I tipped it and the rest of the potion poured down his throat.

"No ..." he groaned, as I lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it. I could see Harry staring at the scene in front of him in open-mouthed horror but he seemed unable to speak, though his hands trembled. He must be fighting very hard to tamp down his urge to protect. For once he knew that this had to be done, disgusting through it was, and he had to let it happen. "I don't want to. ... I don't want to... let me go..."

"Don't worry, it's alright," I murmured soothingly, like I was talking to a child scared of a thunderstorm.

"Make it stop, make it stop," moaned Dumbledore.

"Drink this. It will take the pain away." I tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth. Dumbledore screamed. The noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.

"No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to..."

I scooped up a sixth goblet full of potion, noting in an absent sort of way that the potion was now half empty. Almost done, almost done… "This will take the hurt away, just drink this."

Obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote I offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

"It's all my fault, all my fault," he sobbed. "Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again ..."

"This will make it stop." And I tipped the seventh glass down his throat. I now stood over him and that made it worse. Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him. I felt like I was Parkinson standing over my own immobilized body in a shadowy dungeon corridor and it made me sick.

Dumbledore's flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from mine as he moaned, "Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead ..."

I knew I was manipulating him based on whatever he was seeing – what in Merlin's name could he be seeing to make him act like this? What horrors did Dumbledore's past hold? – but it seemed the best way.

"This will keep them from hurting if you drink it."

Once again Dumbledore obeyed, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot. He drank like he was dying of thirst, and I knew he'd believed me when I said that this would save whoever it was that was suffering.

Dumbledore fell forward, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while I filled the ninth goblet.

"Please, please, please, no ... not that, not that, I'll do anything ..."

"Drink and it will be fine."

Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire.

"No more, please, no more ..."

I scooped up a tenth goblet full of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin.

"Only a little more and it will be fine again."

I had to support Dumbledore's shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass. I rose to my feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, "I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, _I want to die!"_

"Drink this, drink it and you will die," I found myself whispering, offering a gun to a man drowning in his own sorrows, and, like I knew he would, Dumbledore took it. He drank, and no sooner had he finished than he yelled, _"Kill me!"_

"This one will end it all," I breathed, feeling the words were true in more ways than one, and pressed the very last goblet of potion to Dumbledore's lips. He gulped at the goblet, drained every last drop, and then, with a great, rattling gasp, rolled over onto his face.

"No!" shouted Harry, who had stood and watched in silence until now. He flung himself down beside Dumbledore, and heaved him over onto his back. Dumbledore's glasses were askew, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. "No," pleaded Harry, shaking Dumbledore, "no, you're not dead, you said it wasn't poison, wake up, wake up - _Rennervate!"_ he cried desperately, his wand pointing at Dumbledore's chest. There was a flash of red light but nothing happened. _"Rennervate_ – sir - please-"

He couldn't be dead, I couldn't have killed him. If I had, then that would mean I'd ruined it all and we would not only lose Dumbledore tonight, but Draco and possible Snape. The very idea drove me to my knees next to Harry, clutching the goblet like it was a lifeline.

"H-He wanted it done," I whispered with a hint of madness in my voice because _god, what had I just put a man though?_ "It had to be done."

Dumbledore's eyelids flickered. Harry leaned forward intently.

"Sir, are you-?"

"Water," croaked Dumbledore.

"Water," panted Harry. "-yes -"

Harry leapt to his feet and conjured a goblet, a rough-hewn thing that had nothing on Dumbledore's crystalline creation.

 _"Aguamenti!"_ he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand.

The goblet filled with clear water Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head, and brought the glass to his lips, but nothing came out. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant.

"But I had some – wait - _Aguamenti!"_ cast Harry again, pointing his wand at the goblet. Once more, for a second, clear water gleamed within it, but as he approached Dumbledore's mouth, the water vanished again.

"Sir, I'm trying, I'm trying!" begged Harry desperately. Dumbledore had rolled onto his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonizing. " _Aguamenti - Aguamenti - AGUAMENTI!_ "

The water Vanished as it approached Dumbledore's mouth, like it had been miraculously made hydrophobic in an intensely magical way, and it had, I realized. Because we were sitting in the middle of a lake, a lake that couldn't be disturbed and yet had to be, for the sake of whoever drained the basin. You couldn't escape the lake without having to deal with whatever lurked under it, because Voldemort was truly creative in his cruelty.

"It's quite clever really," I murmured as I stood and approached the edge of the rock. I saw Harry's head whipped up as I walked past him and knelt down by the water's edge, goblet in one hand, wand in the other, raised and ready. "Almost elegant…"

"Rena, no, don't-!"

I dipped the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish. I cast a spell at the goblet and it soared from my hand to Harry's who snatched it with the instinctive muscle memory of a Seeker while staring in horror at the maggot-white flesh of the hand gripping my wrist.

The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth. It was churning, and everywhere I looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving toward the rock. An army of the dead rising from the black water. It was the sort of thing you never thought you'd see outside of a film, and the horror of it was enough that I didn't react in time. The Inferius that had a hold of me wrenched hard, harder than it should have been able to, and I toppled off the rock into the water.

" _Lorena!"_


	107. Astronomy Tower

It was oddly peaceful under the water, yet at the same time entirely terrifying. Random facts about how quickly a body could go into shock in freezing water flashed through my head as the Inferius that had grabbed me tugged me deeper. It was a man, his clothes rags around his shrunken body, skin slack. His eyes were wide but glazed over white in death, his expression at once piercing and absent. I could see more of them coming from the depths, swimming closer with slow, jerky movements, and I knew that it more of them got their hands on me the sheer weight would drag me too far down to reach the surface before my air ran out.

I couldn't speak spells underwater without losing the air I had left and letting a rush of water into my lungs. Wandless magic, nonverbal magic, I had some skill with it but not nearly enough to use it in combat. I had no choice though. Fire, light, that's' what I needed, and it had always come when I called. I remembered the bulb in the kitchen of number 4 exploding over Aunt Marge's head, the fire in that shack on the rock leaping out a my will, warm and soothing yet wrathful.

I let the magic flow and fought the urge to shriek in triumph as flames surged around my arm where the Inferius gripped. Its mouth opened and a sound that was a cross between a shriek and a moan left it as it retreated backwards, the dead flesh bubbling. I struck out, kicking at its body to both knock it away and use it as a springboard, launching myself towards the surface. I was further down that I thought I was, and the Inferius were coming, I didn't know if I'd make it…

My head broke the surface at the same time a hand closed around my ankle. It was a barrage of sensory details: the oddly rubbery flesh holding onto me, the sound of Harry shouting spells at the top of his lungs, the sight of him being lifted by Inferi and hauled back towards the water as he screamed and thrashed. No, we would not become just another corpse in this water.

" _Alarte Ascendere!"_ I screamed, a moment before the hand tugged me underwater. I sputtered on it, feeling nauseous as water flavored with death and rot trickled across my tongue, but the spell was already cast. I was launched into the air, the Inferius dragging behind me, its grip never faltering. I shot high, high into the air and I thought I might smack into the ceiling before gravity kicked back in. First and foremost I cast a Cushioning Charm at the rock below me and angled my body for the island. Then I turned my wand to the Inferius clinging to me. If it were not for the years I'd spent on a broomstick, hurtling through air nearly unsupported with the wind howling in my ears, I might have panicked. But I was confident in myself, in my magic, and I let myself fall towards the cushioned spot as I blasted the Inferius in the face with a fireball from the tip of my wand.

I hit the charm with a slight bounce and used it to land on my feet, staggering only slightly as my ankle rolled. I pointed my wand at the Inferius holding Harry and launched another volley of fireballs. With the back of its body in flames, the Inferius dropped Harry and gave the same shrieking wail that the one I'd attacked underwater had, shambling its way back to the safety of the water.

Fire erupted, crimson and gold, a ring of fire that surrounded the rock so that the Inferi on the island were trapped and helpless, cowering before the light and heat. Harry whipped around where he'd landed on the rock. Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any too, the fire dancing in his eyes. His wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth. The Inferi bumped into each other, attempting, blindly, to escape the fire in which they were enclosed. If this were something like a haunted house and not real life, it would have been hilarious, but as it was the slack faces of dozens of reanimated victims would give me nightmares for days.

Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry and I to come to his side. Distracted by the flames, the Inferi seemed unaware that we were leaving as Dumbledore led us back to the boat, the ring of fire moving with us, around us, the bewildered Inferi accompanying them to the water's edge, where they slipped gratefully back into their dark waters.

I was shivering from the cold dampness of my clothes, my hair and clothes plastered to me. My ankle had rolled and on top of that was lightly singed from the fireball I'd thrown to get the Inferius off of me. My teeth chattered, but I held my wand high and shot fireballs at any Inferius that came too close for comfort. Dumbledore tripped trying to get into the boat, still shaky, seemingly using all his waned strength to maintain the circle of fire. I seized his arm, dragging him from the water's edge before he pitched into the lake. Harry seized him and helped him back to his seat as I shot off more fireballs across the surface of the water, keeping any of the Inferi that might get any ideas about tipping the boat in the depths.

Once we were all jammed inside again, the boat began to move back across the black water, away from the rock, still encircled by that ring of fire, and it seemed that the Inferi swarming below us did not dare resurface.

"Sir," panted Harry, "sir, I forgot — about fire — they were coming at me and I panicked —"

"Quite understandable," murmured Dumbledore, his voice alarmingly quiet.

We reached the bank with a little bump and Harry leapt out, then turned quickly to help Dumbledore, taking the old man's burned hand in his grip to tug him out. I put a hand to Dumbledore's back to keep him upright. The moment that Dumbledore reached the bank he let his wand hand fall. The ring of fire vanished, but the Inferi did not emerge again from the water. The little boat sank into the water once more; clanking and tinkling, its chain slithering back into the lake like a snake. Dumbledore gave a great sigh and leaned against the cavern wall.

"I am weak..." he said, and I found that to be a bit of an understatement, honestly.

"Don't worry, sir," reassured Harry at once, "Don't worry, I'll get us back... Lean on me, sir..."

Harry took Dumbledore's uninjured arm over his shoulders and he and the headmaster made their way along the edge of the lake like the strangest entrants in a three-legged race. I followed behind, limping and dripping, and kept half an eye on the water, unable to shake the fear that one of the Inferi was going to leap out and drag me back under. Annoyed, I cast a drying charm on myself and was instantly no longer sopping.

"The protection was... after all... well-designed," said Dumbledore faintly. "One alone could not have done it... You both did well, very well."

"Of course, that brings up the alarming concept of Voldemort needing a sacrifice every time he comes here," I murmured to myself, and Harry gave me a horrified look. Clearly, the idea hadn't occurred to him. I wondered how many of the dead in the lake had been victims just brought along to down the potion. Did Voldemort come and visit the piece of his soul here, the way some people would visit a museum?

"Don't talk now," urged Harry, and I had to agree. Dumbledore was slurring like a drunk and his feet dragged as he walked. "Save your energy, sir... We'll soon be out of here..."

"The archway will have sealed again... My knife ..." '

"There's no need, I got cut on the rock," Harry insisted. "Just tell me where..."

"Here..."

Harry wiped his grazed forearm upon the stone. Having received its tribute of blood, the archway reopened instantly. We crossed the outer cave, and Harry looked at me uncertainly.

"He doesn't have the strength to hang on," I murmured, looking to Dumbledore with a frown. "You'll have to keep a hold of him."

"Are you okay totransform?" Harry asked worriedly. "when they dragged you under…" The moonlight on his glasses hid his eyes but the heavy swallow made it clear that he'd been just as terrified as I had when I saw the Inferi hauling him towards the water.

"A little banged up, but I prepared for that," I said soothingly, laying a hand on his shoulder before reaching for the pouch at my waist, still tied tightly to my belt loop. I didn't waste time searching – I'd been jostled around so much that nothing in there would be where I put it anyway – and pointed my wand inside, Summoning potions.

"Down this, sir," I ordered, and passed a vial of Calming Draught to Dumbledore, along with a restorative draught. I had no way of knowing if it would be strong enough to combat something as powerful as he'd downed, but it couldn't hurt. Dumbledore had only hours left anyway. Why waste your potions on him? hissed a hateful voice in the back of my head, but I ignored it as I pulled the dropper from the vial of Essence of Dittany. I gestured for Harry's arm and he provided it. A few drops onto his skinned arms and he was good as new. I hitched up my pants leg and applied some to my ankle, the red, angry skin going paler and the pain all but vanishing.

" _Ferula,"_ I whispered, and my ankle was bound neatly in a bandage. I looked up at my companions. "Right, everyone patched up?"

Harry nodded, looking at me proudly, and Dumbledore wordlessly passed back the empty vials. I was pleased to see that his face wasn't quite as pale, and while he was hardly the picture of health he at least didn't look like he was going to pass out at any moment anymore.

"Thank you, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said quietly, and I nodded, tucking everything back into my pouch. I raised my wand and transformed once more. This time Harry grabbed a hold of my tail feathers and Dumbledore latched onto his shoulders. It was harder to get us all airborne, I was tired after the fighting, but I managed it. I flew us out of the little crack in the rock and back out under the stars. It was well and truly night now, and I set us down on a rock not far from the opening, returning to my normal form with a gasp.

"We must return to the school," Dumbledore said quietly, his mood subdued. He looked up at me and I found myself looking down at the man pityingly. He was telling us to take him back to the school so that he could go to his death, and what a shitty night it had been. People who got a terminal diagnosis usually tried to live their lives to the fullest – the trip they'd always planned to take, the food they'd always wanted to try, the hobby they'd always wanted to learn. But what did Dumbledore get, instead of a last meal and family around him? A potion that drove him half mad, a fight with the living dead, and shivering on a rock on the side of a cliff.

Harry took us both by the arm and I wasn't entirely sure I had faith in Harry's Apparition skills, but I should have. When the god-awful squishing feeling was gone, the smell of salt and the sea breeze had gone. We were all shivering in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. All was still, the darkness complete but for a few streetlamps and lit upper windows. It seemed too normal after what I'd just witnessed.

"We did it, Professor!" Harry whispered hoarsely. "We did it! We got the Horcrux!"

Dumbledore staggered against him. Dumbledore's face looked paler than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp. My potions, as I'd expected, weren't enough to counteract the sort of power that Voldemort's potion had.

"Sir, are you all right?" Harry asked fearfully.

"I've been better," answered Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "That potion ... was no health drink..."

Dumbledore sank on to the ground, and Harry immediately dropped to his knees next to the headmaster.

"Sir - it's okay, sir, you're going to be all right, don't worry-"

Harry was looking around, like he expected a trained mediwizard to pop out from the bins behind the Three Broomsticks and rush to our aid. The truth was that nothing could save Dumbledore now and sitting here trying to only wasted time. We needed to get back to the school, we needed to get this evening wrapped up.

"It'll be over soon, sir," I said quietly. "And then you can rest."

Dumbledore looked up at me, his expression torn between peace and anger, and Harry looked from him to me blankly. I saw the look of dawning comprehension come over him and he turned his eyes to me furiously.

"Tonight?" he hissed. "It's tonight? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Better you didn't know and didn't have time to plan some sort of rescue attempt," I told Harry bluntly. "This has to happen whether you want it to or not."

Harry flared. "You just want to save Snape and your boyfriend, you don't care about what he means to the Order, to me…"

I drew myself up to my full height and sent my brother a withering look where he kneeled next to the headmaster. "Don't you dare tell me I don't care about you or the Order, Harry James Potter!" I snarled. "I care more than you can possibly understand!"

The right was stopped as we heard running footsteps. Looking around, I saw Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street towards us on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with dragons.

"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to - but what's wrong with Albus?"

She came to a halt, panting, and stared down, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore.

"He's hurt," explained Harry. "Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?"

She looked horrified. "You can't go up there alone! Don't you realize - haven't you seen -?"

"If you help me support him," said Harry, not listening to her, but I was "I think we can get him inside-"

"What has happened?" asked Dumbledore sharply. "Rosmerta, what's wrong?"

"That would be the cause for concern, I believe," I said softly, raising a hand and pointing in the direction of Hogwarts, where the Dark Mark glowed eerie green in the sky. The sight of it still made my stomach drop even though I'd half-expected to see it there already. My heart clenched at the sight of it over the school all the same and I wasn't the praying type but I _prayed_ that Draco and Snape were alright and that my plan was going to work.

"When did it appear?" asked Dumbledore, and his hand clenched on Harry's shoulder as he struggled to his feet.

"Must have been minutes ago, it wasn't there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs-"

"We need to return to the castle at once," ordered Dumbledore. "Rosmerta," and though he staggered a little, he seemed wholly in command of the situation, "we need transport – brooms-"

"I've got a couple behind the bar," she offered, looking very frightened. "Shall I run and fetch -?"

I cut her off, raising my wand and casting, _"Accio Rosmerta's brooms."_

A second later we heard a loud bang as the front door of the pub burst open. Two brooms had shot out into the street and were racing each other to my side, where they stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist height.

"Rosmerta, please send a message to the Ministry," ordered Dumbledore, as he mounted the broom nearest him. I swung onto one and Harry climbed on behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I was actually grab of the added heat he provided. "It might be that nobody within Hogwarts has yet realized anything is wrong ... Harry, put your Invisibility Cloak over the two of you."

Harry pulled his Cloak out of his pocket and threw it over us, tucking it in under our thighs to keep itfrom blowing off. Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Dumbledore and I kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As we sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, tensed like he ready to grab him should he fall, but the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant. He was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air.

Fear was coiled in my stomach like a serpent, poisonous fangs dripping into my blood, because the good version of tonight's events ended with a man dead, and so what happened if things went wrong? Could I live with it if Snape or Draco died tonight? Draco, we'd barely had time for a decent goodbye and we wouldn't be able to have one now, and if that was the last time we spoke it would haunt me for years, decades, and Snape, he'd never planned to survive, but if he died tonight, I wasn't ready, I really wasn't…

Harry's grip on me shifted just a little but it was enough to pull me from my mindlessly growing fear and ground me back in reality. I forced the unpleasantness from my mind and focused on the task at hand. If necessary I could panic later, but right now I needed to be sharp, focused, because there was a part of my plan that I hadn't confided to anybody...

As we flew over the dark, twisting lane down which we had walked earlier I heard over the whistling of the night air in my ears Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. I felt our broom shudder for a moment when we flew over the boundary wall into the grounds Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that we could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle.

Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting. I landed next to him seconds later and dismounted with Harry, both of us looking around.

To my great relief, the Dark Mark wasn't signaling a body up on the tower, though there were no guarantees there wasn't one in the castle. The ramparts were completely deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with its serpent's tongue glinting evilly above them. "Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been - Professor?"

Dumbledore was clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.

"Go and find Severus," ordered Dumbledore faintly but clearly. "If he is alone. Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here."

"But-"

"You swore to obey me, both of you - go!"

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, hand clenched on mine dragging me with him, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when I heard running footsteps on the other side. We looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to us to retreat. We backed away, drawing and raising our wands as we did so.

The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_

I became instantly rigid and immobile, and I felt Harry's grip on me become solid as well as he dragged me back against the tower wall, propped like a pair of unsteady statues, unable to move or speak. I swore internally. In the moment he could have defended himself, Dumbledore had chosen instead to slap Harry and I with a Body-Bind to keep Harry from trying to interfere in what the headmaster knew as well as I had to happen, and likely to keep me from doing exactly what I'd intended all along to do.

By the light of the Mark, I saw Dumbledore's wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts. Standing against the crenellation, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and greeted, "Good evening, Draco."

He was standing there, pale and scared and sick-looking under the greenish glow and I wished that I could step out and embrace him, kiss the fear and uncertainty from his face. Draco stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that he and Dumbledore were alone. His eyes fell upon the second broom.

"Who else is here?"

"A question I might ask you."

Draco's pale eyes shifted back to Dumbledore. "No," he replied, his voice one of forced calm. His eyes began to dart. He knew that I had to be close, and probably my brother too. He knew we'd been with Dumbledore. "I've got back-up. Death Eaters."

"Well, well," said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

"Yeah," answered Draco, who was panting, the stress of the night starting to cloud his mind. "Right under your nose and you never realized!"

"Ingenious," praised Dumbledore. "Yet... forgive me... where are they now? You seem unsupported.'

"They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long ... I came on ahead. I - I've got a job to do."

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly.

I had to break this spell, I had to, otherwise my plan was going to fall apart and it would all end here for Snape's role in the Order, for Draco having any chance at redemption. Nonverbal, wandless, I'd done it once tonight in the heat of the moment but fire had always been my particular forte, not a specific spell. I wasn't terribly good at casting actual spells windlessly, just making general effects, but I had to be tonight…

Dumbledore smiled. "Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

"How do you know?" Draco snapped at once, but there was a tinge of hope in the word, as if the headmaster might know something that could solidly prove that this role he'd been forced to fit into wasn't something he'd actually become.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," said Draco forcefully, though it sounded like he was grieving, "you don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, yes, I do," Dumbledore corrected mildly. "You almost killed Katie Bell. You have been trying to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but that necklace was a feeble attempt... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it..."

He was giving Draco and chance to deny it all, to come to the light, but what Dumbledore didn't understand was that simply wanting to change wasn't enough. Given Draco's choice he wouldn't have that mark on his arm. The desire to be good was outweighed by the desire to protect his mother. If only wishing to do good meant that good things happened, but the world was far from that easy.

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below I heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight," commented Dumbledore conversationally. "But you were saying... yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible... how did you do it?"

Draco was still listening to whatever was happening below and seemed almost as paralyzed as I was. I was fighting the spell, trying to focus, but it was so hard when I wanted to watch what was going on and see what Draco was going to do, what Dumbledore was going to do.

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," suggested Dumbledore. "What if your back-up has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight, too. And after all, you don't really need help... I have no wand at the moment... I cannot defend myself."

Draco stared at him.

"I see," said Dumbledore kindly, when Draco neither moved nor spoke. "You are afraid to act until they join you?"

Draco snarled, "I know you knew this whole time, she told me!"

Dumbledore face fell slightly. "Pardon me?"

"I know about the curse on your hand, the Living Mummy. I know you're dying. I know you plan to die anyway, and I know you arranged it so that Snape would kill you instead of me. Did you think she wouldn't tell me? Did you think that she would just let me walk up here clueless?"

Dumbledore's eyes darted imperceptibly towards where Harry and I were frozen and I knew that if he weren't trapped against the ramparts and trying to hide our presence from Draco then he would have been giving me a lecture. He frowned.

"Once again," he said slowly, "Miss Potter has shown a startling lack of discretion."

"Don't talk about her like that!" Draco snapped. "You've got no idea how amazing she's been, do you? She's the reason I'm still sane through all of this!" He laughed harshly and there were tears in my eyes. "You just hate her because she's a Slytherin and she doesn't give a damn about all your plotting!"

Dumbledore nodded gently. "Perhaps so," he admitted. "But I've a more pressing question... how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

Draco looked as though he was fighting down the urge to shout, or to vomit. He gulped and took several deep breaths, glaring at Dumbledore, his wand pointing directly at the latter's heart. Then, as though he could not help himself, he answered. "I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year."

"Aaaah." Dumbledore's sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. "That was clever ... there is a pair, I take it?"

"The other's in Borgin and Burkes," explained Malfoy, "and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop, as if the Cabinet was travelling between them, but he couldn't make anyone hear him ... in the end he managed to Apparate out, even though he'd never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realised what it meant - even Borgin didn't know – I was the one who realized there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one."

"Very good," murmured Dumbledore. "So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you... a clever plan, a very clever plan... and, as you say, right under my nose... She told me, but I wasn't sure if she was lying or not. I can never tell with her…"

"Yeah," said Draco who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore's praise for both him and me. "Yeah, it was!"

"But there were times," Dumbledore went on, "weren't there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands…" Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and I redoubled my efforts to cast the counterspell but it was difficult, my mind was a scattered mess of emotion, I couldn't summon the focus I needed for wandless magic.

"But you must have had an accomplice, all the same ... someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the - the – aaaah…" Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep. "... of course ... Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?" Draco asked, a hint of his old cockiness sliding out.

There was another yell from below, rather louder than the last. Draco looked nervously over his shoulder again, then back at Dumbledore, who went on, "So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? Yes, very neat... very neat… Tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."

"Enchanted coins," answered Draco. He was playing for time, playing for the arrival of Snape, because that was the plan. If it was the Potions Master who killed Dumbledore instead of him it would be forgiven, the man was his godfather after all, but anyone else… His wand hand was shaking badly. "I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages-"

"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?" asked Dumbledore. His voice was light and conversational, but I saw him slip an inch lower down the wall as he said it.

"Yeah, I got the idea from them," replied Draco with a pained smile. "She helped me find the spells. Rosmerta let me know when you'd returned, and we decided to put the Dark Mark over the Tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who'd been killed."

"Well... yes and no..." hedged Dumbledore. "But am I to take it, then, that nobody has been murdered?"

"Someone's dead," admitted Draco and he little color his face normally had left it. _No…_ If my plan to have them here had gotten one of them killed… "One of your people... I don't know who, it was dark... I stepped over the body... I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way..."

"Yes, they do that." Dumbledore smiled faintly.

There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever. It sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where we stood.

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options!" repeated Draco loudly, incredulously. "I'm standing here with a wand - I'm about to kill you-"

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means. You've already confessed that you know Severus is to kill me. You are stalling until he arrives."

"I haven't got any options!" shouted Draco, the tremble having spread from his wand hand to his whole body. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore, though he couldn't possibly know. He hadn't been sitting with Draco for the past few months while he tried not to panic or cry, he had no idea what it had been doing to him. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you."

Draco winced at the sound of the name.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "I left that to her as she trained you in Occlumency. Yes, I know about that. But now at last we can speak plainly to each other... no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victim survived... I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't," moaned Draco brokenly, his wand hand shaking very badly indeed. "Nobody can. He told me to serve in my father's stead or he'll kill me and mum. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco," Dumbledore begged, and I wanted to punch him, because he didn't understand that faith, trust, and pixie dust may be enough for his Gryffindors but not for us, "and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban... when the time comes we can protect him too..." Like any in the Order would seriously protect Lucius Malfoy. They'd receive as little attention as was possible to get away with and I knew it. "Come over to the right side, Draco... you are not a killer..."

Draco stared at Dumbledore. "I got this far, didn't I?" he said slowly. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here... and you're in my power... I'm the one with the wand... you're at my mercy..."

He'd done what he'd been told was impossible, what he'd been striving for a year to do, and it may not have been an outcome he'd desired but he'd managed it and there was pride in that.

"No, Draco," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

Draco's mouth was open but he was silent, still trembling. He licked his lips and whispered, "Where is she? I need to say goodbye." My heart thundered and ached and my magic surged in response, Dumbledore's hold on me stretching, snapping, and I was free, able to move under the cloak.

Suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs and a second later Draco was buffeted out of the way as four people in black robes burst through the door on to the ramparts. It seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

"Well well well." It was a drawling voice that nearly made me black out with rage. Bellatrix Lestrange stood at the head of the pack of Death Eaters, staring at Dumbledore with a wicked little grin, like she'd just found a surprise toy at the bottom of her cracker jack.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle. "Dumbledore cornered!" he cried, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

"Good evening, Amycus," greeted Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party. "And you've brought Alecto too... and Rowle... charming..."

The woman gave an angry little titter. "Think your little jokes'll help you on your death bed, then?" she jeered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," replied Dumbledore.

"Well done Draco," Bellatrix cooed, gliding up to her nephew and pressing herself against his back, her talon-like nails digging into his shoulders. She made a kissing sound. "Auntie's proud."

"Hello, Bellatrix," Dumbledore greeted her. "I'm not surprised you're involved here. You never could turn down a chance to inflict pain, if I recall."

Bellatrix slipped past Draco and pressed her back to the wall of the Astronomy Tower, arching luxuriantly. "Well, mummy couldn't come, so I thought I should come so that I could tell my dear sister all about what her little boy's done. He's bringing honor back to the family!" Her eyes glowed madly.

"Do it," urged the man standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater's robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a rasping bark of a voice. I could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat, and blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails. Fenrir Greyback, it could be no other man, and I wanted to tear him to shreds with a spell for what he'd done to Lupin.

"Go on, Malfoy!" the big, hulking blonde who was, by default, Rowle snapped. "We haven't got all night!"

Moving under the cloak I felt Harry's eyes on me incredulously as I raised my wand, still invisible, and cast silencing spells on my shoes and a Disillusionment Charm on myself. I could not make an entrance from the wall without drawing suspicion from the Death Eaters. They likely knew Harry had an Invisibility Cloak and I needed them to stay away from him.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" asked Dumbledore as I used the cover of conversation to slip slowly toward the door, trying to make it look as though I'd come up the stairs.

"That's right," rasped Greyback. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I cannot say that I am…"

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely. I knew with grim certainty which of them had been responsible for the body Draco had stepped over.

"But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.'"

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual... you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," said Greyback smugly, as though his level of bloodthirstiness was something to aspire to. "Shocks you, that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," replied Dumbledore. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live..."

"I didn't," breathed Draco. He was not looking at Greyback. He did not seem to want to even glance at him. I didn't blame him as I slipped past the man and headed for the door, my spell rendering my footsteps silent. "I didn't know he was going to come-"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out... delicious, delicious…" He raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore…"

Rowle raised his wand at Greyback, a disgusted look on his face.

"No!" Bellatrix shrieked, flying from her position against the wall and pointing her wand at Greyback. "The Dark Lord gave us orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly!"

Draco looked terrified as he stared into Dumbledore's face, which was even paler, and rather lower than usual, as he had slid so far down the rampart wall. Snape wasn't here yet and I needed him to be here, to be the backup, if my plan failed.

"He's not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!" said the lopsided man, to the accompaniment of his sister's wheezing giggles. "Look at him - what's happened to you, then, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus," answered Dumbledore. "Old age, in short... one day, perhaps, it will happen to you... if you are lucky..." His tone made it clear he didn't think he would be.

"What's that mean, then, what's that mean?" yelled the Death Eater, suddenly violent. "Always the same, weren't yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing, I don't even know why the Dark Lord's bothering to kill yeh! Come on, Draco, do it!"

There were renewed sounds of scuffling from below and a voice shouted, "They've blocked the stairs - _Reducto! REDUCTO!"_

That was good then. These five had not eliminated all opposition, but merely broken through the fight to the top of the Tower, and, by the sound of it, created a barrier behind them.

"Now, Draco!" Bellatrix shrieked. "Make up for the failure of your weak-willed father! Prove yourself to our master!" She seemed in raptures at the very idea while Draco's hand was shaking so badly that he could barely aim.

"I'll do it," snarled Greyback, moving towards Dumbledore with his hands outstretched, his teeth bared.

"I said no!" screamed Bellatrix. There was a flash of light and the werewolf was blasted out of the way. He hit the ramparts and staggered, looking furious.

"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us-" yelled Amycus, but at that precise moment the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against the wall, to the four Death Eaters, including the enraged werewolf, and Draco. I nearly sagged in relief.

"Snape, you got through," Rowle greeted.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said the lumpy Amycus, whose eyes and wand were fixed alike upon Dumbledore, "the boy doesn't seem able-"

"Of course he's not," I said coldly, and ended my spell. All heads whipped to face me and Bellatrix and Amycus managed to fire off spells which rattled harmlessly against my shields. I smirked as I stepped out of the doorway.

"How?" demanded Alecto. "How did a little student get through?"

"Oh but that's not any student!" Bellatrix seemed delighted. "That's little Lorena Potter!"

"Bellatrix," I greeted coolly, even while everything in me wanted to go to Draco, who was staring at me with so much hope in his eyes nearly swamped by overwhelming fear. "Last I saw you, you were writhing on the Ministry floor." My face split into a wide smirk. "How've you been?"

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore interjected. "What are you doing here?" The look on his face screamed retribution, but he wouldn't be around long enough to deliver it. My heart was racing and my throat was dry, but I pasted on a smirk, pointedly not looking in the direction of Greyback, who was subtly sliding closer.

"Well, I happened to notice there's some lovely graffiti in the sky so I thought I'd see what was going on." I gestured casually in the direction of the Dark Mark. "Imagine my surprise when I get up here and find out that Malfoy's been assigned to kill you!" I scoffed. "Really? Malfoy?"

Greyback lunged suddenly, thinking that his creeping hadn't been noticed, but it has. Light poured from my wand as I cast a nonverbal spell and ropes lashed around him, tying his ankles together and strapping his arms to his side. I looked at the downed werewolf in disgust.

"Muzzle your dog, guys," I sneered. "He's drooling on the furniture." I shook my head and stepped past Greyback, approaching Draco. I prayed he read my apology in my eyes as I said, "Patrolling the school with you all year and I had no idea you were a filthy little turncoat. Huh. Good for you, maybe you're not just a pretty face."

The sneer looked slightly off on Draco's face, the shape of it almost familiar but slightly off, like a favorite shirt shrunk in the wash.

"It's not like it was hard, Potter. You're not quite as observant as you think."

I scowled at him darkly. "Well, I think it just says that I don't expect a whole lot from you, Malfoy. And it looks like I was right." I looked up at him smugly. "Look who hasn't the stomach for killing!"

"As if you could," Rowle scoffed. I gave him a dirty look.

"Sorry, was anyone speaking to you?"

"Potter," Snape said sharply, and his glare pierced me as I turned to face him. "Leave. Now. This is no place for you."

"Ah ah ah!" Bellatrix wagged her finger like she was speaking to a naughty child. Snape looked grim. "No, the Dark Lord wants the Potter girl! Whatever fondness you have for her, Severus, that's over and done now!"

"Our objective is to end the headmaster, not capture the Potter girl," Snape countered. "She would only make our escape more difficult."

"More fun!" Alecto tittered, and reached for me. I responded with a hiss and from the tip of my wand shot an adder. It lunged at her, fangs bared. She shrieked and Vanished it with a wave of her own wand.

"Keep your hands to yourself, or I'll get nasty." I smirked and cooed, "And here I was going to do you a favor!"

"Ooh, you gonna help us out, girlie?" Amycus scoffed, glaring at me for the assault on his sister while she did the same. "Why shouldn't we just Stun you now and be gone?"

"You need Dumbledore dead, don't you?"

The top of the tower was silent as everyone stared at me in various mixtures of shock, disbelief, and suspicion.

Dumbledore broke the silence. "Miss Potter-"

"Oh _shut up!"_ For the first time ever I allowed every bit of hatred and disdain I felt for the headmaster to flow out, turning my words into daggers. "You think Voldemort's side are the only ones against you? I've hated you from the moment I realized that you've just been playing chess with my brother and I! You think we're just pieces for you to move around, risk when the occasion calls for it, protect when you need to, but we're not! We're people and my brother and I would be better off with you dead! You've got no idea how long and how deeply I've hated you, you doddering old bastard!"

I was screaming and letting more loose than I intended, but it only worked in my favor. Bellatrix seemed entranced, Draco stunned, Snape grimly understanding, and the twins too wary to try anything yet, watching. Greyback, of course, was still bound on the ground, but his thrashing had stopped as he watched.

"You are no murderer, no matter what you may think of yourself, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said, and I felt my blood go cold and my face freeze. "You are no more my assassin than young Malfoy."

I felt curiously absent. Was this what was meant by an out of body experience? I was myself raising my wand, and yet I was also watching from above as it came up, the white wood gleaming in the greenish light. Wood that matched his, wood from the same tree as the wand that had murdered thousands, bathed in so much blood, yet mine had tasted none. I fancied that my wand was curious, that it wished to see what the appeal was to its big brother, and I intended to satisfy it. My soul was already a broken thing. A little more damage wouldn't shatter me.

"You're never yet failed to underestimate me," I whispered hoarsely. "But you never will again."

Snape's deep voice nearly made me stop as the memory of being tied to a chair in his office two years ago flared behind my eyes, the words he'd told me. "Potter, no-"

I was doing this for him, for all the uncountable times he'd been forced to do something he didn't want to by one master if not the other. In many ways, Dumbledore had been as cruel to him as Voldemort, if in a different way. Draco, his soul had been battered this past few years but it was still whole and I would be damned if I was see it broken on Dumbledore's account. This was my prophecy, to guide people to the light while I stood in the shadow. All I was doing was deepening the shadow.

I had blood on my hands, but the people in my heart didn't, and that was the best possible outcome I'd been able to manage for tonight. It would take time, but Harry would be made to see. It was why I'd slowly introduced him to the idea of the course of a year, so that he could digest it in pieces and not be stunned into hatred by the shock of it.

" _Avada Kedavra."_

Bellatrix's advice held true. I meant the words as they rolled heavy from my tongue and I watched with some small amount of awe as, for the last time, the twinkling light faded from Dumbledore's blue eyes as the spell connected. It forced him backwards, over the crenellation, and then he was gone, falling out of view, and it was over, and I was numb.


	108. Interrogation

I had expected more from the act of murder, expected it to hit me like a ton of bricks, expected to feel the shredding of my soul, perhaps even to collapse under the weight of what I'd done. But I felt oddly numb, as if I simply had no reaction. Maybe in spending so much time preparing Harry for this, working out the details of how I would handle it, I had inadvertently accustomed myself to the idea? No, I didn't know for certain how this was supposed to work, but I was certain it wasn't like that.

It occurred to me then that murder – at least one that was planned and, in more than one way, a mercy killing – was not the sort of fit of passion that resulted in bashed-in skulls and countless stab wounds. It was the slow knife that came to you not as a crying fit the next second but as sleepless nights and moments of depression, like many of the tragedies Harry and I had witnessed. Never before had I really considered myself a mediwitch – ironic considering my defense – and yet I felt an odd sort of kinship with the medicwitches of old who would go out into the field of battle and end the suffering of the wounded who couldn't be spare, hiding their abilities in cloaks and darkness but bringing mercy nonetheless.

It seemed as though between one blink and the next I had moved from the center of the tower to the edge and was peering down. Below I could see the faint spread of robes that was Dumbledore's crumpled body, the darkness and the height making details impossible. But certainly he was dead. No one could survive the curse or the fall. And I had done that. Me.

"That was a surprise!" Bellatrix exclaimed, her mad cackle breaking the stillness and she was soon followed by Alecto taking up the ridiculous cheer of,

"Potty killed Dumby! Potty killed Dumby!"

"Potter."

It was Snape's low voice and that was the only reason I turned back around. To anyone else his face was as inscrutable ever, his trademark sneer worn like a veneer, but the eyes showed that he was far from happy with me, but also far from angry. He was grudgingly accepting, if nothing else, and he didn't even seem terribly surprised.

I turned my attention to Draco. His wand was, oddly, still raised. And given that I was standing where Dumbledore had been, it was now pointed at me. His expression was one of shock, pity, anger, love, a hundred things. I'd told him I'd offered to take the job for him but Dumbledore turned me down. He had clearly expected that would be the end of it. The thought almost made me smile. Hadn't I sworn to him more than once that I'd keep him safe? Did he think that meant only shielding him from spells where I could? There was more than one kind of hurt a person could feel, physical being only the most boring of them.

"The Aurors will come for you," Snape commented, and I shook my head. Tired, that was how I felt more than anything else, tired and ready for the nap of a lifetime, but the knife was very far from over yet, because he wasn't wrong on that count, and wouldn't that be a fun conversation to have on top of everything else?

"I figured that, actually. But I'm pretty sure I've got that handled," I replied, and the arrogant confidence settled over my shoulders like a familiar blanket, warm from the fire, and I felt more myself at the reminder that no matter what, this had been my plan and I knew how to proceed from here. Everything was progressing as expected.

"They won't find you if you just come with us!" Amycus laughed. "What do you say, Potty?"

My eyes narrowed. "I say call me that again and I'll seal your lips together."

Bellatrix laughed once more as Amycus snarled. "Take her, Draco!" she hissed, gliding to his side like a dementor, her black skirts sweeping around Draco's ankles as she leaned up to speak in his ear. It was a parody of a loving gesture as she squeezed his arm supportively. "Imagine, Potter turning on Dumbledore! The Dark Lord will forgive your failure in light of this. Bring her to him, and you will be rewarded beyond measure!"

"He wants to see me still, does he?" I asked drily. "That's not going to happen anytime soon."

Bellatrix's habit of laughing at everything I said would have been deeply annoying had she not possessed the insane, sadistic power to back up her quirks. Her wand joined Draco's in pointing at me and I saw Draco glanced fearfully at his aunt's wand then back at me. The expression on his face was one of abject fear, but not for himself, for me. Seeing me at the end of the wand of one of Voldemort's most bloodthirsty must not sit well with him. I personally wasn't thrilled about it either.

"Oh, is it not?" she trilled. "You're surrounded Potter. There's…" she made a point of counting all the Death Eaters off with her wand, loosing Greyback as she went and beamed, "six of us and only one of you."

"I'll rip your heart out!' Greyback roared as he lunged to his feet and threw himself in my direction. He hit a shield charm and bounced off as I surveyed him coldly.

"Do try and remember that you're something like a wizard," I informed him coldly. "You're shaming the rest of us, mutt."

"Big talk, I like it, I like it," Bellatrix cooed, slipping forwards silkily. She stepped between Draco's wand and mind, not at all concerned about any accidents, and he took the opportunity to lower his wand immediately, looking relieved to be able to do so. "But it's sooo misplaced. Come quietly, and maybe we won't hurt you."

I scoffed. "You're a terrible liar, Bellatrix."

"There's nowhere to run."

Ah, but that's where she was wrong. What she didn't know, what no one could have any idea of except a few up here, was that I had one very good way off the tower, one I was even more confident in after falling several stories after blasting out of the lake only hours before. I smiled at Bellatrix placidly and I saw her smile falter ever so slightly. Draco's eyes widened and the little color he'd recovered paled as I gave a small hop backwards, landing in a crouch on the crenellation.

"Potter…" Once again Snape.

Draco's fearful, "Don't!" cut him off.

"You'd think that," I commented to Bellatrix, who was peering at me in disbelief. "You'd be wrong though." I spread my arms wide and fell back.

"No!" a half-dozen voice yelled, but they were whisked away in a roar of wind as gravity dragged me down towards Dumbledore. I was certain there was some poignant metaphor there, being dragged down by natural forces to the body of the man I'd just murdered, but now was the time for focus as my body shifted and bent and reformed. I wouldn't have dared try this from any of the other towers, but the Astronomy Tower was the highest in the entire school and soared into the sky.

With a last burst I was in my phoenix form and with a few thrusts I was flying instead of falling. Relief soared through me – if this hadn't worked I wasn't sure if a Cushioning Charm could save me from that height – and I opened my beak and let out a shrill bugle as I surged back up the side of the tower. Stunned faces of Death Eaters reared back as I shot over the crenellation. They were too stunned to do anything, too shocked to see what I had done, what I was capable of, and I felt immensely powerful as I did a lap of victory around the tower and surged off towards the grounds.

I knew that I had to get back into the school, otherwise Harry would be all alone and I doubted he'd stop himself from fighting with the Death Eaters as they made their escape and let the adults handle it. As I landed by the edge of the Forbidden Forest and returned to my human form I doubled over, panting. Flying was hard work, but more than that I felt bowled over. This was a real battle, a true conflict, and one whose movements I had choreographed. Merlin, what had I been thinking trying to play general, I was only sixteen, I should be huddling in the Common Room with the rest of my house scared of whatever was going on in the halls, not partially responsible for it, when had my life become like this and why, why…

The answer, as always, presented itself easily. Voldemort, that was why, and he was what I was fighting to protect those I loved from. I had a plan, and hyperventilating a scant few feet from the Forbidden Forest was not only not part of the plan, it was stupid to boot. I whipped out my wand and felt better for the thin stick of wood in my hand, plunging my hand into the pack at my hip and pulling out the Marauder's Map. I lit the tip of my wand and jabbed it at the parchment a little more clumsily than intended – I was shaking.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good…" The ink began slowly spreading across the parchment and like it had once before I was infuriated by the slow unfurling. "Damn you all and your drama, the school's under siege! Help me, dad! Help me, Sirius!"

Some time I would sit down with this piece of parchment and puzzle out all the little spells that had been woven into it. Maybe it was as Dumbledore said and their magic had left traces, traces that responded to me. Either way, I gave a sigh of relief as the map was suddenly fully-formed and waiting.

The combatants were easy to track, most dots were clustered around the Common Rooms or lone teachers in their rooms, far from the fighting and as-yet unaware of quite what was going on. I saw Snape, Bellatrix, Malfoy, Greyback, and the twins were surging for the front door and smiled. Good, the Room of Requirement had been blocked. There were other names I recognized, order members. Moody, Kingsley, Tonks, even Lupin and Bill Weasley. I gulped, thinking I'd have to face most of them before the night was over. Harry was sprinting down a secret passageway, trying to catch up with the Death Eaters.

With a lay of the land, I nodded decisively to myself and shoved the map back into the pouch and pulled out my mirror. In an unending stream I rattled off the names of my Basilisks, memorized long ago. I stuttered and barely stopped myself from saying Draco's name. He didn't need to be distracted by my call right now. Like they had been waiting, and they probably had, the faces of my Basilisks appeared in the mirror, swirling and shifting one over the other. You could call more than one person but the more you did the fuzzier each individual face got. From the general background of emerald green drapes I gathered that most of them were shut up in their four-posters and it made me sage with relief.

Nott's nose blended with Sherburne's mouth and Daphne's eyes as the faces shifted and swam. Thankfully, none of them started speaking at once. They waited for me to speak, ad speak I did.

"Death Eaters are in the castle. Dumbledore is dead. It was my doing, I k-killed him. Don't worry though, I have a plan, and so did he. If I don't get a chance to tell you later, then I am so proud of all of you. I should be okay, but if I'm not, keep practicing, keep fighting, keep protecting each other. Stay in your rooms. Stay safe."

It was hardly the most motivational or informative speech, but I couldn't quite help the way the words tripped off my lips, platitudes and facts mixing in a nigh-incoherent dump of information and I used to be better at this, didn't I?

Before any questions that I didn't have time to answer could be asked I shut the mirror and tucked it back into my pocket. Almost immediately I felt it begin to heat as the others tried to call me back, tried to get more information, but I ignored the burning metal in my pocket and took off running, wheezing and clutching a stitch in my side as I headed for Hagrid's hut. He was farthest from the school, would be the most unprepared for what would soon spill out onto the grounds. He was also one of the most defenseless, given the state of his wand.

"Hagrid!" I yelled, beating on the door of his cabin. I wasn't surprised to hear Fang inside whining and could already imagine that the boarhound was trying to worm his massive bulk under Hagrid's bed. Large, yes, but brave, Fang was not.

"L'rena!" Hagrid yanked open the door and stared down at me in concern, light spilling from behind him onto the grounds and making me blink. "What're ye doin' out here? Haven' ye seen-?"

"Yes, yes, I saw the Mark!" I said quickly, and drew my wand, pointing it at Hagrid's house. I began casting protective charms over the house and garden in between explanations. "Death Eaters infiltrated, Snape's got Malfoy and is leaving with them to hold cover as our spy. And Dumbledore…"

"Where's the headmaster?" Hagrid asked, turning his massive, bushy head towards the sky and staring at the Dark Mark overhead, the snake writhing around the skull and casting shifting patterns of green across the grounds. "'s he fightin' 'em?"

"He's dead, Hagrid."

Hagrid's head whipped around and he looked at me in disbelief, his mouth dropping open. Hagrid gave a nervous laugh and said, "Don'… Don' joke. Tha's not funny…"

"It's not a joke, Hagrid," I said wearily. Beyond anything else I just felt tired. "Dumbledore's dead and I killed him."

"No… No ye didn'… yeh'd never…"

"I did!" I spit out harshly. "To save Snape from having to do it, to save him from losing his position as our spy, I did it! But you need to stay inside, Hagrid, with your wand in the state it's in you won't be able to stop them and I don't want you getting hurt. I need to get back to the castle…"

"No, L'rena, wait!"

I didn't wait. I was sprinting off up the grounds towards the front door again, casting a Disillusionment spell as I went. Lights were coming on all over the castle as more and more people woke and began to try and work out just what was going on. I knew people would be streaming from their rooms now and could only hope that my Basilisks would try and marshal the Slytherins and keep them inside, that they themselves would follow my orders.

I reared back at the ear-splitting sound of glass shattering and watched in horror as the windows of the Great Hall, every single one of them stretching more than thirty feet into the air, splintered and fell. Such a concerted break had to be the work of magic and when the sound of glass breaking finally faded into nothing but faint echoes bouncing off the Forest, I could hear the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange cackling and knew precisely who it had been.

A second later the front doors opened up and more light spilling out onto the grounds. Snape and Draco were leading the pack, with Bellatrix and Greyback following and the siblings bringing up the rear. Like it was a beacon, Greyback and Bellatrix split from the pack towards Hagrid's cabin and I could only hope that my protective spells would hold long enough for Snape to corral them and get them off the property.

A dark-haired figure, glasses flashing, sprinted through the open doors and came hurtling towards Snape and Draco, ignoring the siblings. Harry was making straight for them until one of the siblings fired a trip jinx at his back. Harry went down and ate grass and I sprinted in his direction and fired a spell at the woman, now identifiable because she was laughing as Harry dizzily pushed himself to his feet. She was cut off with a yelp as a Sectumsempra caught her across the arm and blood spurted onto the grass. Her brother howled in anger and cast around, but I was invisible.

"Go, make for the gates!" Snape urged, pushing Draco in that direction and turning to face Harry. "You too, Carrows. Go!"

"You did this to her!" Harry yelled furiously as the siblings peeled off, fear of getting caught obviously outweighing their desire to try and find an invisible attacker on the grounds. "It was supposed to be you, but she wanted to protect you-"

"I told her not to-" Snape hissed back.

" _You don't deserve her protection!"_ Harry screamed, voice splitting the air in his rage. My ears rang as I ended the spell and stepped into the light, pacing slowly out of the darkness until I stood between Snape and Harry. I could feel Snape's dark stare prickling my back and in front of me Harry's wide eyes scorched my newly-battered soul.

"Why?" Harry breathed brokenly, his shoulders slumping as he saw me standing in front of the Potions Master. "Why did you do it, Rena? All those things you said…"

"Were true," I replied bluntly. "I did it because I was trying to do what _you_ always do. I was trying to protect the people I _love!"_ I shouted helplessly, because I knew coming from me that would be far from a believable story to most people. Perhaps not even to my own brother. "You know about splintering souls, I couldn't let Draco go through that and I couldn't let Snape suffer any more than he already has!"

Snape's bass voice rumbled from behind me warningly, "Potter-"

" _No!"_ I yelled, whipping around to face Snape now. "I'm _sick_ of everyone acting like you're the villain! I've seen you, I've helped patch you up when you've bled through two bandages already and can't keep your eyes open anymore, or you can't stop shaking from the pain! Any of that I can spare you from, any of it that I can take onto myself, I want to!"

He didn't understand, he never had, that I would sacrifice myself for him as much as he would for me. He was my father, the closest thing I had anyway, despite what any and all logic should dictate. He was the one who'd held me when I'd cried and given me the tough-love speeches that got me through the Tournament and taught me the advanced skills I asked to learn, never once questioning my capabilities. His faith in me was nigh absolute, as was mine in him.

"Lorena, you're going to go to Azkaban," Harry beseeched, and I turned back to my brother. "For him! I'll tell them, I swear I will! I'll tell them it was him and you'll be safe!"

"You do that and I will have done what I did for _nothing_ , Harry!" Now real fear shot through me, because if he did that then the Auror office was far more likely to believe him than me. Moody was only the most present example of the general attitude of the department towards Snape. They thought he was a Death Eater who'd walked free and they hated him for it.

"You'll go to Azkaban!" Harry insisted. "He's not worth it, you saw what that place did to Sirius! I can't let you!"

"It's already done, Harry," I said, and felt a strange sense of calm come over me as I said those words. It was done. The thing the year had been leading up to was done and over and now there was only the Aurors to deal with, and then I could finally sleep. Even if Harry was right, even if I was sent to Azkaban, I knew I could hold onto my sanity for the same reason Sirius had, and I could escape in the same way. The wizarding prison that was the threat the Ministry held over the populace, the fortress of stone and fear, was no threat to me. It was a remarkably soothing thought.

There was a roar and fire bloomed like a rose towards the Forest. Snape swore softly as Bellatrix's cackles once more resonated across the grounds. She and Greyback had gotten through my wards finally.

"Hagrid," Harry murmured nervously, and took a step in that direction.

"Stay back, Potter!" Snape snapped, and the gamekeeper came pelting out of the house with Fang tucked under his arm like a football, roaring with rage.

"Go, sir," I urged, because much as Bellatrix seemed to dislike him she would listen on the grounds of Hogwarts, where he was master. "Get them out of here."

Snape took off running and Harry's face twisted in rage at the sight of Snape's retreating back. He raised his wand and pointed, shouting a spell. I didn't even register what it was before I'd stepped into the path and erected a shield in front of myself. Harry's spell ricocheted off and we found ourselves once again on opposite sides of a duel.

"Are we going to do this again?" I asked him softly. "Because we both know who will win."

Harry looked utterly miserable as he looked at me, like the world had just been yanked out from under him. It had, really, because Dumbledore, his mentor, was gone, and how broken would I be had I just watched Snape die? Perhaps I was closer to the Potions Master than Harry was to the headmaster, but because of that I could at least fathom what he must be feeling. And if Harry had been the one to cast the spell.

Harry shook his head and whispered, "I don't understand you." The fact seemed to destroy him. "I did once, but I don't anymore."

I tilted my head and smiled weakly. "Oh, I think you still do Harry."

"You always protected me when we were children."

"As I did for Snape and Draco tonight."

"You always had a plan."

"I still do."

"You…" Harry's eyes were uncertain as he looked at me. "You love me?"

I smiled, because this was the question that had been weighing on him. Was I on his side or not? I found a tear dripping down my face as I swore, "Always and forever."

Harry lowered his wand at the same instant I lowered mine and I rushed forwards. I slammed myself into his chest and his arms closed around me. We dropped to the ground and I found myself crying once more into my brother's chest. I was the younger twin, that always seemed to surprise people, and for the first time in so very long I felt like I was in the protective arms of my big brother. I felt small but safe, the feeling similar too and yet completely different from the feeling that came when Draco held me.

"What you did was reckless," Harry whispered fiercely as he clutched me tighter, fingers digging into my skin. I laughed weakly.

"That's my line…"

"Now I know why you were always so angry with me when I did something stupid…"

I pulled back from him uncertainly, looking up at Harry's face. It was blank, wiped clean, and I didn't like it. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, couldn't tell if this was all an act or if he genuinely didn't hate me. Then I reminded myself that this wasn't another manipulator I was dealing with. This was Harry, who couldn't hide his emotions if he wore a literal mask, let alone a metaphorical one.

"You don't hate me?" I had to ask it, had to hear the words.

Harry shook his head, though he hesitated when he said, "I don't, but… you scare me, I can't pretend like you don't."

It struck me that on our knees in the dewy grass of the grounds with Hagrid's cabin burning behind us and Death Eaters possibly still here was hardly the best time to have this conversation, but I knew we had to, because if we didn't have it now then it would be impossible to bring ourselves to talk about later when the emotions cooled, or, worse, when they heated. I could hear Harry's fear in his voice and the pain that having that fear caused him. I never had to worry, Harry was so painfully predictable, and yet he was forever worried about what I might end up doing. He couldn't predict me and I couldn't imagine how nervous it would make me if Harry perpetually surprised me, and never in a good way.

"It's actually pretty simple," I mumbled. "I protect the people I love. I'm just willing to go darker to do it." I shook my head and pulled away from Harry fully. He reached for me and I give him my hand to reassure him that this wasn't me pulling back in a bigger way. "Help Hagrid put out is cabin. There's more for me to do here tonight."

Harry hesitated, which didn't surprise me. His eyes roamed over my face and I smiled at him softly. "Don't worry, no more murder."

Harry nodded, and the sound of Hagrid's house burning, the flickering light, something about it seemed to act on him like the trigger to pull him from hypnosis at the same time I was launched into it. Harry's eyes were exactly like mine. I knew it but it struck me then, probably because of how rarely I really looked into them, and how terrible was that?

I pushed myself to my feet as Harry rushed towards the burning cabin and I launched myself into the school. With the Marauder's Map out and another Disillusionment Charm in place over me I made good time through the castle to the apprentice's lab and ducked inside. I placed my bag on the counter and seized another one from where it was waiting, this one filled with legal books that would form the basis of my defense for my actions this evening. On the Marauder's Map I'd seen that Moody and Kingsley were here, two people who were already convinced that I was a criminal. I could only hope that Tonks, who seemed to like me fine, and Lupin would be able to restrain.

It was harder to get to Dumbledore's office, but I managed it. The password hadn't changed from earlier in the evening so it was an easy matter to get the gargoyle to leap aside and ride the stairs up to the upper levels. I watched and waited to arrive by the door and when I arrived, I opened the door and stepped inside.

It was exactly the same, and though it shouldn't have, that very fact stunned me. The silvery instruments were still puffing and whirring and the desk was as scattered with papers as it had been when Harry and I arrived to meet Dumbledore. Fawkes's perch was empty, but somehow that didn't surprise me at all. That was the only change, and somehow it was significant enough that it seemed to cast a pall over the entire place. It went all at once from exactly the same to completely different.

The portraits were awake and they stared down at me questioningly. They called questions, asked what was going on, but I ignored them. I didn't have time for the dead, I dealt in that enough tonight and didn't need more. I had to tend to myself now, and that was what drove me to walk towards the cabinet where Dumbledore kept his Penseive. I opened the door and pulled it out. The basin was empty, and though it shouldn't have been by all laws of physics it was easy to slide the whole thing into my pouch and shut the door behind me. Several of the portraits called out in annoyance, thinking that I was stealing, but I fully intended to bring it back. I ignored them and left the headmaster's office, emerging back into the corridor and checking the Marauder's Map. My fingers trailed over it softly, fondly.

"Thanks dad, Sirius, for helping me out earlier," I whispered to the paper. Most everyone was gathered in the Hospital Wing. "Mischief managed."

The map wiped itself and was folded up and tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. I had to go to the Hospital Wing, where McGonagall and the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, Remus and Tonks, Moody and Kingsley, Pomfrey and Hagrid all were. It made me want to just go, just run from the school as Draco had to avoid facing them all, but I also knew that I had to get this nipped in the bud now, or it would hang over me forever.

I felt like I was going to the gallows as I walked down the halls towards the Hospital Wing. The castle was oddly quiet considering how bright it was. Normally this late the torches would be dimmed but the activity in the halls made them flare up. It was like day, and the lack of people in the corridors made the place feel oddly abandoned as I walked.

The heavy doors of the Hospital Wing were shut when I approached, which didn't surprise me. I pushed them open and stepped inside, wand raised and ready to defend myself, but no one turned when I entered. Moody and Kingsley were in deep conversation, as were Remus and Tonks off to the side. Harry and Hermione stood with the Weasleys. Fleur was bent over whoever was confined to the bed, rubbing ointment on them and my heart dropped. That had to be Bill, the one who Malfoy thought was dead, but at least he was still alive. There had been no deaths on our side… besides the necessary.

McGonagall and Pomfrey were in tense conversation, Pomfrey keeping half an eye on Fleur's tender ministrations to make sure she didn't do anything wrong, but otherwise stayed out of it. I pressed myself wordlessly into the knot of Weasleys, appearing at Harry's shoulder. He glanced sideways at me, but that was his only acknowledgement.

"Pomona has the children well in hand," McGonagall was murmuring to Pomfrey. "They don't know any solid details about what happened yet. Filius is recovering, he says he'll be fine. Horace has informed the Ministry, and, given the situation, Alastor has been put in charge of the investigation."

"L'rena!" Hagrid had finally noticed me, had drawn all eyes to me. His beetle-black eyes were wide as he beheld me. Clearly on the walk up here he'd seen the body, he knew Dumbledore really was dead, that it wasn't some crass joke.

"Hello Hagrid," I greeted calmly. "Are you and Fang alright?"

Hagrid didn't quite seem to know how to talk to me, how to look at me. It occurred to me suddenly that Snape, the authority figure I'd always had on my side, was no longer in the castle and likely wouldn't ever be again. I had no figure of power backing me up.

"All fine," he replied slowly. "But yeh… L'rena yeh didn'… tell me it wasn' you."

"Wasn't her what?" That was Moody, his growl of a voice pulling attention as he stumped over to me, his gnarled staff hitting the ground with ominous thuds every other step, his false leg squeaking slightly. It needed tending, but his attention was fully on me, and so was Kingsley's.

"S-She said…" Hagrid faltered and glanced at me. "Don' wan' ter get her in trouble. Couldn'a been…"

"It was." It was Harry at my side, speaking throatily, his voice hoarse, but he was looking at me and meeting my eyes firmly. There was meaning there. He was doing what I'd asked, he was placing the blame at my feet instead of Snape's. I could read his expression. He was praying I knew what I was doing. "She's the one who killed Dumbledore."

"Harry." Remus's eyes were wide, his voice shaky. "What a thing to say…"

"It's true," I said calmly, sliding my wand up my sleeve. I could feel the stares, the disappointment, the rage, the confusion, the hatred. I ignored them though, stood firm, passed my wand over to Harry pointedly. Moody's eyes tracked the movement and then snapped back to me, electric blue slowing from its usual whiz and for once looking in the same direction as his normal eye.

"How'd you do it, then, girl?" Moody asked darkly, and I scoffed.

"What kind of question is that? Avada Kedavra, of course."

Hermione gave a low moan and sagged. Ron caught her, looking enraged as he stared at me. Remus might have just been physically punched and Tonks's hair had gone a flat brown in shock, hanging limply around her face. Mrs. Weasley looked like she might pass out.

"That's good enough for me, then," Moody rumbled, and raised his wand. "Lorena Lily Potter, you are under arrest for the-"

"Forgive me, but no I'm not," I snapped. "So you can put your wand down. I was well within the law, killing the headmaster."

"How do you figure that?" Kingsley demanded harshly. "You have killed the greatest wizard in the last century and you think it was legal?"

"I'll be happy to sit down and conduct an interview with the pair of you, Tonks too if you like," I replied calmly. "But you will listen to what I have to say, or it'll get very embarrassing when you two try and put me on trial."

"Fine," Moody agreed, his eye narrowing. "I'd love to see you try and talk your way out of this one, Potter."

"Y-You…" McGonagall's voice was faint. She was staring at me like she'd never seen me before. "You may use my office, Alastor."

"Good," Kingsley said, and grabbed my arm roughly. I frowned and resisted the urge to wrench myself free.

"Harry, Remus, come on," I ordered, and Kingsley shook his head.

"You'll be doing this alone, Potter, we're not giving you the witnesses you want…"

"Yes, you are, because that's exactly what Harry is, the only witness to what happened up on the Astronomy Tower."

"I'm coming," Harry said quickly. "Lorena's right, she… she didn't do anything wrong." He sounded uncertain, but the fact that he was supporting me made everyone's shock turn to him instead of me.

"Harry!" Ron protested harshly. "She murdered him in cold blood!"

"No, there's… there's more to it," Harry insisted, shaking his head. He looked up at me. "There always is, with her."

"Fine, you can come, Harry," Kingsley relented. "But not Remus."

"Clingenpeel Clause for Interviewing Minors!" I snapped. "If, in the case of the underaged wizard being interviewed, the parents or legal guardians are Muggles and therefore not qualified to represent their ward's interests in magical legal proceedings, a suitable magical guardian may be temporarily appointed, preferably one with a close relationship to the minor in question or a knowledge of magical law. I think we can all safely- say that Remus Lupin fits that to a T."

Kingsley looked at me incredulously, then over to Tonks, and then to Moody, who growled.

"Damn her, she's right. Come on, Lupin, you're officially her legal guardian for the proceedings."

Lupin looked like he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, but nonetheless he fell into step with us as we walked from the Hospital Wing and down the hall towards McGonagall's office. Myself, my witness, my representative, and two Aurors who didn't like me. Joy. The night was still not over.

It was strange to be in McGonagall's office again. I hadn't been in there for anything since the Katie Bell incident, and before that it was my last Animagus lesson. The office hadn't changed much but I'd never felt less welcome in the place. Kingsley sat me down forcibly in the chair in front of McGonagall's desk as Moody limped over and set himself down in the professor's chair. Kingsley flanked him like a sentry. I heard a mumbled spell behind me and heard Remus and Harry sit themselves in chairs that the latter had conjured for them.

"Go on, Potter," Moody asked nastily, waiting for me to hang myself clearly. "Tell us how murder is miraculously legal, now."

"Because it wasn't murder," I informed him bluntly. "It was a mercy killing. Assisted suicide. And that, while not entirely accepted anymore, is still legal," I said confidently. The hours and hours I'd spent in the Library researching magical law had been clear on this fact. Or, relatively so. It hadn't been much of an issue since the Middle Ages, when dragon pox was a long and painful death sentence for many who just wanted an easy way out or irreparable damage could be sustained in the then-legal practice of dueling to settle disputes.

"You're telling us Dumbledore wanted to die?" Kingsley demanded angrily. "He was the leader of the Order, he didn't-"

"He did, and if you'll let me explain without interruption…" I snarled back. I felt a hand on my arm and looked around. Lupin was grim-faced but determined, his hand resting there chidingly. I bit my lip and scowled, turning back to the Aurors. "I know the pair of you aren't overly fond of me but if you will let me explain you'll see that I can't be charged with anything."

"Go on, then," Moody urged drily. "Tell us about how Albus was apparently suicidal."

"You're not stupid, neither of you, you've noticed the curse on his right hand," I began, and they both nodded. "What you might not know is that it's called the Living Mummy. There is no cure, no surviving it. Snape managed to slow it with potions, but within the next few months the pain would have been to the point where Pain-Relief wouldn't touch it."

"I've heard of it," Remus offered, and the Aurors looked to him for an explanation. "What the spell does is slowly suck the moisture from the body, killing the tissue, until the person is quite literally a living mummy. The muscles atrophy to the point where movement is impossible, then the organs fail. Heart attack or suffocation usually wind up killing the victims in the end."

I nodded in agreement. "Dumbledore knew what he was facing and he wanted out before he reached that point. Wouldn't you?"

"So he asked you to be the one to end it?" Moody asked skeptically.

"No," I replied calmly. "Who was supposed to kill him actually depends on who you ask. According to Voldemort, it was supposed to be Draco Malfoy."

Kingsley's eyes widened in surprise. "The Malfoy boy?"

"He was the one who cornered us when we arrived on the Astronomy Tower," Harry jumped in, leaning forwards insistently. I glanced at him and saw him already looking at me. He nodded to me firmly, jaw strong, and continued, "We heard him talking. Voldemort gave him the job to make up for Lucius Malfoy failing to get the prophecy last year at the Ministry and getting himself locked up."

I picked the story back up. "Snape knew this. He told Dumbledore. To prevent Draco Malfoy from becoming a murderer and to guarantee a clean, relatively painless end, Dumbledore asked Snape to do it. It would solidify his standing in the Death Eaters and put an end to the people who would have doubted his loyalty. On top of that, Snape is Malfoy's godfather. Narcissa Malfoy came to him and had him make an Unbreakable Vow to take care of Malfoy's mission should he fail. Which, frankly, I think we all know that he was expected to."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent a child to kill his greatest enemy?" Kingsley paraphrased, looking down his nose.

"That would be my brother, and no," I replied shortly. "He sent a child to be killed trying to kill his opposite number to punished that child's parents for their failures. Does that sound more in line with his motivations?"

"That still doesn't explain why you killed the headmaster," Moody countered.

"You may not have noticed, but I'm actually rather fond of Severus Snape. During the course of my lessons with Dumbledore this year I became aware that he was dying and overheard enough that he planned for Snape to be the one to kill him. I wanted to spare Snape from having to do that, both for the moral dilemma it would cause as to prevent us from losing our spy among the Death Eaters." I glared at Moody as he scoffed. "So I took it upon myself to perform this task."

"You still haven't explained how your use of Avada Kedavra to kill a man wasn't illegal," Kingsley reminded me coolly.

"Savior Statute, instituted in 1563," I retorted. "I'll skip the flowery language, but it boils down to the fact that a mediwitch may assist in the suicide of a witch or wizard injured in a battle or duel. Would you not agree that we're at war and Dumbledore's actions that resulted in him getting the Living Mummy qualify as war-time injury?"

"You're not a mediwitch!" Kingsley snapped.

I smirked. "Edelbert's Exception. A mediwitch-in-training may assist in the suicide in extenuating circumstances, so long as they use one of the spells approved in the 1534 study on magical methods of suicide. I felt the circumstances were extenuating, and Avada Kedavra is on that list. So, I'll say it again, I've done nothing illegal."

The room rang with silence. Kingsley seemed stunned by the confidence in my voice even if he clearly wasn't entirely aware of all the laws I'd just rattled off. Moody looked grim, like he had some idea that I had won. Remus was clenching the arms of his chair next to me, clearly waiting for the verdict to be passed.

"I heard it from Dumbledore himself," Harry spoke up. "Lorena told me about the plans involving Snape and Malfoy over Christmas and when we got back to school I asked him. It's true. He knew about Malfoy's mission from Snape and he wanted Snape to be the one to end it. I looked up some things about the curse after she told me what it was." Harry looked haunted and I knew what he must have found. Accounts of humans withering away to husks, the pain of living mummification, and the havoc such a process wrought on the body. "I don't blame him for wanting a way out."

"We've no proof that any of this happened aside from your word and your brother's," Moody replied. "And, no offense boy, but testifying to support your sister won't entirely convince us."

"I can down Veritaserum if you like," I offered. "Or you can look at my memories." I reached into the pouch at my waistand Kingsley's wand snapped up. I gave him a disparaging look as I dug through the contents of the pouch. I pulled out the three books that backed up my claim, all marked with bits of red string. I laid them out on McGonagall's desk and opened them to the correct pages, pointing firmly. "Those are my sources, if you're curious," I commented, before reaching into the pouch once more. I pulled out the Penseive and I heard Lupin inhale softly beside me. "But I think the memories would be more convincing. Unless you think that a sixth-year student has the capabilities to manipulate their memories so flawlessly that trained Aurors wouldn't be able to tell the difference?" I challenged.

Moody's eyes narrowed, and, Gryffindor that he was, he rose to the bait. I reached towards Harry and he obligingly handed over my wand. Again Kingsley tensed, but all I did was raise my wand to my temple and pull away a string of glowing, silvery memory, depositing it into the Penseive. It did this several times, creating a carefully-curated mix of memories. When it was done and there was a swirling pool of memories in the Penseive, Moody leaned forward and lowered his face into the bowl.

I knew what he would see. A conversation with Snape about the ramifications of his position as our spy if he should do this and how that might affect the outcome of the war. The conversation I had with Dumbledore where I offered the advice on increasing circulation to receive pain. His praise for the idea while we stood over the contents of the pouches I'd made for the Order, reminding Moody that they owed me for that as well. Finally, Draco's scared face on top of the Astronomy Tower and Snape stepping up to do the deed before I did. All of it carefully avoided the fact that Dumbledore didn't want me to be the one to end it.

When Moody raised his head he looked angry and I knew he was starting to realize that I was right, that he couldn't legally charge me with anything, that I'd covered all my bases as I always did. I smirked as he beckoned to Harry. "Come on now, Potter, your side of things."

Harry looked at me uncertainly, but I nodded in approval. Harry brought his wand up to his temple warily and began to remove a memory as I replaced my own inside of my head, the feel uncomfortably like a mix of having brain freeze and a tiny vacuum sucking at the edges of my brain. Moody lowered his face into Harry's memories and I sat back in my chair, confident in the knowledge that everything Harry gave him would have backed up my story. He was on my side, he wouldn't throw me under the bus, not now that he'd already spoken up in my defense.

When Moody lifted his head from Harry's memories, the look on his face spoke volumes. "Damn her, she's right," he said angrily, and Kingsley looked at him in disbelief.

"What? This whole convoluted thing is true?"

"Every word," Moody said, his glared fixed firmly on me. I felt more than heard Harry let out a sigh of relief at my side. "That's two life-sentences you've escaped now, girl. I don't think you'll manage a third."

I smirked. "We'll see, Moody. And seeing as I'm free to go, I'd like to get some sleep some time tonight."

I stood up and left the room with Harry and Remus on my heels, leaving Moody and Kingsley helpless in McGonagall's office. Lupin caught my upper arm and spun me around.

"I can't pretend that I support or approve of what you've done here tonight," he said darkly, his expression fierce, but then it slackened and he pulled me into a hug. "But I am relieved to know that I won't be losing someone else to Azkaban."

"I'm not happy about it either," I admitted, clutching Remus back tightly. I met Harry's eyes over his shoulder and nodded to him, mouthing, "Thank you." He nodded back and smiled weakly. I could tell that it wasn't sitting well with Harry that he'd protected me. Dumbledore hadn't wanted me to do the deed, but Harry couldn't deny that I'd done what I did for the right reasons, and that meant something to him, that I knew what the right reasons were. "But I did what I had to do."

"I only wish you didn't have to do these things." Lupin released me but for a hand on my shoulder, turning so that he could look sorrowfully between Harry and I. "Either of you. You're so young…" He faltered. "But then, so were we when we decided that we were going to fight." He smiled wearily. "I suppose I should be pleased you're both following in our footsteps, but I'm just worried."

I couldn't help but think that this was about as far as it was possible to be from the footsteps of James and Lily Potter and what they would have wanted for me, but I also knew that I wasn't ashamed of what I'd done. And, perhaps even better, Harry didn't hate me for it. I was honestly shocked but I supposed Harry knew as well as I did that he couldn't judge me. Back in the Ministry he'd tried to lob an Unforgiveable at Bellatrix in his hatred and desire for revenge, and he wasn't ashamed of it. Sometimes, the situation was hard and you had to be hard as well. Harry was as aware as anyone else that I was more comfortable with that than he was.

I looked up at Remus and smiled wryly. "I'm fairly certain you're supposed to be, Uncle Moony."

* * *

 **PLEASE READ:**

 **So I know it's a little random, Lorena pulling out law books and going full public defender for herself, but I debated whether or not to leave clues throughout the story as to the kind of research she was doing to get herself off and decided in the end not to. You guys were having a lot of fun guessing what would happen after the Dumbledeath and I didn't want to hand out any spoilers and ruin the surprise. And this will actually come up again and have some bearing later on in the story, so there's that.**

 **And I know some of you may have an issue with Harry forgiving her but here's how I see it - Lorena took great care to make sure Harry was aware Dumbledore was going to die. Harry's had since Christmas to get used to the idea. I'm not saying it's not a shock, but he's not completely vengeance-stricken and incapable of seeing straight he's so mad. the real shock here for him is not that Dumbledore's dead but that Lorena did it. And she knows her brother - she's framed it as protecting her loved ones when she explained it to Harry and that's something he can understand. Don't forget, Harry's done some nasty things too and he has his own dark side, it's just that his is... I won't say tamer but less recognized? In the books, Harry actually tries to use Crucio 3+ times. He doesn't try to kill to eliminate a threat, he tries to cause pain, and I think a lot of people forget that Harry's a little bit of a darker character than we usually give him credit for.**


	109. Funerals and Packing

The Malfoy library was once again the site of Lord Vodemort's court. Those who had been snt to Hogwarts that night filled the room before him. Greyback huddled in the corner, his heavy panting making it wound as though there was a dog in the room. He loathed having to deal with a beast like that, and yet Greyback's bloodlust had its uses. The Carrows were devout followers who were eager to cause as much pain as they possibly could. Like many, however, they couldn't take what they gave and so they too lingered in the shadowy edges of the room. The Malfoy boy stood at the edge of the warm glow, looking as if he wasn't quite sure if he belonged there or not. This amused him. He had watched three generations of Malfoy elitists play lord of the manor, and it burned every last one of them to be reminded of what true power was.

The only two who dared to stand confidently in front of him were Snape and Bellatrix, his most trusted and his most loyal – not the same thing.

"Tell me," he hissed, one hand draping from the arm of the chair before the fire to reach down to the massive snake curled beside the chair. Nagini arched and hissed her satisfaction as his fingers trailed across smooth, cool scales. "Does our enemy yet live?"

He already had the answer to this question. It was written on the wide, manic smile that Bellatrix wore from the moment she'd crossed into the library.

"He is dead, my Lord!" she said rapturously. "And not only killed, but his body toppled from the Astronomy Tower! It was glorious."

He smiled calmly, yet inside he rejoiced. The Order of the Phoenix was more of a thorn in his side than he had expected, but Dumbledore was the reason for that. Without their beloved, wizened, and wise leader they were nothing but a floundering mess of an organization. This was why a group of Gryffindors were not the ideal choice for a secret organization. They could fight the battles, certainly, but they hadn't the subtlety or cunning for the thinking that was required for movements off the battlefield. Dumbledore was the force that guided him, the lynchpin holding them together, and with him gone all he had to do was watch them fall to pieces.

They would try to continue the fight, of course. Some might even prove to be actual threats. Alastor Moody, for example, had proven in the last war that he was a force to be reckoned with and brought many of his loyal kicking and screaming into Azkaban. The Weasleys might be a problem for sheer volume of the red-haired blood traitors, but intelligence was not the characteristic they were known for. Truly the only threat left, the only definitive, proven threat, was Potter himself, and he was confident on that score. Circumstances and chance, interference and mechinations by older adults, that was what had saved the boy from him in the past, that and perhaps his own underestimating of the boy. Potter was powerful, truly, but still just a child, without the decades of experience that he had.

"I see." He nodded and his hand rose from the snake, stretching towards the Malfoy boy. "Come forwards Draco." The boy was paler than normal as he cautiously ventured closer to Voldemort in his chair, stepping between his aunt and godfather.

"I confess myself… surprised," he murmured as the boy knelt before him. "When I set you this mission, I did not expect much of you. And yet you have managed every task I set before you."

The boy flinched and Bellatrix gave a harsh, "Ha!" He looked up at his lieutenant.

"Something you wish to say, Bellatrix?" he asked.

"My Lord," she sniveled, and crept closer to him. "Draco cornered the headmaster on the tower, it's true, but he hadn't the stomach to finish him. He _faltered_ , he _flagged,_ he _failed!"_ she spit out, and the boy seemed to shrink under each recrimination.

He tilted his head and considered this. When he gave the assignment to the Malfoy boy he had fully expected him to do something foolish and get himself arrested or killed. The Malfoys, while slippery and cunning, were also prideful and prone to overplaying their hands. They were used to success at the hands of their name or their money or their connections, and when things required real, hands on work… they tended to overestimate their abilities. They'd had everything handed to them on silver platters. How could they understand a work ethic in the way one such as he did, when he had to crawl and scrape for every scrap of power he had accumulated. Raw potential and intelligence could only take one so far if they weren't willing to put in the work, and he had been.

That the boy had managed to get his Death Eaters into the school was, in itself, a minor miracle. While of course one such as he could have broken down the wards it would have taken time, planning, research, all things he couldn't yet devote himself to. Hogwarts was key, but ultimately secondary to the Ministry. Yet with as many people as his followers had managed to worm into the Ministry ranks and the success of the mission, he was now perfectly-poised to place anyone he chose in the position of headmaster and run the school from the shadows. He fancied himself as something like the Wizard of Oz, controlling the little people from behind a curtain. Only, in his case, the title of wizard was more than just an affectation.

"We must give Draco credit for the job he did complete, however," he said slowly, and the boy's shoulders tensed, clearly waiting for some sort of punishment. It amused him, and he was so pleased with the results of the night that he found himself not even desiring to punish the boy. There was no need. Simple fear of him would keep the boy in line for decades to come. "Some things take time, and he did deliver my Death Eaters into the school, which no one else had yet managed. Well done, Draco."

"Thank you, my Lord," the boy demurred.

"And thank you, Severus, for upholding your vow to Narcissa and taking over this task when the young Malfoy failed," he continued calmly, and the boy's head snapped up in shock before quickly returning to staring at the carpet. His attention was locked on the sallow face of his most trusted and he noticed that while Snape's face didn't betray anything, the slight tensing of his posture showed his surprise. He laughed coldly as the boy scuttled back from him.

"Did you think that I didn't know? Mrs. Malfoy made no secret to me of her fear for her son's safety. Who else would she go to to ensure it than you?"

Snape licked his lips and shook his head. "There was no deception on my part, my Lord. Whether it was at my hands or Draco's the job would still have been accomplished, the results as you desired. But as it happens…" he paused, as he was prone to, in a moment of silence, "it was neither myself nor Draco who killed Albus Dumbledore."

This was a genuine surprise to him. "Who, then?" he demanded, fingers curling and nails digging into the covering of his preferred armchair. "Who is it, who has done me this great service? Greyback?" he asked coldly. "Do I have you to thank for this? I hardly thought you have the power, yet hurling a man from the ramparts does have a scent of brutality to it."

"No, my Lord," the werewolf grunted, sounding as though human speech strained his voice. Greyback's voice was one that would be more comfortable in a growl. It made his skin crawl. Monster they may call him, but even he was disgusted by the vermin lurking the corner. Yet even beasts had uses. "It wasn't me."

"Who?" The word left him like the lash of a whip and those outside of the light reacted as if they had been struck. There was no one else at the school who would do such a thing. He had no other followers amongst the ranks of students or staff. Certainly a student with one too many detentions might hold a grudge but the headmaster was not a man to be trifled with. Albus Dumbledore was the only one whose personal magical power had ever presented any kind of threat to him. No mere student, or even a teacher, could hope to successfully take him out.

"Lorena Potter."

The moment the words left Snape's mouth he felt he should have known. While possessing her had been pain the likes of which he had never felt before, he had still managed it and he as privy to the thoughts in her head. She loathed and respected Dumbledore in equal measure. She hated his manipulative string-pulling behind the guise of a doddering old man as much as he had when he was in school, yet she was not so foolish as to allow her hatred to blind her to the man's virtues. He recalled the feeling he had in school, that Dumbledore watched him like a hawk and simply bided his time, waiting for him to mess up, to slip, to say or do the wrong thing. It was like being the bug under the glass, the experiment. He had loathed it with a passion and he couldn't see the girl feeling any other way.

Yet this presented an interesting thought. He had assumed that the loyalty the girl had to her brother would make recruiting her something of a nightmare. Imperio, of course, would always simplify things, but it felt rather like cheating. His plan to rule had been decades in the making. Patience was not something he lacked, not when it brought better, stronger results. However if the girl was willing to raise her wand and kill a man – something that even Malfoy, who bore his mark, couldn't manage – then perhaps she was not so far beyond his reach as he had imagined.

She had earned his respect in a way, the Potter girl. She had many of the traits he valued in himself, thought her awareness of their similarities, the fact that those similarities meant that she understood him in more personal ways, unnerved him deeply. To murder Albus Dumbledore was no mean feat, and it spoke volumes of her personal power.

His original plan had been to keep her safely locked away in a glass case, bringing her out to polish and brag about when the urge struck him. And yet perhaps that was a waste of potential. All of his followers had their uses, from those many who were there for the sake of brutality or power to those who had real, true gifts. Severus had a mind nearly as clever and twisting as his and the man's abilities with a cauldron were not without use. The Malfoys supplied what they had always supplied: connections and money. Bellatrix was a rare sort of insane that made her absolutely perfect at gathering intelligence and torture, the latter almost always being the cause of the former. She had garnered a reputation for a particularly sharp sadism even before she left school and that sort of maliciousness wouldn't be taught, it was engrained into a person from birth.

What, then, was Lorena Potter's purpose to be? To sit on his shelf and look pretty? No, not for one such as she. He had intended for the school to be the way he raised magical children into the new world order, and yet she was already beyond that place, she'd proven on more than one occasion that her skills had passed what simple standardized tests measured, just as he had. How might he have benefited from a brilliant teacher devoting all of their attention to him? How might she?

It was a lovely picture in his mind of having the girl as not a broken shell of herself kneeling at his feet as he had always imagined but standing tall and proud, wand raised. To have her want to be there, not resigned to it. When inside of her he had seen one more similarity between them – the desire for power and the gratefulness for it. Hogwarts had given him power, the teachers being merely extensions of the school and, ultimately, hadn't taught him anything he couldn't have learned on his own. In many cases their structured lessons had held him back. Lorena Potter would be eternally grateful to the one who paid attention to her and not her brother, the one who gave her the power she so craved.

He might be able to make her into the perfect blend of the two standing in front of him. Bellatrix's penchant for mind games was something the girl could clearly play well, as evidenced by what he had heard from Parkinson. And her brilliance matched Severus, her skill with a cauldron might one day meet or even exceed him. She would be the perfect candidate. He, after all, could not be expected to personally police the entirety of the wizarding world. Britain was only the start. Beyond that he would need envoys, messengers, people he could trust. The idea of having her be one of them, of having her mete out his justice and act on his orders, was entirely too delicious to pass up.

"Show me," he ordered, and Severus stepped forwards and met his eyes, offering the memory.

* * *

It was so late it was early and on any other occasion I wouldn't have dared to call my Basilisks out of bed to join me in the Chamber so late, but in this case the castle was in such an uproar and the teachers were so busy that they had more important things to worry about that catching the few students in my snake pit who couldn't yet manage a Disillusionment charm, had they even seen them. They were al gathered in front of me with fear on their faces, questions in their eyes, and yet none of them said anything.

I was exhausted. I had yet to manage any sleep and I doubted I would get much of the stuff tonight anyway. My plan when I was done here was to collapse onto my cot, down a dose of Dreamless Sleep, and sleep as hard as I could until breakfast. For now I swayed where I stood and struggled to keep my eyelids open. They burned and itched with the desire to lower and I quickly straightened, realizing I'd somehow managed to fall asleep in a blink when my knee gave under me.

"Merlin, Potter," Daphne huffed, and she reminded me alarmingly of Molly Weasley as she bustled forward and conjured a chair behind me. "Sit down before you fall down!"

I collapsed gratefully into the chair. It was a painful, wood-backed thing, which was probably good because if it weren't I might have passed out right then.

"In the morning," I began, and my voice was a rasp. I winced and cleared my throat before starting again, stronger. "In the morning you'll start hearing the news. I'd like to tell you the truth of what happened last night, or as much of it as I can, before it gets lost in newspaper articles and hearsay. And you all can make your own decisions after that. If you want to walk away… I won't blame you."

"Stop being dramatic and tell us," Blaise said shortly, surprisingly serious. Then again I wagered not even the Weasley twins could have managed their usual jocularity tonight.

"My brother and I left the school with Dumbledore early last evening. Where we went and what we did, I wasn't tell you. Only that it was something going towards ending this war and Voldemort himself. But the ordeal weakened Dumbledore immensely. When we arrived back to Hogsmeade, the Dark Mark was over the Astronomy Tower. We mounted brooms and flew back, where we were promptly greeted by Death Eaters."

"Was Greyback really here?" Fairclough asked, his voice strained, and I looked at him sideways in surprise. Understanding washed over me as I saw the fear in his eyes. I wondered if Greyback had bit a friend of his, or worse. Depending on what your opinion of 'worse' was.

"Yes, he was," I muttered. "And so was Lestrange. Two siblings as well, the Carrows. They were all up there, along with Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy."

Angry murmurs spread through the ranks and I winced as I heard them began to spit vitriol about the pair of them, cursing Snape for not being more like us, Draco for being taken in. Wondering how they could have missed the signs. I cringed under the verbal onslaught and felt the eyes of my year mates on me. They doubtlessly knew there was something more going on, but they said nothing.

"There was a fight," Molly piped up, and I nodded.

"Dumbledore was wary something would happen while he was gone, so he arranged for members of the Order to be on the grounds just in case."

"Bloody good thing he did," Sherburne mumbled, and several people nodded in agreement.

"The fact is that even before the events of the night weakened him, Dumbledore's health was failing. He would have been dead within the year. So when Voldemort assigned Draco Malfoy the task of killing him… Dumbledore was going to let him."

"That traitor!" Sherburne yelled, looking furious, his face red. "After everything you've done for him and then he goes and tries to kill the headmaster-"

"Would you do any different?" My voice was like a whip and silence instantly fell. "If Voldemort came and told you that either you killed a man or he killed you and your family, you're telling me that you would choose morals over those you love?" I looked at him knowingly. Sherburne's eyes lowered to the ground uncertainly and I nodded in satisfaction before softening. "Don't judge him too harshly, that's all I'm saying.

"But as it happens it wasn't Draco who killed Dumbledore. IT was me," I explained. "He had already arranged for his death and legally, because I was training with Madam Pomfrey, I could perform an assisted suicide."

"By throwing him off the tower?" Chastity asked warily. I winced.

"Ah, that was more an issue of unfortunate location but… he was dead before he hit the ground." I shook my head. "The point is that nothing of what happened last night is as it seems. You will probably hear that I murdered Dumbledore in cold blood. You may feel compelled to defend me. Don't. Be Slytherins," I stressed. "Play it smart. Act as though you approve of Snape and Draco's actions. Be who you are expected to be, and you should stay safe."

"If you're trying to keep us safe, then why tell us at all?" Dominic asked uncertainly. "Why not just let us think what everyone wants us to think?"

I sighed and rubbed my temple wearily. Merlin, what I wouldn't give to go to bed right now. "Many reasons. Some practical, some selfish. The truth if while I fully recognize some of you may not feel comfortably following a killer, I also don't feel comfortable not giving you all the facts and letting you make your own decisions. I'm telling you because the Order of the Phoenix has just lost its leader and we may not be them but we need to be united here.

"And, the main reason," I sat up straighter, tried not to act concerned as I finished, "I won't be here next year."

The uproar was exactly what I'd expected and I just sat quietly, waiting for my snakes to quiet. They did finally and Nott, ever the voice of calm, stepped out of the group and simply asked, "Why?"

"The obvious reasons, that the school will no longer be safe for my brother and I after whoever replaces Dumbledore is assigned. Likely, it will be a puppet of Voldemort's. But there is something we need to do, something that will help in this war, and it can't be done here."

"We'll help," Emilia offered, but I was shaking my head before she'd even gotten the first word out.

"Normally I wouldn't tell you what you can't and can't do but in this case it is too dangerous. You're better off learning your lessons and doing what you can to better yourselves here. What we're going to do can't be done by a small army."

"You say 'we,'" Daphne noted. "Who is this 'we?'"

"My brother and I," I clarified. "and knowing them, likely Granger and Weasley will tag along. Which should be fun," I muttered irritably, and my eyelids fluttered again, drooping low. I was fairly certain I'd actually fallen into a doze for a few seconds when I opened my eyes again and saw my Basilisks in front of me.

"She needs rest!" Daphne proclaimed, clapping her hands together twice with all the grace and dignity of a royal dismissing retainer. "And we need to get back to bed before the sun comes up. Everyone out, we've heard all we need to. Right?" She looked to me questioningly, and I nodded.

Dominic had his arm wrapped around Molly's shoulders, Sherburne and Fairclough with their heads pressed together and whispering. Chastity and Emilia, bless their hearts, they were only in their second year, this was so much for them to be dealing with and I wished to god they didn't have to, but tyrants tended not to ask those they wanted to rule if they were old enough to deal with the world's problems.

When I looked up only Daphne, Nott, and Blaise remained. I smiled at them weakly.

"You're not even close to okay, are you?" Zabini asked knowingly. I huffed a laugh at that and shook my head.

"Oh Blaise, I haven't been anywhere near okay in over a year," I murmured, and sagged deeper into the chair, letting my posture relax. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wooden back of the chair. The sound of footsteps and a hand on my shoulder. I looked up. It was Nott, there at my side and looking down at me supportively. He offered me his other hand and I took it with a grateful smile. He pulled me to my feet. I swayed and overbalanced, falling into his chest. He caught and steadied me and Blaise laid his hand on my back to help me stay up.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Nott asked, amusement and exasperation mixing in his tone. "This world has done very little for you, and yet you give so much back to it."

I thought back to the prophecy and the words about how I was destined to help guide people from the shadow into the light. So maybe I was destined, fated, born to do it, however one wanted to put it. But that wasn't why I did it. I did it because I wanted them, all of them, to live happily, to have the softer things in life that I had usually been denied. I'd grown up in a tiny world where I had no power, no say, no control in my own life. It wasn't something that I would ever wish on someone else except those who had earned such a fate.

"Because you shouldn't have to live the way I did…" I replied, and I really didn't have a better answer than that. "Because I care about all of you…"

Daphne was smiling at me softly, but there were tears in her eyes as she said, "You really are a wretched Slytherin."

"No," Zabini said, and he sounded proud. His hand pressed more tightly to my back. "She's the best one."

Then Daphne was on me, her arms around my shoulders, and Blaise's hand was the only reason I remained upright as she clutched me to her chest and buried her face in my neck.

"Stay alive!" she hissed, impassioned, into my ear. "Stay alive, come through this, and we'll all be together again. You'll be with him again."

I didn't need to ask who 'him' was as I hugged Daphne back. "I suppose we weren't quite to secretive as we thought."

Nott shook his head and shrugged, "We know you," he explained. "We could see."

"And we can see that you're about to pass out," Blaise added, and Daphne gently extricated herself from me. If the hand she brought up to brush back her hair from her face also wiped away some tears, no one noticed or commented. "Let's get you to wherever you've been sleeping these days."

* * *

 _The Death of Albus Dumbledore: Murder, Mishap, or Pre-meditated?_

 _The news of the death of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore broke late last evening and set the wizarding world reeling with questions. While no one can deny that the headmaster of Hogwarts was far past his prime, the abruptness of his sudden and sad demise raises many questions. Was this a vicious murder perpetrated on the very grounds where many of us spent our happiest times as children? Was there some sort of covert conspiracy involved, plotting behind the scenes? Was it simply his time?_

 _Sources point to no on the last count. In this case, truth seems stranger than fiction, if this is indeed the truth. Dear readers, your intrepid reporter has learned from sources inside the Ministry itself that the death of Albus Dumbledore was originally ruled to be a brutal murder. Yet, only hours later, was changed to suicide? No one was more shocked upon hearing this than myself. We cannot, of course, pretend to know the inner workings of a man's mind, yet I think we all remain skeptical of that._

 _It seems that sometime over the summer the headmaster was afflicted with a curse that was slowly killing him. The circumstances surrounding this cursing remain a complete mystery. What was the headmaster spending his summer doing? Was he perhaps not the beacon of goodness we all supposed him to be? For more information on the possible insanity afflicting the man, see previous articles 'Dumbledore: Alarmist or Armed?' and 'The Headmaster's Questionable Concerns,' by Rita Skeeter, Daily Correspondent._

 _If this is indeed the case, and indeed many of us may wonder, then one can hardly blame the man for choosing to end his own life and spare himself the pain. Yet was it not also somewhat selfish, to take so powerful a leader and the protector of our children in such troubled times? Doubtless Dumbledore had his reasons, though we may never know what they are._

 _The tale becomes stranger still when one learns that Dumbledore did not technically end his own life. No, he met his end at the hands of another, a Killing Curse coming from the wand of none other than Lorena Potter. For more information on Lorena Potter's past misdeeds, see 'The Other Potter' and 'Dark Witch Rising,' by Rita Skeeter, Daily Correspondent._

 _Yes, you read that correctly, and I was as shocked as you are. While Mr. Potter seems to have an amicable – some might say too amicable? – relationship with the headmaster, Miss Potter's relationship has always been more strained, sources report. Perhaps jealousy over the preferential treatment her brother has received at Hogwarts? Bitterness that she doesn't receive the same level of favoritism? As previously stated we can't see into the minds of others – unless we are skilled at Legilimency – but in this case, I don't think we would want to. The mind of Lorena Potter is doubtless a darker and more twisted place than one might expect._

 _At the same time the news regarding the death of Albus Dumbledore broke, it was also revealed that the supporters of You-Know-Who, the self-proclaimed Death Eaters, had broken into the castle with a small force. While the exact numbers and names of those who were there are unknown, two of the criminals present were identified as Bellatrix Lestrange, long-time devoted supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Azkaban escapee, and Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who gives even werewolves a bad name._

 _With two such monsters having cornered him atop the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore can hardly be blamed for seeking a painless end. Many will remember the horrible crimes perpetrated by both of the named Death Eaters, only the most memorable and shocking of which was the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, two powerful and respected Aurors, who remain to this day in St. Mungo's. Greyback has, of course, left significantly fewer bodies beyond but the trail of beasts he has created has led to an upsurge in werewolf activity that must concern everyone._

 _So where does the young Potter girl, barely fourteen, fit into all of this? She was apparently on top of the Astronomy Tower as well, suspiciously enough. Did she join the Death Eaters en route? Was she already a part of the plan to infiltrate the castle beforehand? Whatever the case, it is a fact that it was she who cast the curse that killed this icon of our time, and that the defense she claimed was that, as a mediwitch-in-training under Hogwarts nurse Poppy Pomfrey, she was within legal right to cast the curse which ended the headmaster's life. Not only that, but that she did it at his request in a trying time._

 _As stated by a member of the Auror office who wished to remain nameless, "It sounds fishy as a plimpy."_

I shook my head in disgust as I tossed the paper onto the ground next to me. I stood on a balcony under the clocktower, overlooking the proceedings below. I had snoozed straight through breakfast without a care and had only woken when Dobby Apparated into the room with toast, tea, and the morning paper. After reading the many articles about last night, I hadn't dared to emerge from my rooms to see what the rest of the school thought of me.

I certainly wasn't disrespectful enough to go down to the funeral spread out before me. I stood in long robes, a button-front shirt, and jeans and looked down. It was a nice day, at least, with a soft breeze blowing my hair around my face and the sun shining overhead. It wasn't hot enough to bake the people seated in the neat lines of chairs below, swaddled in dress robes. I was too high up to recognize any of them aside from the likes of Firenze, Madam Maxime, and Grawp in the back. They stuck out quite a bit. I didn't doubt, though, that the entire Order was mixed in with the regular witches and wizards and the Hogwarts students.

Unearthly music filled the air, so achingly sad that it could only speak of loss and grief even though I couldn't understand the language that was being spoken. It took me a moment to place the only possible source – the lake. The mermaids were invisible to me but they must have come up to mourn with everyone else. As they sang, Hagrid stepped out into the sun. There was a purple-shrouded something in his arms and I knew that Hagrid had been given the job of pallbearer.

He laid Dumbledore out on a white marble table in front of the proceedings and I felt strangely light-headed as the sermon began. The words were indistinguishable, naught but faint mumbling. It washed over me and I felt oddly light-headed. I found myself sagging against the railing. My knees gave and IU dropped to sit, my legs dangling on either side of one of the stone supports on the rail. My cheek rested against the stone as I panted.

I was trying to force myself to cry, I realized after a moment, but the tears wouldn't come. On the heels of that realization, whateer had risen up and seized me faded and I felt oddly… normal. I should be grieving just like everyone else was below, and yet I couldn't bring myself to. I felt no grief. Not for Dumbledore at least. The only thing I grieved for was the breaking of my soul, and yet I felt nothing on that front either. I had expected some sort of deep internal agony, and yet nothing came. I felt oddly normal, and it was at that point, overlooking the funeral of the man I'd murdered, that I began to contemplate the nature of killing.

I was hardly the only one in the world who had ever killed a person. I was hardly even the only one on the grounds who had. I didn't doubt that each of the Aurors below had a kill or two under their belts. And yet they functioned normally. They did not collapse into puddles of sadness and grief and crippling internal guilt like we were taught for any early age we should feel for the act of murder.

The Death Eaters had all killed and yet they had no mercy, no shame. They were easily explained – they sought power, and what greater power was there than of life and death? For all Dumbledore said of the power of love, life and death were the more powerful forces we could actually _control._ If love were able to be controlled I would never have loved Draco. My life would be so much easier if I didn't, and yet sitting here I was more scared for him than I was for myself even though he was almost certainly alive and – relatively - safe at home.

So the Aurors then, what spared them the self-loathing humans were supposed to feel after ending the life of another? The same logic that had spared centuries of soldiers – duty. They did what they had done in the name of protecting and country or an idea or a person they cared about and that provided them solace. Much as Sirius's innocence had been enough to keep him sane in Azkaban, the idea that what I had done was done out of duty to protect those I cared about lifted a massive weight from my shoulders.

I was not ashamed of what I had done, and I doubted that I ever would be. Every word I had said to Dumbledore on the tower had been true. I hated him for his machinations and I hated him for treating me as he had treated Tom, with suspicion and mistrust. I hated him for favoring my brother and for brushing the cruelty done to Snape aside in school and for a dozen other things. Yet none of those things were the reason I'd killed him. I'd done it out of duty, and that was what kept me from being like Voldemort's forces. There was hatred there, yes, but no intention to cause pain, no malicious intent, and that, I think, was what saved me. I wondered if it had even really broken. Been battered, yes, cracked, perhaps, but broken? Somehow I doubted it.

There were screams from below and my hand automatically jumped for my wand, yet in the next second I relaxed. It wasn't another assault on the school. The marble on which Dumbledore lay had erupted into flames, burning higher and hotter, nearly white, as smoke spiraled and shifted in a way that didn't seem quite natural. As the smoke and fire cleared, it revealed a white marble tomb in its place, the body of Albus Dumbledore safely inside.

More cries, but also pointless. The centaurs must have come to pay their respects, for I saw the dark shapes of arrows fly through the air in a smoothly-arching wave. The arrows fell far short. This was their version of the Muggle gun salute at a military funeral, that was the closest thing I could think of to compare it to.

As the funeral broke up I stood and stepped back into the shadow of the castle, abandoning the paper where it lay. I wasn't remotely concerned about whatever other news there was. There could be nothing quite as significant as what I'd already been a part of. Before everyone started to head back into the castle I needed to get back to the dungeons, so I set off at a fast pace and kept to back hallways and secret passages. I knew that hiding now would do me no favors when I did eventually have to emerge into the school proper again, but I couldn't quite fight the urge.

At least I had something to do, I mused as I entered the lab and looked around. I wouldn't be coming back here, which meant that I had to clear out and empty the apprentice's lab, a situation which hit me like a punch in the gut. This was harder than picking up the stray socks from under my cozy bed in the Slytherin dorm had ever been because this space had been mine, my sanctuary. Here was where I'd made peace with Hermione, spoken about secrets with Snape, played chess with Draco.

My hand drifted to the pocket where my mirror was an I ached to pull it out and contact him, but it was too much of a risk. Who knew where he was, if it was safe for him to excuse himself to take a call. My selfish desire to see him, to say a proper goodbye, couldn't be the reason that he raised suspicion. I set that desire aside and threw myself whole-heartedly into packing. At the very least, the crates that ingredients had been arriving in all year and stood stacked in the corner awaiting use now served a purpose as I began to divide my belongings into them.

I emptied everything out of my trunk. Random debris, essays from years past that had filtered down and been abandoned, rogue socks, all of it came out and was summarily Vanished as unimportant.

"Pack," I commanded, and the pile of clothes I had flew up and folded themselves, settling into the crate.

That done I turned to my cauldrons, all of them emptied of their contents. I did not intend to leave anything behind, and so I shrank all of them down and settled them inside of another crate with the few single-batch cauldrons I owned. I was confident that what little time we spent at Privet Drive I could accomplish some minor brewing. My potions kit and equipment joined that crate. The third was filled with bottles of already-brewed potions and ingredients. There was barely room to move in the lab now and I Transfigured my bed back into the stool it had once been, shoving both under the counter to make more room.

The books were blessedly simple as I raised my wand and ordered them to pack themselves. They flew off the shelf and I stepped aside, clearing the path and letting them settle themselves into the next to last crates. They sorted themselves out and I urged one on top of the other. The last of the crates was filled with random equipment. My telescope, a sneakoscope and foe glass, random bits and bobs to be sorted through before I left Privet Drive to decide what would actually be useful.

The door behind me opened and I started to greet Snape, who was the only one who had ever come down here unscheduled. The reality hit me with a pang and I spun, wand coming up sharply. Harry stood in the doorway, looking worn and haggard and sad, still wearing his dress robes. I softened, lowering my stace. My wand flicked and the crates stacked themselves against the wall, clearing room for him to come inside as I dragged the stools out from under the cabinet to offer him a place to sit.

"I hope you don't mind," Harry muttered. "Hermione told me how to get here."

Harry had never been down here, not once, and that hadn't been entirely by design. Though, after years of living in the same room, the same bed, I had certainly enjoyed having my own room. Part of it came from the fact that we had never had anything to talk about that needed the privacy the lab provided.

"That's fine," I replied calmly as I knelt down and pulled the box off the bottom shelf, flicking up the lid. I ran my fingers over the contents. Fabric bought from Madam Malkins and the patterns to go with it for dueling vests and full-length robes. I had the material here for more than one set, and the small sewing kit I'd invested in rested on top. All of that was there and ready to be used as soon as I was in a situation where I could use underaged magic safely again.

Something came flying at me and if I hadn't spent years as a Chaser it would have clocked me in the head. My hand instinctively came up to catch it and the cool, heavy weight of the locket hit my palm. I brought it up to examine it and even before I got a good look at it I knew something was wrong. The malicious oiliness of Voldemort's was familiar, but it wasn't present there. The locket looked wrong too, and when I flicked it open a bit of parchment fell out. I unfolded it and read.

 _To the Dark Lord_

 _I now I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

 _I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more._

 _R.A.B._

I scoffed and shook my head in disgust, shoving the paper back inside the locket and chucking it back to Harry. "Well, I'm so glad that was all for nothing then," I spat. "Any ideas on who RAB might be?"

Harry shook his head. "Hermione's been looking in the library but nothing's come up."

I nodded and hesitated before asking, "How was the funeral."

"It was a good service," Harry said mechanically, and then his face twisted and scrunched. "That's what you're supposed to say, right? But it wasn't, not really, because it was all about Headmaster Dumbledore, not… not the Dumbledore I knew."

"Funerals are for those left behind. Most people only saw Headmaster Dumbledore," I reminded him gently. "I watched, you know. From the ramparts. It was good, I thought. The tomb and the mermaids and the centaurs. All good."

"I suppose."

Something in Harry's voice had me standing up and scowling, rubbing my dusty hands on my pants before bracing them on my hip. "Something's wrong, and not just Dumbledore. What's wrong?"

"I've just left Ginny."

I blinked and stared. "Wha-?" I rolled my eyes, reached into the box in front of me, and pulled out a fistful of basilisk scales. IT was weighty enough to be thrown but not painful, and that's exactly what I did, heaving it into my brother's face with a disgusted huff. "Why did you do a fool thing like that, you moron?"

"Hey!" Harry dragged the hide off his face and it puddled in his lap. "What do you mean why? To protect her, obviously! If Voldemort found out that I was seeing her then she'd be a target, he'd hurt her."

"And he wouldn't because her family's been labeled blood traitors and her brother is your best friend?" I challenged. "Face it Harry, everyone you know is in danger by association but all pushing everyone away will achieve is making you lonely." I closed my eyes in exasperation. "Tell me you've not tried to ban Hermione and Ron from helping us hunt for Horcruxes."

"You're coming?" Harry asked, and he sounded honestly started. I stared.

"No, I thought I'd let your dumb arse trot around the countryside looking for powerful Dark magic alone with Hermione providing all the sense to be found," I replied sarcastically. I faltered, slightly hurt, and asked, "What did you… did you think I wouldn't?"

Harry sighed, reaching up and running his hands through his hair. "I don't know what you're planning Rena, I never do." To his credit, there was only a vague hint of accusation in his voice. It was still enough to make me wince.

"I don't regret it, Harry. I'll never regret what I did."

"I know you won't," Harry replied, clearly forcing himself to patient. "And I don't expect you to. I just… Snape and Malfoy." He scowled. "I still don't think they deserve it. Not them." His eyes widened slightly and he looked up at me, surprised realization on his face. "You can't see him anymore. I didn't… I didn't think but I could go to the Burrow and see her if I really wanted but you… you can't just walk into Malfoy Manor. And I've no idea where Snape even lives. You can't see them… Either of them…"

I shook my head and slumped, pursing my lips together to keep my chin from shaking. "No I can't," I agreed softly. "But we knew that was going to happen when we started this, Draco and I. We knew it wouldn't be easy that we might have to say and do things to protect the other. And if keeping away from him keeps him safe then… I'll do it." I reached up and rubbed my chest over my heart absently. It felt oddly sore. "I hate to, but I can, so I will."

"You really do love him, don't you?" Harry asked ruefully, and I arched an eyebrow.

"Did you think I was lying?"

"Honestly, no," Harry admitted. "But I thought that… well you've never really dated except for that Durmstrang bloke-"

" _Iliya."_

"-so I thought maybe it was just a crush and you had nothing to compare it to so you didn't really know... But I think I get it now."

"Ginny, not Cho," I replied drily, and he snorted.

"Yeah. And to answer your question, no, I didn't try to stop Hermione and Ron. You'll have to play nice with them though, alright?" he asked firmly, giving me his best stern look. Years of studying under Snape made his attempt frankly adorable. I found myself laughing as I nodded.

"I'll only be nasty if Ron says something extra stupid."

"Speaking of Weasleys… we've still got Bill and Fleur's wedding to go to."

This surprised me. "I'm still invited."

"As far as I know," Harry admitted. "They're not… not thrilled with you, I won't lie. But I think Fleur's the one insisting on it, actually. She says that you were good to her and she can't believe you would be a murderer."

I blinked, not quite sure how to react to that. "Well. Thank you, Fleur."

"Boss?"

I looked around and Harry looked down as Silas and Sasha slid uncertainly out from the crack in the wall. I reached down with a smile and the snakes slithered their way up my offered arms. They draped themselves around my shoulders and Silas nuzzled my cheek, his tongue tickling my jaw.

"You're leaving?" Sasha asked softly, and I nodded.

"I am."

"We're coming!" Silas said determinedly, but I shook my head.

"No, it's too dangerous and I can't take care of the two of you," I said firmly. "I'm not risking you both. I want you here, where its safe. Just keep in the walls, stay out of sight, and you can use this room to hide out in, of course."

"Rena?" Harry asked uncertainly, squinting at the snakes on my arm. "Who're they?"

"Sorry, you've never met, have you?" I realized. "Harry, this is Silas and Sasha. Guys, this is my brother. You've actually met Silas before, actually," I added to Harry. "Back at the Wand Weighing."

Harry's eyes widened. "That's the same snake."

"You bet!" Silas said proudly. "I've been working for the boss since then. I'm her eyes and ears in the walls!"

"And I need you to keep that up. Watch my Basilsks for me," I begged. "I need to know someone's got an eye on them."

Silas gave a snaky sigh and nodded his head reluctantly. "Alright."

"And I'll tell Hilly to keep bringing you eggs form the kitchen," I offered, and Silas perked up. I turned to Sasha and stroked a finger down her spine. "Keep an eye on him for me?"

"I'll keep him in line," Sasha replied confidently. She raised her head and her tongue tickled my ear. "Stay safe, boss."

"You two."

I lowered my arms and the snakes slithered off back into the hole they'd come from. I watched them go and felt oddly bereft. They'd become more friends to me than pets. The idea of losing the two adders was right up there with losing Nott or Daphne. Losing Artemisia would hurt but it would be another level entirely if my snakes died.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" Harry asked quietly from his spot on the stool. I looked over and his fingers were buried deeply in the hide in his lap. It had just hit him, I realized the massively dangerous undertaking we were about to embark on.

"What in our lives ever is, brother dear?"

* * *

 **To add on to this already long-ass chapter there's a few things I'd like to address. First and foremost being people asking how this murder will affect Lorena's Patronus and Animagus forms, which I've gotten a lot. the answer is that it won't. Animagus transformations are a learned skill, much like Legilimency. It's not a born-into ability like being a Metamorphmagus and therefore moods and such won't affect it. As for her Patronus, we've established that Snape has done some shit in his day and yet he can still produce one. The reason he's the only Death Eater to have a Patronus is that he's the only one with a powerful memory happy enough to perform one, or at least that's my understanding. Again, nothing to do with his soul or the state it's in.**

 **Also I had a guest saying that they were really upset that Lorena had revealed her Animagus form to the Death Eaters and it was a stupid move because now if they see a phoenix they'll know it's her. My answer to that was already earlier in the story. A form like Peter's rat or Sirius's dog lends itself to subtly watching people and spying. McGonagall used her cat form to watch the Potter children growing up, we know that from the books. A phoenix, whether or not the Death Eaters knew she could turn into one, would raise some serious red flags. Especially considering that Dumbledore has basically trademarked the things. There's no call for Lorena to try and be subtle about her abilities as an Animagus because her form makes it impossible for her to be.**

 **I hoped that this has cleared up any lingering questions anyone has!**


	110. Summer Starts

"She's coming."

"She's not!" Ron protested hotly, giving me a dirty look. "Harry, you never said she was going to be involved!"

"Why wouldn't she?" Hermione asked gently. "Ron, she's a part of this to-"

"I'm sorry, have you both forgotten that she _murdered Dumbledore?"_ Ron demanded incredulously, staring around the car at them both. This was going about how I'd expected and I was content to relax on half a seat, my feet swung up onto the seat with me and the Daily Prophet open over my knees. Rita Skeeter had written another scathing article claiming that I was a murderer, which explained the filthy, hateful looks I got from people through the window of the carriage.

Of far more interest to me was that there had been a breakout from Azkaban, the second in three years, and the dementors were openly siding with Voldemort now. All of his faithful were gone from the prison and back at his side, and wasn't that just a lovely omen for starting the summer and our hunt for Horcruxes?

"She didn't murder him, Dumbledore was…" Harry faltered, the grief momentarily robbing him of his voice, "He was ready to die."

Ron scowled and muttered bitterly, "So she says."

"Moody and Kingsley believe her, though!" Hermione reminded him. "They saw her memories. You honestly think she fooled them?"

"Maybe."

I shook my head in disgust and tossed down my paper. "As much as you flatter me, Ron, I'm not quite that good. Yet." I smirked. "The fact is that I actually have more right to be doing this than you do. You don't have to like it or me, but I will be coming along. As long as you and I can manage civility, that's all that needs to happen."

"Your boyfriend was the one that let in Greyback!" Ron hissed. "And look what happened ot Bill."

My eyes widened and I whipped around to face Harry, because I knew for a fact that Hermione wasn't dumb enough to blabber off about my relationship with Draco to Ron of all people. Harry, on the other hand, was, and for that I brought my hand down and whacked him across the back of his head.

"Tell everyone, why don't you!" I snapped irritably.

"I thought he needed some… some context or something!" Harry protested, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head. "That hurt…"

"Context, yes, not the whole bloody story!" I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up. "Look, yes, I've been seeing Draco and yes, he was the one who let the Death Eaters in, but he had no idea that Greyback was going to be hungry. You should have seen him, he was horrified…" I hesitated, because that was the last time I'd seen Draco. Pale and shaking, wand up, standing on top of the Astronomy Tower with a weight on his shoulders that he didn't have to bear.

"Sure he was," Ron scoffed. "Bet he had a right laugh about it later on with his Death Eater mates!"

"He didn't want to join!" I snarled, hopping to my feet. "If he hadn't taken the Mark it would have been his life and his mother's!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Big loss that would have been…"

"Ron!"

To everyone's surprise it wasn't me that had yelled, nor was it Hermione, who usually took on the role of Ron's emotional seeing eye dog. It was Harry, who was on his feet next to me. Startled beyond belief that Harry was actually standing up for me for once and to Ron of all people, his best friend, I sank slowly down into the seat next to him. Harry towered over Ron while he was sitting, but if Ron had risen he would have had the high ground. Ron looked shocked as well. He stayed in his seat, obviously surprised to have Harry on my side after years of siding with him.

"Rena right, Ron, you don't have to like her and I don't honestly expect you to. You've never gotten along. But you are not going to say things like that my sister!" he stressed. "I'd never talk about Ginny or Fred or any of your siblings that way," he added reproachfully.

"Yeah, but my siblings aren't murderous snakes!" Ron countered, but he was on the defensive now.

"Now half of that was unfair," I retorted. "I'll tell you what, Ron. I'll stop insulting your intelligence and you stop being such an arse to me. Deal?" I asked saccharinely.

"Ren," Harry sighed, his tone tired. "Stop picking at him. You're not helping."

"Alright, alright," I relented, and leaned back against the seat as Harry settled down next to me. It had been ages since I'd done this and yet oddly it still felt natural to lean over and lay my head on his lap. Harry immediately began to comb his fingers through my hair like no time had passed and I hid my smile in his knee as Ron gave me a disgruntled look.

"Fine alright, I'll try and lay off."

"Good." Harry nodded approvingly. "Because Rena's clever and she's good in a fight to. We need her."

I knew that this would hardly be the last fight that Ron and I got into. Likely spending more time around each other than we ever had before would only make things more tense between us. But the fact that Harry had stood up to him for me made me grin and I was still feeling light and buoyant as I hopped off the train with Harry and headed for the barrier.

"Murderer."

"How can she be walking around-?"

"So young, it's just monstrous-"

"You know they live with Muggles, one can't help but wonder if that's safe…"

"It's a miracle she escaped Azkaban-"

"Proves what I've been saying for years about the Auror Department going soft. In my day..."

"She's the one who should be dead."

Harry whipped around furiously to go and confront the last one, but I caught his upper arm firmly and shook my head. Harry's eyes were blazing behind his glasses as he demanded, "How can you listen to what they're saying and not want to set them straight?"

"Easy, I don't give a damn about them," I replied shortly as we approached the knot of Weasleys and Grangers. I noticed that Molly Weasley was looking at me more coldly than I'd ever seen her be and even Mr. Weasley seemed uncertain as he offered me a wobbly smile of greeting. Hermione slipped between Harry and I and hugged her parents tightly. Mrs. Weasley scooped Ron into her arms, glaring at me over the top of his head.

"I think you should move on through the barrier, dear," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, looking at me. "Harry, I wanted to say-"

"Lay off, mum," Fred interrupted wearily and approached me, hooking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into a hug. More arms closed around me from behind and I knew George had joined in the embrace. One of them reached up and patted the top of my head.

"How are you doing?" George asked in concern as they turned me loose. I shrugged.

"Fine," I replied, and Mrs. Weasley's expression hardened. I quickly added, "I don't think it's sunk in yet, really. Sure it will soon though," I commented as a wizened old witch, some Hufflepuff's grandmother, gave me a black look and spat on the platform.

"Ignore them," Fred advised confidently. "You're better than ten of that old bint and anyone else like her."

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "That's not polite, and you can't-"

Ginny interrupted her mother's words by grabbing me tightly and hugging me to her. "Stay safe," she muttered into my ear. I huffed a laugh and hugged her back tightly. Ginny seemed tired and a little sad, but according to Harry she'd understood why he did what he did. I still thought he was a moron, but at least he was a moron with decent taste in girls.

"I'll keep him alive," I promised her, and felt Ginny shake with silent laughter.

"He's not really mine to worry about anymore, is he?" she asked wryly as she pulled back. I arched an eyebrow.

"Oh please. Yes he is," I said dismissively. "Always will be."

"Rena?" Hermione interrupted uncertainly, venturing away from her parents. I turned to look at her questioningly. "My parents want to hurry up and get home, but I'll write you over the summer, alright? We can talk about, erm, our book lists," she said warily, looking in the direction of the Weasleys, which of course only proved there was a hidden message in her words. Gryffindors. No subtlety in any of them.

"Sure," I replied calmly. "I've got some titles you should definitely look into before next term. I'll send Artemisia over with a full list as soon as I can."

Hermione smiled in relief and nodded. "Good. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Bye, I'll see you at the wedding!" she called as her mother steered her towards the barrier, looking around a little bit nervously. They obviously knew what the situation was and as Muggles they were more vulnerable than most, especially considering who their daughter was friends with.

"We should go too, Harry," I urged, tugging on his sleeve gently. Harry nodded and we said our goodbyes to the Weasleys, Mrs. Weasley pointedly hugging Harry and passing me over, and then we stepped through the barrier and out into Muggle London. As always, the Dursleys were waiting awkwardly nearby, like there was nowhere they'd rather be less.

"To the car, both of you," Uncle Vernon barked as we approached, and after everything that had happened I might once have pettily taken as long as possible, pretended to struggle with my trunk, but now there were things to do and pettiness was pointless. Harry and I walked along with the rest of our unfortunate family and I'm sure there was never a sourer reunion ever held on that platform than ours.

* * *

I walked into Amity's store and wasn't entirely surprised to see that she was at the counter, staring at the front door as if she knew it was me. She smiled and rounded the counter. My heart was pounding and I stood frozen as she approached and wrapped me in a tight embrace, pulling me to her chest. I clutched her tightly in turn and buried my face into her neck. Amity smelled like tea and sugared raspberries, and I loved it.

"I did something terrible," I whispered to her.

"I know," she whispered back, and I jerked in her grip, pulling back and staring at her incredulously. Amity looked down at me and smiled wryly. "Severus told me."

My eyes widened. I'd known they were exchanging correspondence, Amity had mentioned having dinner with him once or twice, but I assumed it was probably business-related on Snape's part. I didn't realize that they talked about… about things like that, and immediately I was afraid. I took a step back from Amity, waiting for her to cast me out and yell curses after me and tell me she never wanted to see me again.

Amity laughed softly. "If I was going to hold it against you, would I have hugged you so tightly?"

I sagged in relief as Amity placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me towards the rear of the store.

"Wait in the back," the urged. "Let me get rid of this last customer and then I'll join you, alright?"

I nodded, unable to believe quite what sort of luck I had when I met Amity Raincrow. Walking into her shop had been nothing more than a whim, a passing fancy, and yet it had become one of the most critical things I had ever done in my life. I stepped into her office and immediately headed for the small mini fridge. Arnold Palmer was something they didn't serve at Hogwarts and I eagerly poured myself a glass and took a sip. The taste reminded me of summers past, ducking in here for a quick drink after a long morning unloading inventory in the hot storage room. It was summer now.

I sat down in the chair opposite Amity's desk and waited for her. It was only five minutes later that she stepped inside and sat herself down, kicking her feet up onto her desk casually and completely obliterating the barrier between us.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" she asked mildly, and it all poured out. Every bit of it that had been left out of letters. The moments with Draco, the work I'd done finding the loopholes I needed, the fear I felt when I raised my wand and cast the spell, and the fact that I didn't grieve and my concern over that. When I finished I glanced at the clock again and realized that nearly half an hour had passed with Amity sitting in total silence. My throat was sore and I reached for my glass, taking another sip.

"Did I ever tell you about my father?" Amity asked randomly, and I blinked incredulously.

"I… what?" I faltered. "I mean I know he wasn't the nicest fellow but-"

"Understatement," Amity snorted.

"What does that have to do with-"

"Hush up and I will tell you." Amity smiled, taking the sting out of her words. "I was about ten or twelve, I believe, ad my father was drunk off his ass when he pulled the razor strap off the wall. I heard it come down and ran out the front door. I thought if I could make the road then I'd be safe, he wouldn't follow me. I never made it past the front porch. Or I did," she corrected herself, "but only because he caught me and threw me off."

"Amity, you don't-"

"Yeah, I do," she cut me off. "See, you've never been hit by a razor strap, but basically it's like being hit with a belt times about five. Hurts like hell. I kept hearing it snapping when my father brought it down and feeling it on my back, and then I hear this bang so loud that I think I'll never hear again. It takes me a sedond to figure out what's happened, but the beating stopped and I can smell gunpowder.

"My mother, who never hurt another living person in her life, shot my father," Amity said bluntly. "And she didn't just shoot him. She emptied one barrel of a shotgun into his chest and the next into his face. He as unrecognizable when she was done."

Amity pulled her foot off her desk and leaned forwards, uncharacteristically serious. I sat, frozen. "Now what my dad did to me, that was physical abuse. What this Dumbledore fellow did, in a way that was worse, because he got your brother thinking that he had to do these things to risk his life. That's some twisted shit right there." She nodded gravely. "But the song's the same. Your Lord Whats-His-Face has got one thing right: the world's better without some people in it. My father, that headmaster. I ain't sayin' that he was some kind of monster, but still. My mother was a murderer and I loved her for it, because she did it to protect me. You did what you did to protect your boy and Severus. Now how am I gonna hold that against you?" she finished reasonably.

Somehow Amity had spun it around on its head so logically it seemed like I was foolish for thinking she would be angry at me for killing a man, and I loved her for it. I sagged in my chair, relieved, and breathed, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Welcome," Amity chirped, but her expression was melancholy as she tilted her head at me and pursed her lips. "I'm not gonna see you much this summer, am I?" she asked wryly, and I opened my mouth to respond. "And no cracks about my sight."

I closed my mouth and smiled. "You know me too well. But no," I admitted, "probably not. Harry and I, Dumbledore left us a job to do that will end with Voldemort dead, so we'll be leaving not long into the summer, I expect. And before that there's packing to be done, preparation… I don't have the time to work for you. I wish I did though."

"Yeah, I think saving the world from magical Hitler is a bit more important than some knitting needles," Amity scoffed. "You go, you do what you need to do." Amity reached out and I passed her my hand, knowing that's what she was going for. She squeezed my fingers tightly. "Just know," she assured me, impassioned, "that I'm gonna worry about you. Keep yourself safe, girlie, okay?"

I nodded. "That's the plan."

"Yeah, well, sometimes plans go down the drain," she countered. "Just… if you can, send me a letter every now and then? Let me know you're not dead?" she asked hopefully. I was hesitant to promise anything. I couldn't know if I'd be able to send letters. I didn't even know if I'd be taking Artemisia on this trip with us, honestly. Practically I wasn't sure how I could. Hedwig would stick out too much.

"I can't," I said reluctantly. "It would… raise suspicion. We'll be moving around and I can't have an owl flying back to me giving away our position."

Amity nodded. "I'm not surprised," she admitted ruefully. "But I'd hoped." She sighed and patted my hand fondly. "Ah well, hopefully Severus will be able to keep me somewhat apprised of the state of things." She smiled to herself and, to my surprise, her cheeks went a little pink. It was hard to tell against her darker skin, but it was definitely there.

Almost since the moment she met him, Amity had been flirting with Snape, teasing him about his voice, making lewd jokes. But that was Amity, she gave everyone she liked a hard time. It was when she was polite that you needed to worry. I had always assumed that was all it was, maybe a little bit of a crush. But the look on her face, the color in her cheeks – I knew that look. I'd worn that look know, but only when thinking about Draco.

"You… really do have some kind of feelings for him, don't you?" I asked uncertainly. "For Professor Snape."

Amity sighed and shook her head. "I have…" She leaned forwards, elbow resting on the top of her desk as her fingers buried deep in her. "Well, I don't know what I've got, honestly," she muttered wearily, "but it's somethin'. Not that it matters. He, ah, I found out some things about him. He's been carrying a torch for some redhead girl since they were kids. Affection like that?" she shook her head. "I'm not enough to scratch it."

I blinked incredulously. "He told you about my mum?" I couldn't believe it. That was one of Snape's deepest secrets, that he had loved Lily Potter even when she turned him aside, even when she married another, even when they were on different sides of a war, even after she died.

Amity's mouth dropped open. "You mama? Wait, that's who-? Oh hell, well now that's unfortunate." Amity scowled thunderously. "I'm trying to outdo a dead woman. I'm screwed."

"Back up to the part where Severus Snape told you he loved my mother," I insisted, leaning forward.

"Didn't tell me," Amity corrected absently. "Showed me. He was a bit out of sorts and… well. Suffice it to say things happened that shall not be named." Something in my silence must have spoken volumes because Amity snorted. "Not like _that_ , Jesus! Mind out of the gutter, kid."

"I need more than that!" I begged. "If you know about Lily then you know more than almost anybody. Snape, he must… must really trust you." I was stunned by the realization. Severus Snape's trust was a rare and shy beast that was only seldom seen, but it was a powerful force. That Amity had stepped into the exclusive club of people who had it… she might be farther along the road towards giving my mum a run for her money than she thought.

"He puts up with me," Amity shrugged. "But that's not the important part." I disagreed, but I let her change the subject as she asked, "What's this mission from Dumbledore that you and Harry are taking off on?"

* * *

"I don't think I ever realized how much of a Ravenclaw you are," Harry breathed, sitting on the bed, the only place in the room that wasn't covered in stacks of books. I smirked and looked down at the parchment on the floor in front of me. One was a copy of my library, the second was Hermione's which had just arrived. That was the reason I had unpacked all of the books I'd brought with me from school and spread them out to be sorted through. Many would be sent to Grimmauld place care of Kreacher to be dealt with once this was all over, but the ones we might need I was separating out.

"You sound like you somehow didn't expect that I owned books," I commented as I picked up a copy of the third years transfiguration textbook and set it inside the crate that would be sent to number 12.

"I knew you did," Harry huffed, drawing his knees up to his chest and looking around warily. That would have been understandable had my copy of the _Monster Book of Monsters_ not already been bound shut with twine and resigned to the Black house. "But this is a library."

I glowed happily. "Thank you. That's sweet of you to say."

Harry shook his head helplessly and stared at the floor. "Do you honestly think we'll need all of these?" he asked bluntly, and I gave him a dark look.

"Knowledge is never a bad thing to have on hand, Harry."

"No, I mean…" Harry winced, "do you think it will make a difference?"

I paused, understanding what he meant. Did I think that having several dozen books on me would keep us alive? Did I think that maybe the answers to all of our questions would be found within the pages of these spell books? No, not hardly. I doubted that most of these would be of much use but like Hermione I took comfort in having books around me at all times. They were like a comfort blanket that occasionally helped fight against the thing you needed to be comforted about. But I would rather have the ability to fact check and research and continue learning whether I was in school or in a ditch on the side of the road or in the woods or wherever we ended up.

I picked up a book bound in threadbare blue fabric, the pages worn yellow with age, and frowned at it. I didn't recognize it, and I knew almost all of my books by sight, as sad as that sounded. I flipped it over, but there was no title. Opening it up to the first page, I saw that it was handwritten, the first page bearing the simple words in elegant scrawl _Extremum Spiritum and the Soul._

The sound of the doorbell below made my head snap up. I looked at Harry questioningly. The Dursleys weren't much for entertaining during the summer. They were afraid that Uncle Vernon's coworkers might sense strangeness or we might curse the neighbors or something mad like that.

I stood up from the midst of my pile of books, casually tossing the book into the pile to take – if nothing else it might send me to sleep one night – and ventured to the window, looking down into the garden. A wicked grin spread across my face as I saw the bald, gleaming pate of Kingsley's head, his earring shining so brightly in the summer sun it was visible from a floor above. Next to him was Mr. Weasley, who likewise hadn't bothered to look Muggle. By the pointed hat on his head and the professional robes he wore he had probably just come from work. They both looked fabulously magical and I oculdn't wait to see how this one is.

"You know, that smile really concerns me."

"This is going to be wonderful," I grinned, turning to Harry. "Kingsley and Mr. Weasley are downstairs."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he rose from the bed, tilting his head curiously. "I wonder what they want?"

"Who cares, Mr. Weasley has come back to Privet Drive," I mumbled as I picked up my wand. Twisting my hair, I shoved it through to hold the bun in place and headed for the stairs. Harry followed me and we had barely reached the top of the stairs before Uncle Vernon roared,

"Get down here you two!"

"Ah, the dulcet tones of hatred," I sighed dreamily as we descended the stairs. Harry and I stepped into the entry way and saw Uncle Vernon standing there pointing damningly at Mr. Weasley and Kingsley, his face a ruddy purple. Mr. Weasley was nice enough to seem sheepish, given last time he turned up he'd destroyed the Dursley's living room. Kingsley just looked startled. He'd never met the Dursleys before.

"What are they doing here?" Uncle Vernon growled, glaring at Harry and I. "Strolling up the front walk like vacuum salesmen, bold as brass…"

"Here's an idea, ask them?" I challenged, and turned to the two wizards standing just inside the door. "What are you both doing here? Kingsley, I thought you'd been assigned to guard the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Kingsley nodded. "It's my day off," he rumbled, eyeing me warily. I wasn't at all surprised. It had barely been days since he had interrogated me for murder. "Arthur and I have come to speak to your family."

"Hang on," Uncle Vernon interrupted, having apparently finally recognized Kingsley was familiar. He squinted his piggy eyes at the tall wizard and seemed to realize that he'd seen him before on the television. Kingsley could usually be spotted on the nightly news, looking slightly uncomfortable in a Muggle suit, no more than three steps away from the Prime Minister. "I've seen you before."

"This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, he's from the Auror Department," Harry supplied. "'lo Kingsley, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry," Mr. Weasley greeted warmly. "Molly sends her best." He carefully avoided looking at me as he said that. Clearly I didn't have Molly's best and he was too nice to openly tell me. "She can't wait to see you at the wedding."

"Wedding?" Uncle Vernon now seemed thoroughly lost. "What wedding?"

"My son Bill, he's getting married this summer!" Mr. Weasley said happily. "Lovely girl, French, very sweet-"

"Arthur," Kingsley rumbled. "We're here for a reason."

Mr. Weasley fluffed the edges of his cloak and cleared his throat sheepishly. "Ah yes, of course Kingsley. I'm just excited. First of my children to get married, you see," he added to Uncle Vernon, who looked nonplussed.

"May we sit down?" Kingsley requested, gesturing into the living room. "And you may wish to fetch the rest of your family as well. This is a matter of some importance."

Uncle Vernon didn't look thrilled about it, but like many people he seemed to have made the admittedly wise conclusion that you didn't want to make Kingsley Shacklebolt angry. He stomped off to fetch Aunt Petunia from the back garden and Dudley from the kitchen. I gestured for Mr. Weasley and Kingsley to follow me into the living room. Harry and I sat down in an extra-wide armchair that normally held uncle Vernon's bulk, both of us able to sit easily while Mr. Weasley and Kingsley settled themselves on the couch.

The Dursleys came trooping back in, Aunt Petunia looking terrified as she hid behind Uncle Vernon. Dudley seemed to be trying to do the same, to less effect. But when Aunt Petunia saw Mr. Weasley, her eyes widened and she fairly breathed fire.

"You!" she accused, pointing a muddy-gloved finger at him. Mr. Weasley chuckled uncomfortably and hopped up out of his seat to offer it to her.

"Aha, yes, we're met before, you'll recall. Please, have a seat."

Aunt Petunia was glaring hatefully as she took the seat offered, and Dudley looked deeply uncomfortable as he sat on the other end of the couch. Both of them pressed as far from Kingsley as they could, as if he was infected with something. Kingsley didn't seem bothered. Mr. Weasley flicked his wand and a squashy chair appeared right beneath him. He sat down smartly as Uncle Vernon swelled and Aunt Petunia looked like she might pass out.

"So what brings you both here?" I asked to avoid any further explosion on the part of my relations. "Has something happened?"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Mr. Weasley was quick the reassure. "Only, we've discussed it among the Order and we all agreed that it was time to, er, what's that Muggle phrase? Bite the bullet? And discuss the situation with your family." He seemed pleased with himself for remembering.

"And what situation is that?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"As you are aware, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to the world and gathered his forces to him," Kingsley began, speaking for the first time. Aunt Petunia's head jerked around to look at him, probably surprised by how soothing his voice was. People always were. "Harry and Lorena are both in danger. Up until now, no attacks have been made against you thanks to magical protection. I've been told you're familiar with the details of that?"

Aunt Petunia squeaked a "Yes" and I knew we were all thinking of the summer the dementors attacked, when Dumbledore had sent a Howler reminding that Harry and I were to stay here safely in their care.

Kingsley seemed pleased. "Good, that saves time. But unfortunately, that spell will only last until the Potters turn seventeen, which is soon. Once that happens and the spell breaks, you will all be exposed."

"So?" Uncle Vernon asked belligerently. "What's this got to do with us? We're not part of your lot!"

"It's got to do with you," I replied shortly, speaking up before Kingsley could even open his mouth, "because Lord Voldemort thinks nothing of Muggles. Or, let me rephrase, he thinks you're nothing. You've never had much guilt over crushing an ant under your boot, have you?" I asked saccharinely. "He feels the same. If he thinks – and he will – that you have any idea where Harry and I have gone then they will torture you for the information. If you're lucky, they'll simply kill you. Despite not being part of our lot," I finished disparagingly.

In the silence that followed, Mr. Weasley winced. "Lorena…"

"She's right," Kingsley agreed, though he gave me a dark look. I shrugged, unashamed. "Despite being Muggles, they would have no problems torturing and killing you. For your own protection, you are being offered an Order safe house and protection."

"Whose protection?" Harry asked curiously.

"Daedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones volunteered," Mr. Weasley supplied, and Harry nodded approvingly. He turned to Aunt Petunia. A wise choice, seeing as she was the one in the room who knew the most about the wizarding world aside from the actual wizards.

"They're both really good, you'd be safe with them for sure."

"Now hang on!" Uncle Vernon blustered. "You expect us to just run off with some people we've never met, abandon our lives here, for how long? This all seems rather shady to me." He eyed the room suspiciously, like he was waiting for one of us to break and say it was all a plot to steal his power tools or some nonsense.

Mr. Weasley reassured, "The details have yet to be finalized – when and how to move you and such – but the plan is solid and Hestia and Daedalus really are very qualified-"

"I don't buy it!" Uncle Vernon yelled over him. "Suddenly now we're in danger because their birthday is coming up? What sort of nonsense is that?"

Kingsley sighed and I got the feeling that even his patience was starting to wear a little thin with Uncle Vernon being belligerent for the sake of it. "That is how the spell that was applied to the twins works. It's not nonsense. It's magic."

I stood up and all eyes turned to me, Mr. Weasley somewhat nervous and Kingsley wary. I turned to face Uncle Vernon. "I could sit here and explain to you about the nature of numbers in magic and how specific number have magical resonance that made them significant and powerful in spell work, but frankly you wouldn't understand. The reason this all sounds rather sketchy is that Mr. Weasley and Kingsley are trying to put this in terms you'll understand.

"I'm not so nice. The fact is that this isn't something Harry and I asked for, this is something the Order's offering. Were it up to me I'd leave you in the open to see what happens if you weren't smart enough to run for yourselves. Whether you believe it or not, the Death Eaters will come for you, and you will die. So those are your options, in the simplest terms. You go with them and you live, or you stay here and you die. The choice is yours."

I smiled pleasantly and sat myself back down. The truth was that I genuinely didn't care what happened to the Dursleys. I couldn't feel bad for them if they were killed in the objective way you felt bad for the people whose names you read in the papers and their families. They had made Harry and I suffer for years and so no matter what happened to them there would always be that surge of sick pleasure at the symmetry of it. They had spent years penalizing Harry for magic we couldn't help, and they would be ended by that same magic.

Silence echoed around the room, and Dudley was sheet white with fear. He, at least, seemed to grasp the danger of the situation, even if his only concern was saving his own hide. Coward I had called Draco before, but now it seemed like the worst of insults considering I was sitting across from another one.

Kingsley scowled at me. "Lorena, that's enou-"

"We'll go."

All eyes turned to Aunt Petunia, whose horsey face went pink at the attention. Uncle Vernon gaped at her.

"Petunia?"

"Sh-She used to tell me things about what those Death Eaters had done when she was home in the summer," Aunt Petunia explained softly. "We can't stay, Vernon. The girl's right. We'll be killed."

"I want to go with these Order people, dad," Dudley agreed, looking at his father nervously. "They seem like they know what they're doing."

Uncle Vernon looked stunned. For once in his life he was being outvoted by his wife and son, and more than that, they were siding with those with magic, the people they had all claimed to hate. I found it deeply amusing as he floundered for a moment to regain the bluster and volume he'd had a moment ago.

"I… well… I suppose… when you say it like that…"

"Good!" Mr. Weasley beamed before this could devolve any more. "Well, Kingsley and I must be going – we're technically on our lunch break you see – but we'll be in touch with more information on the date and time of the move. The… The Muggle way!" he hastened to add when Uncle Vernon began to swell again, obviously enraged by the idea of more owls.

"By post," Kingsley corrected. "We'll be in touch by post. Harry," He nodded to my brother politely, and gave me a glare. "Lorena."

"Kingsley!" I replied brightly. "Say hello to Alastor for me."

Mr. Weasley gave a little groan and hustled from the room, dragging Kingsley with him,

"You shouldn't bait them!" Harry hissed to me, and I smirked.

"I know. But it's just so fun."

* * *

Preparations for moving the Dursleys must have just being waiting to get them officially on board, because two days later a letter came through the mail slot detailed when the Dursleys were to move and where they would be going, where they would meet with Daedalus and Hestia, and various other things they would need to know. Harry and I would be leaving that same night for the Burrow. It had thrown Aunt Petunia into a fit of packing and unpacking and repacking trying to get everything they might need into as few boxes and bags as possible. It didn't help that Uncle Vernon kept changing his mind as to whether or not he believed what Kingsley and Mr. Weasley had said, so he kept unpacking and repacking the car as well.

Harry had taken to sitting in his room and pouring over the Daily Prophets for any hints of what Voldemort might be up to. Though he tried not to show it, I knew he was also following the continuing stories honoring Dumbledore. I made a point not to look at anything concerning Dumbledore anymore. It was only going to make me mad as they inevitably made some snide comment about me. I credited the spell protecting Harry and I as the only reason I hadn't yet received a torrent of hate mail.

It was early one morning when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came down from upstairs and stepped into the kitchen. There was a cereal bowl sitting out on the table, a grapefruit on either side, but I had commandeered the stove. Aunt Petunia recoiled as she watched me grind beetles in my pestle and Uncle Vernon turned a brilliant red.

"How dare you perform that unnaturalness in our house?" he demanded, but I'd heard it all before. I turned and stared at him coldly, continuing to grind the beetles into the fine powder the recipe called for.

"Easily, now sit down, shut up, and eat your breakfast. The alternative is that I purposefully mess up and melt your stove," I informed him, before turning back to my cauldron. I carefully measured out the measures of powder and Aunt Petunia whimpered behind me. I saw Uncle Vernon's eyes linger on my wand for a moment, within easy reach, before he apparently decided that I meant what I said and was too dangerous to cross this early in the morning. They both fetched bowls and made themselves cereal, sitting down at the table to eat.

"Something smells good," Harry teased as he entered the kitchen. He looked tired. Not as f he hadn't slept, but as if he was being worn down from the inside. I knew the feeling well. At this point I wanted to be on the road, looking for horcruxes, not waiting to leave. It was more stressful this way, I thought, but I knew plans needed to be finalized, preparations made. Hermione had hinted in her letter about books that she had plans for keeping her parents safe that needed some work. Who knew what Ron was doing, though I doubted it would be much?

"There's pancakes in the… microwave…" I faltered, my heart stuttering to a stop, as in my hip pocket a heat began to burn. It was my mirror, the one I'd been carrying on me at every moment since the beginning of the summer, but not once had it burned. The Basilisks knew better than to call me during the summer, they knew I had plans to concoct, so that left only one person.

"Rena?" Harry asked uncertainly as my hand moved to my pocket.

"Take the potion off the stove," I ordered as I breezed from the room. The Dursleys looked indignant as they realized that I'd made pancakes for Harry and not them, but I couldn't bring myself to care as I hurried from the kitchen, up the stairs to our bedroom, and shut myself inside. I yanked out the mirror and opened it.

Draco's face greeted me and I sagged in relief, pressing my free hand over my mouth and fighting the urge to start crying then and there.

"Phoenix." Draco was smiling, he looked as relieved as I felt. "You answered."

"Of course I did," I murmured. "I always will if I can. I haven't called you, I've been too afraid that it would be a bad time."

"I have been too," he admitted. "With father home now it's… it's hard to find time where I'm certain I'm alone. And to convince myself no one will walk in and catch me." He frowned and seemed disappointed in himself. "That's no excuse, I should have called you sooner."

"It doesn't matter," I assured him. "I'm just glad to see you. Are you alright?" I asked intently. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No." Draco shook his head. "He was happy enough that I got the Death Eaters in that he didn't mind that I wasn't the one who killed Dumbledore. But he wants you now," he added grimly. "Badly. He's convinced it's some kind of sign that you can be turned to his side."

I shook my head. "Never happening."

"I know." Draco smiled at me, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. I wished he was really there, standing in front of me in this room that was mostly covered in books and clothes, a room I hated, just so that I knew he was safe, was secure. I wanted reach out and touch him, convince myself solidly that he was okay and unharmed. I wanted to kiss him and smell the scent of petrichor cologne on his throat, something I'd never tell him I loved as much as I did.

"I miss you," Draco breathed, and the mirror shook slightly. I smiled back at him sadly.

"I miss you too. Call me if you can, alright, but don't risk it. I mean it, if there's even a chance someone would see you, don't do it."

"I will," Draco reassured me. "I'm a little more confident now. But I'm still…" his eyes darted like he was worried someone would pop out from the shadows. I knew what it was like to feel a prisoner in your own house, but the Dursleys had never been potential killers. That had to make the fear a thousand times worse. "I'm scared," Draco admitted, looking ashamed. "That I won't be able to hold it together."

"You will!" I said firmly, because he needed the encouragement and I believed it. "I've been training you for months now. I know what you're capable of an I know you. Just fly under the radar as much as you can and you'll be safe. I promised you that, didn't I?" I smiled at him ruefully. Draco nodded and smiled bad tiredly.

"Is it terrible to admit that I really wish you were here right now?" he muttered. "I mean I know it's silly and childish, but-"

"I feel the same," I replied, smile widening. "But hopefully soon this will all be over and we'll be able to be together again."

"I doubt it will be easy though." Draco frowned. "I'll be seen as a criminal and have you seen what they're saying about you in the papers?" He swelled with indignation on my behalf. "It makes me want to march down to the Daily Prophet offices and curse the writers-"

"Easy," I chuckled. "Let's not do anything Gryffindor. I don't care what they say about me. You stil love me?"

Draco looked horrified by the very idea of stopping. "Of course I do."

I beamed. "Then I'll fine." I glanced nervously at the door to the bedroom, thinking of the potion downstairs. "I have a potion on brewing that needs to get done. I wish I could talk longer."

"I understand," Draco replied, nodding. "Go. Brew. Save the world."

I scoffed a little and looked at him affectionately, the little image in the surface of the mirror smiling back at me. I could have painted his face from memory by this point had I any talent with painting, but somehow it still struck me as I looked at him how handsome he was. Or maybe it was the look on his face as he looked at me that made him so appealing.

"I love you," I said with as much emotion as I could force into the words. "So much."

Those three words still made him light up like a Christmas tree and I wondered if they would ever stop having that effect on him. I prayed not. I loved the way that his expression softened.

"I love you too. Be safe."

"I will."


	111. Summer's End

I was curled up on Amity's sofa with my hands folded in my lap. Outside the sky was dark, but I wasn't concern. I'd flown in on my broom, swaddled in the invisibility cloak, and Amity let me straight in.

"What brings you by so late?" Amity asked as she sat herself down next to me. She tucked her feet up under her thighs and I was reminded once again that Amity had always seemed younger than she was, like she was a girl like me, until she needed to be mature.

"I have a gift for you," I explained, and dug into my pocket, pulling out the handkerchief-wrapped object inside.

"A gift?" Amity said in surprise. "Why? What is it?"

"A gift because owls aren't an option, but this is," I explained. "I enchanted it before I left school. I wasn't sure if I was going to give it to you, honestly." I admitted. "It seemed awfully risky, but I was recently reminded that one can be smart about these things."

"So I'll be able to keep in touch with you?" Amity asked, and she perked up like I'd just handed her the keys to a Ferrari. It struck me then just how worried Amity had been about me going off with Harry and so even if she hadn't made a big deal out of it. She knew better than to fuss over me. I adored her for that.

"I'll be able to keep in touch with you," I corrected, and picked up her hand, placing the handkerchief on her palm. I pulled the cloth away and let the mirror fall out of its wrappings to nestle in her palm. Amity frowned and turned the gleaming metal over in her hands uncertainly. She found the latch and opened it, running her fingers over the surface.

"A… compact?" she guessed uncertainly, and I nodded.

"A mirror. I developed a set of spells that allows them to work like phones. Yours is linked to one that I have. All I have to do is open mine and say your name and yours will heat up. You open yours and we can talk." I closed Amity's mirror and pulled my own from my other pocket, opening it up. "Amity Raincrow," I pronounced, and Amity blinked as the metal in her hand began to burn. She lifted the lid uncertainly. "Hello?" It came out of my mouth and a smaller echo from the item in her hands.

Amity beamed like an idiot. With a flick of her wrist she snapped the lid closed and threw her arms around me in delight, dragging me into her chest. I hugged her back tightly, squeezing my eyes shut. I would never forgive myself if something happened to me or Harry or Snape and Amity was left forever waiting for information and never got it. She needed to be able to contact me. I'd dragged her into this world. I couldn't just leave her hanging when things got tricky.

"Thank you," Amity murmured into my ear and I smiled into her neck. She wouldn't know, but I'd personalized her mirror just like I'd personalized the rest. A crow perched atop a raincloud was etched onto the front of her compact and it was some of my finer work, if I did say so myself.

"You're welcome," I murmured back, and pressed my hands tightly into her back, trying to hold her even closer. "You're… you mean a lot to me, you know." I awkwardly pulled back, glad that Amity couldn't see just quite how uncomfortable my expression was to be admitting that.

Amity smiled and reached out, ruffling my hair. "You too," she said quietly, smiling at me softly, and I relaxed. "Let me know, will you? When you beat magical Hitler."

"You'll be the first one I call."

* * *

When next my mirror burned it woke me up. I'd been sleeping with it under my pillow, covered by my hand. I came too, sleepily blinking and wondering what had woken me. When I felt the heat on my fingers, slowly growing towards painful, I realized. I sat up sharply in bed and pulled out the mirror. With a glance over my shoulder at Harry, sprawled inelegantly with his mouth open on the pillow next to me, I slipped from the sheets and out of the room, down the hall and into the living room.

I lifted the lid of the compact and peered at the reflection in the dim light. It was Draco once more. This time he was framed in light and seemed to be leaning back against some sort of carved wood furniture. He looked like hell, his hair mussed and his eyes wide. As I watched his body gave a shudder, seemingly out of his control. I paled. I knew those symptoms, and the haunted look in his eyes confirmed it.

"Draco?" I asked softly. "What happened?"

"H-He…." Draco's voice shook and he scowled at himself, his head twitching slightly as if to reject the tremble in his words. "He wanted information on y-you…"

For a moment I was terrified that this was some kind of twisted courtesy call. A greeting and by the way, Voldemort's on his way to you as we speak and he plans to kill you. Then I remembered who I was talking to. Draco wouldn't betray me, he wouldn't hand me over. We'd spent days training him in Occlumency specifically so he could withstand those kinds of questions.

Then the guilt bowled me over, because it was my fault that Draco had been hurt like that. We'd been visibly closer to everyone who cared to look in our last year at Hogwarts. That was why Voldemort had turned to Draco for answers that he couldn't give. If we had been more careful, if I had said no when all of this first got started, if I hadn't been swept away in the idea of being loved…. Draco might not be hurting now.

"Don't you dare!" he hissed from the mirror. I looked at him in surprise. "You're blaming yourself and you shouldn't! I chose this, Lorena, I ch-ch-chose you." Another shudder crept through him and he grimace. My heart ached. I wished I could be there to hold his hand and stroke his hair and murmur to him, calmly guiding him through the pain. "I don't c-care how much it hurts," Draco spit out. "The months with you… have been some of the best months I've ever had." He smiled at me, though the pain made it more of a grimace.

I slumped forwards in my chair and buried my face in my palm, murmuring into my skin.

"I didn't catch that."

"I love you," I said again, shifting so that my chin rested in my palm instead. "I love you and, god help me, I don't deserve you." I shook my head miserably. "You're hurting to keep me safe and I hate that, I hate it more than words can say."

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it either," Draco replied drily. "But we all have to make sacrifices in this war. You told me that. This is the one I have to make to keep you safe. And you are safe," he added fiercely. "He didn't get anything from my mind."

I smiled back at him proudly. "I didn't expect he would."

Draco slumped a little and I realized as his grip on the mirror shifted that he was reclining in a grand king-sized bed. Probably intending to sleep through the worst of the shudders if he could.

"I just needed to see you," he said hoarsely. "I needed to see your face and know it was worth it. The Cruciatus… I thought I knew, but I didn't."

"Nothing quite like it, is there?" I asked with a bitter twist in my voice, and Draco shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment and grimacing. The mirror shuddered, blurring him around the edges, as his muscles seized again.

"Nothing," he agreed hollowly. "Any advice, Mediwitch Potter?"

I smiled wryly. "Unfortunately no. There's not much you can do for it aside from treat the symptoms. There's no magic spell to take the pain away. Your best shot is to down some Dreamless Sleep and sleep your way through the worst of it."

"That was the plan," Draco grunted as he shifted in the bed. "Can you please say it again?" he asked, and his cheeks flushed a little like he was embarrassed to make the request.

"Say what?" I asked, bemused. He gave me a short look.

"You know what."

I smiled. "I love you, Draco Malfoy. You are brave to try so hard to protect me. I am thankful for that more than words can say, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this."

Draco smiled at me softly. "I love you too."

He closed the mirror and I shut mine. It hung from one hand as I hunched forwards, burying my face in my palm and trying not to… well I didn't really know what. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I wanted to scream, but I didn't. I wanted to get up and fling the mirror so hard it buried in the plaster of the walls, but I didn't. I didn't know what I wanted to do, just that I had so much emotion roiling around inside of me from that short conversation that I didn't know how to let it free.

Out of nowhere there was a hand on my shoulder. I flinched but quickly relaxed. Only one person in the house would have followed me down here and tried to comfort me.

"Apparently I need to work on my sneaking," I muttered into my hand before lifting my face to stare glumly at the opposite wall.

"You sneak just fine," Harry reassured me, his hand a comforting, warm weight.

"You have some comment you want to make," I guessed, "so just say it."

Harry sighed and rubbed my shoulder absently, like he didn't even realize he was doing it. He probably didn't. "I hated the idea ta first, of you and Malfoy. I was so sure that he was playing you."

"But?"

"But I don't reckon anyone would get Cruciated for someone they're playing. The Cruciatus…. That's something you can't fake." Harry's voice was haunted and I was reminded that he himself had suffered the spell in the graveyard at Voldemort's hand. "And I figure… the fact that he's willing to… says a lot. He loves you," Harry said, and sounded completely bemused by the fact. "I don't know how, but he does."

"I'm damn loveable," I replied bitterly.

"No, I mean…" I looked up. Harry was sitting on the arm of the chair, frowning at something in the middle distance that only he could see. "I'm trying to figure out how you let him. You hated each other, I know you did."

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. Harry leaned back with me, arm coming off my shoulder to stretch across the back of the chair. I twisted and buried my face in his side. His fingers combed absently through my hair.

"I don't know," I murmured. "I don't think we ever hated each other. Did we make each other mad, certainly, but hate? No, I never wanted him dead or anything like that. We were just… doing what we were supposed to. Potters and Malfoys, pissing each other off for centuries.

"Then he changed, he was kind to me, made an effort. He never outright said but I realized that he wanted me, that he cared for me. I suppose it… it happened sort of fast after that," I realized with some surprise. It had only been a matter of a few months before Draco and I were what we are now. At the time it hadn't seemed so fast, but I suppose that was because I was so caught up trying to find ulterior motives and figure out what sort of trick was being played. But when none of that ever happened and I had nothing left to hold me back… I fell fast and hard. It was like I'd told him. When someone cares about you, it's hard not to care right back. "I have no idea how it works, I would never have expected it, but we actually balance each other out quite nicely I've found. Sort of like you and Ginny."

"If Ginny was a snarky bottle-blonde snake," Harry pouted. I whacked his leg lightly, but we were both chuckling. The laughter faded and after a moment Harry asked slowly, as if he was wary of who I'd react, "What about the danger? You had to know getting in that this was dangerous."

"I was on Voldemort's hit list no matter who I dated," I replied drily. "Really, Draco was the one taking the most risk. He's the one who has to deal with him most often. That he was willing to do that means a lot, but ultimately it was his decision whether or not he wanted to risk it. He could have sold me out ages ago, but he never did." I smiled. "He's actually been rather brave for me."

Harry had no idea the weight those words had for Draco and I but he was a Gryffindor and he could appreciate bravery even from a Slytherin. Maybe more because it came from one of us snakes.

"If he hurts you, I still reserve the right to hex him into oblivion," Harry muttered, but it was clear that while he may not be entirely on board with the idea of Draco and I as a couple yet, he was at least warming to the idea, which made me smile. I could no sooner pick between the two of them than I could pick which leg I'd rather chop off.

* * *

 _I was standing in a courtyard in Hogwarts, but it wasn't the Hogwarts I knew. There were several students lounging around, enjoying the sunshine, but their uniforms were outdated. They wore blazers and the boys' trousers were cut differently, as were the girls' skirts. One boy was stretched on a bench near me, enjoying the sun. Resting across his chest was a folded issue of the Daily Prophet. A quick glance at the date told me what was wrong. It was September 24, 1942._

" _Where are you?" I asked aloud, and heard shuffling behind me. I turned and was almost surprised to see the boy from Wools there clutching his book with the fifteen-year-old Tom Riddle standing next to him. For once they didn't seem to be at odds. I wondered if maybe the last dream had reconciled those parts of him inside of me and was glad to think it. I stretched out my arms. The boy ran to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, squeezing tightly. The older boy just sneered, but he did nod to me in greeting. I smirked right back. This fragment may have warmed to me, but it was still the fragment of a Slytherin._

" _She's so pretty," said the boy, and I looked down at him in surprise. The expression on his face, the tone of his voice, I would have sworn that he should have hearts in his eyes. I frowned at him quizzically and looked up at the older boy. He simply turned and pointed, and I looked._

 _Sitting in the same tree where Draco had taunted Harry during the Triwizard Tournament was a girl. Frankly I was impressed she'd scrambled up there in her skirt, but she didn't seem at all concerned by her clothes. Her robes were thrown over the branch, the crest proclaiming her to be a Ravenclaw. Her tie was loosened, her Mary Janes hanging by the straps from another branch. She leaned against the trunk of the tree and open across her thighs was a book that seemed to have her entirely absorbed. Even if I hadn't had the Riddles or the Prophet I would have been able to pin down the date just by the particular shade of red lipstick she wore that fairly screamed 40s._

 _She was pretty, I reasoned objectively, but no great beauty. She had a slight double chin, though she wasn't overweight. Her nose had a bump in the middle, almost like it had been broken. Her skin was pale as milk. Her legs were long and well-shaped though, shown off nicely by her position in the tree, and I found myself intrigued against my will by her hair. It was long, much longer than current fashion dictated, nearly as long as mine. Brown, but when the dappled sunlight broke through the leaves and hit it, it exploded into red, gold, copper, blonde. A soft breeze blew strands of it around her face and I was enraptured._

 _A moment later I realized that it was the boy's feelings I was experiencing because he looked up at me and squeezed my hand, saying in awe, "I love her hair."_

" _Forget her hair," huffed the older version of the boy, though I caught his eyes lingering on the waving strands. I smiled to myself. They were the same person, neither of them could deny it, no matter how the younger embarrassed the older or the older intimidated the younger. "She's brilliant. You should have heard her arguing with Professor Spinks on some runic spells the other day, she knows what she's talking about. Added to that, she's top of the class – behind me of course – and already looking into internships with enchanters for after she graduates. She has ambition," he pronounced with obvious relish. There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he beheld the girl. He wanted her but he had no idea how love worked, no idea how to say or do anything to encourage it. I wondered, with a deep pit in my stomach, whether that girl was still alive and something told me that she wasn't._

" _Why don't you go speak to her?" I asked, because I saw Tom Riddle, the one from this memory, sitting with a group of Slytherin boys on the edge of the fountain. I watched his eyes cut towards her and slide over as if he hadn't noticed, but there was just the slightest hesitation as he took her in and then moved on. No one else would have noticed it, would have suspected anything, but I was looking for the cues._

" _She's a mudblood," spat the older Riddle harshly. Without thought I reached out and whacked him across the back of the head like I'd done to Harry when he made one too many disparaging comments about my house. The older Riddle flinched and stared at me incredulously. "Hey!" he protested indignantly as his younger self sniggered and pointed at him._

" _You got in trouble!" the young Riddle accused, and the old sneered._

" _What does it matter that she's Muggleborn?" I demanded of the older, who scowled and turned away from me, now glaring at the girl in the tree._

" _She comes from filth and hatred and an unforgiveable lack of power," Tom spat. "I am the heir to one of the most powerful and ancient magical bloodlines in the world, and she is nothing compared to that."_

 _I softened and wondered if Draco had ever had those thoughts about us. That I was a halfblood, something polluted by my mother's close relation to Muggles, while he came from a powerful and well-known pureblood family. He had such a doctrine forced on him as a child by the society into which he was born and Tom had been forced to adopt it to survive and gain respect and power in Slytherin house. His own hatred of Muggles had made it an easy belief for him to adopt. But now it was being challenged by one girl who seemed to have no idea she was causing him such idealistic fits as she absently turned a page in her book and chuckled at something. I glanced towards the fountain and saw that Tom Riddle's eyes lingered on her smile, that same flash of hunger I'd seen in the eyes of his counterpart lingering there, mixed with self-disgust._

" _You may be that, but you're also the son of a Muggle," I reminded the older Riddle gently. "You have no more claim to purity than she does."_

" _It doesn't matter!" he snapped, reaching up and brushing his fingers through his hair. tHe gesture was so close to one I'd seen Harry make before that I felt as though I'd been slapped. "What if I did court her? My standing in my house was tenuous to begin with and if I began to seriously see a Muggleborn it would fall back to where it was. I have come too far to fall for something that would ultimately make me weak and vulnerable!"_

" _And, potentially, very happy," I murmured quietly. So that's what it came down to in the end for him. His standing, his pride, the respect and fear that he'd carefully cultivated, it mattered more to him than love. Respect and fear were certainly easier than a love that would bring scorn and shame, I could testify to that from personal experience. And yet maybe this would have been just a passing crush, and a year later they would pass each other in the halls of Hogwarts without the slightest acknowledgement that they had once been more than classmates. Either way it would have led to Tom Riddle experiencing a tenderness and affection that he had never before known. It would have either softened him if it lasted or hardened him if it didn't, and the idea of how much that could change the future was staggering. If this girl had accepted him and they had a love for the ages we might at this moment be flourishing under Minister Riddle's guidance instead of laboring under Lord Voldemort's hatred. There were, of course, a thousand more factors that would come into play, but as I looked at the girl in the tree I wondered if she had any idea how critical to the future of the wizarding world she might have been._

 _The elder Tom opened his mouth to say something, but fell silent as she began to move, unhooking her shoes and awkwardly squirming back into them while trying to avoid flashing anyone. She dropped her book to the ground, peering over the branch to make sure it landed neatly, and bundled her robe up under her. She tossed both legs over the branch and leaned back, hands coming down to hold her skirt in place. She flipped and landed hard on the ground, crouching to absorb the impact. She was smiling as she straightened up and I knew that this was a maneuver she'd done a hundred times before as she reached up and tugged down her robe before bending to gather her book._

 _I glanced to the side and saw a barely-disguised fondness under the hunger in the elder's gaze. The younger merely watched her in awe, a child's adoration as she made her way into the school, walking past the snakes on the edge of the fountain with seemingly no idea of what one sitting there thought of her._

 _One of the boys saw her coming. He looked like he was Crabbe's ancestor. He stretched out a foot and she didn't see it in time. She went sprawling on the stone, crying out as her knees and palms were skinned. Her book went flying to land in the bushes and she went down in a flurry of robes. For a moment she lay, stunned by the sudden change in her surroundings, before pushing herself up on her elbows and flipping over with a wordless snarl on her face._

 _Her snarl faltered when she saw who had attacked her, the howling laughter of the Slytherins while Tom sat and watched coldly. Her eyes went to him, the only one not laughing, and she flinched. It was almost imperceptible but most certainly there as she recoiled. She heaved herself to her feel, robes flapping inelegantly around her, face a brilliant red to match her lipstick._

" _Watch it," she snapped, before turning and fleeing into the school, snatching her book as she passed._

" _She feared me." I looked to the side and saw that the teenaged Riddle's eyes were on the doorway where she had vanished. "I never knew why. But every time I looked at her, she recoiled. It was like she knew what I said in the Common Rooms about people like her, like she knew how much I hated them even though I never let on to others. She somehow just… knew. And she feared me like all the rest."_

" _What was her name?" I asked gently._

 _Young and old voices blended together into the answer. "Elizabeth Rosings."_

* * *

 _Miss Potter_

 _While I am always delighted to receive communication from students over the summer, it was a surprise to hear from you. As you are no doubt aware, the general public isn't very fond of you at the moment. But I'd like to say here and now that I stand with your actions on this occasion. As it happens I have seen Living Mummy in action before. A friend of a friend, you see, he got a bit over his head while working as a Curse Breaker. I was happy to provide the potions to manage his condition right up until the end, and a more painful or messier end I have never witnessed. Albus didn't deserve that, not after everything he did for Hogwarts and the Wizarding World as a whole._

 _Nevertheless, I was surprised when your question was not on potions or the curse or the state of Hogwarts, but about an old student of mine. Yes, you're correct, I did teach Elizabeth Rosings. It was must be fifty years ago now that she graduated. Miss Risings was never quite gifted in potions. She could, as you might expect, put together a passable product, but she had none of the artistry or deftness that you or I possess. Her skills ran more towards runes and arithmancy, you are correct, though how you know that I've no idea._

 _Miss Rosings was a very promising student, one of the brightest of her year. Before she graduated she had managed to earn an apprenticeship with a well-known enchanting company studying under a master and would undoubtedly have gone far in the field. Unfortunately, the world will never know. I believe she was in her late twenties when she became a victim of You-Know-Who's first rise to power. He did not kill her himself, of course, it was some random underling who undoubtedly found sport in hunting poor Miss Rosings down. To be rather indelicate, the state of the body led the Aurors investigating to believe that he kept himself entertained for some time with her._

 _It may come as some relief to you, or some small consolation to hear that said underling was found only a month later, brutally and painfully murdered in such a way as to make what was done to Miss Rosings seems like a walk in the park. All evidence pointed to him being kill by You-Know-Who personally. At the time it was suspected that he had disobeyed orders or attempted to wriggle his way out of the fold, both of which, as you know, are things that are not tolerated._

 _That concludes the rather sad tale of the fate of Miss Elizabeth Rosings. Whatever vague project you mentioned wanting to confer with her on will have to find another contributor I'm afraid. It's always sad, as a teacher, to remember the students that you outlived, and Miss Rosings shone brighter than all but a handful I've taught. A brilliant girl and a joy to have in class. She too was a member of my Slug Club, and was always waiting in the wings with a sarcastic comment._

 _Rather like yourself, in that respect._

 _Enjoy your summer,_

 _Horace Slughorn_

 _Head of Slytherin House_

 _Potions Master_

* * *

"How does that work?"

I looked up from the cauldron bubbling on the stove and frowned when I saw Dudley lingering in the doorway, looking uncertain, like he wasn't sure if he was welcome or not. He wasn't, as it happened.

"This is a stove. You turn the knobs and it heats things up. One would think you'd know these things by now, but I suppose you've never spent much time in the kitchen actually cooking," I replied coolly, turning back to the cauldron and stirring with smooth, long strokes. I kept stirring with one hand, watching the pattern of clockwise and counterclockwise as I used my other hand to lift up the crushed ingredients I'd mixed together earlier. I lifted the premeasured amount up and poured it in, smiling in satisfaction as the potion turned the correct color and the smoke began to coil in elaborate patterns.

"No, I mean… how do p-p-potions work?"

I blinked and turned, surprised. Dudley – actually none of the Dursleys – had ever asked a technical question about magic. Tilting my head and narrowing my eyes suspiciously, I replied slowly, "Through the combination of inherently-magical ingredients, arithmantically-significant stirring, and the brewer's innate magic potions are produced with different effects."

"Could I do it?" Dudley asked curiously, and I scoffed.

"Unless you have some sort of power you've been hiding from us for the past several years no. IT's not just throwing ingredients into a cauldron and tossing it on the fire, though some will tell you different. They simply fail to grasp the science that goes into it. Potions will always do what you tell them to, even if that's not what you expected. It's art as much as science and a truly accomplished brewer creates a masterpiece every time they brew."

"You got her started," Harry accused, sliding into the kitchen and giving Dudley a cool look. "Rena will go on for ages about potions if you let her. She'd obsessed."

"Skilled is the proper word, brother dear," I countered swiftly.

"What's this you're making now?" Harry asked curiously, approaching the cauldron and peering inside curiously. "Is that… antidote to common poisons?"

I hummed my confirmation. "I figured it couldn't hurt to have a batch with us in case of emergencies. I've also got a bezoar for each of us so that no matter what we'll all have one."

"If you have bezoars then why are you making this stuff?" Harry asked, gesturing to the cauldron. He paused and seemed to suddenly notice that there was no book sitting out with the recipe on it. "And are you doing it from memory?"

"It's a first year potion," I reminded Harry pointedly. "And because bezoars are _damn expensive_. I intend for them to be a backup shoot in the event that _this stuff_ doesn't work."

"Is it… likely you'll get poisoned?"

Dudley was still lingering in the kitchen doorway and eyeing the cauldron like he couldn't figure out what to make of. Which was the correct expression, because he wouldn't know what to do with a cauldron if it fell on his head. Harry and I both turned to look at him.

I smiled menacingly at Dudley. "A girl in my dorm was poisoned at breakfast year before last. On her birthday."

"Rena, don't…" Harry groaned.

Dudley was wide-eyed and pale, shaking at the very idea. "What happened to the person who did it?"

"Oh, I got off scott free," I replied breezily, smirking as I turned back to the cauldron. Dudley's mouth dropped open and he fled the room.

"Why do you do that?" Harry asked tartly. "You've been even worse to them than usual?"

"Because they have no hold over me anymore," I replied bluntly. "They are not providing us with clothes and food. They are not getting us an educated. Shortly they won't even be keeping a roof over our heads, and even if they weren't, we would have Grimmauld Place to go to. In short, they no longer have any sort of leverage over me, and that means that it is _finally_ time for them to fear like we used to," I said with relish.

"I hate them too," Harry argued. "But what's wrong with being the bigger person and just… ignoring them?"

I shook my head. "I'm sure that works for you, Harry but not for me. I don't get over it. I get even. Parkinson knows that. So does Bellatrix. So does Umbridge. So does Dumbledore." I trailed off quieter with each name until the last was drowned by the hissing bubble of the cauldron. "It's just who I am."

"You're a Slytherin," Harry said, and for once it didn't sound like an epithet.

"If you just ignore them, how will they learn that what they did was wrong?" I asked archly. "This is a teachable moment, brother dear, and I intend to educate the Dursleys until they learn their lessons well."

* * *

 **Okay so this was a little bit fillery, but there were several random things I wanted to make clear about this summer. Namely, Rena's gone full bitch on the matter of the Dursleys which she's been waiting for years, she and Harry are getting back to being siblings, and she continues to prep for the Great Camping Trip. Also, I do adore the Tom dreams and I realized I hadn't written one in a while, so yeah.**


	112. Order Arrives

The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared, "Oh! You two!"

Sixteen years of being addressed thus left me in no doubt that Uncle Vernon was calling for Harry and . I didn't feel compelled to immediately respond, however. I looked up from the last check I was doing on my bag at Harry, who seemed to be squinting at something in his palm. He seemed as unconcerned as I was. It was not until Uncle Vernon bellowed, "Potters!" that I slowly stood up and sighed, stretching. Harry slipped whatever was in his palm into his rucksack and joined me as I headed for the landing.

"You took you time!" roared Vernon Dursley when Harry and I appeared at the top of the stairs, "Get down here. I want a word!"

It wasn't a terribly enticing invitation for a conversation, but Harry and I walked down nevertheless. The Dursleys were in the living room, all of them dressed for packing, Uncle Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley in his leather jacket.

"Yes?" asked Harry somewhat tartly.

"Sit down!" ordered Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows and I outright scoffed, twirling my wand around my fingers calmly. "Please!" added Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat. Harry sat down in the chair I'd occupied for my chat with Draco and I took his previous spot on the arm. Harry and I exchanged glances, both fairly confident that this was going to be another one of Uncle Vernon's waffling 'going not going' rants. H began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumpled with concentration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry and I and spoke.

"I've changed my mind," he announced.

"Words cannot express my shock," I replied baldly.

"Don't you take that tone-" began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon Dursley waved her down.

"It's all a lot of claptrap," continued Uncle Vernon, glaring at us with piggy little eyes. "I've decided I don't believe a word of it. We're staying put, we're not going anywhere. According to you," he resumed his pacing up and down the living room, "we - Petunia, Dudley, and I - are in danger. From- from-"

"Some of 'our lot,' right," finished Harry.

"Well I don't believe it," repeated Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of us again. "I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it's a plot to get the house."

"The house?" repeated Harry. "What house?"

"This house!" shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein his forehead starting to pulse. "Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and then you're going to do a bit of hocus pocus and before we know it the deeds will be in your name and-"

"I didn't think it was possible while still maintaining bodily function, but you actually are as stupid as you look," I sneered.

"Don't you dare-!" squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her down. Apparently insulting his appearance and intelligence were nothing compared to this devious plot Harry and I were cooking up that he had so cleverly deduced.

"I would remind you that I already have a house," I continued, unfazed by Aunt Petunia's screeching, "in London which, quite frankly, is worth far more than this place. Why on earth would Harry and I have any interest in this place? All the happy family memories?" I scoffed.

There was silence.

"You claim," huffed Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, "that this Lord Thing-"

"-Voldemort," corrected Harry impatiently, "and we've been through this about a hundred times already. This isn't a claim, it's fact. Dumbledore told you last year, and Kingsley and Mr. Weasley-"

Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and I guessed he was remembering that rather tense encounter.

"-Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well," Harry pressed on remorselessly. "Once I'm seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break, and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you, whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding you hostage I'd come and try to rescue you."

Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met briefly and then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed, "You've got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You're being offered serious protection, the best there is."

Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor's lawn mower stalled again.

"I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?" asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.

"Your point?" I asked archly, frankly surprised he'd remembered. Then again, politics were one of his favorite things to rant about.

"Well, then, why can't they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of nothing more than harboring wanted persons, we ought to qualify for government protection!"

"Sure, by all means, take protection from the very people who would want to hurt you." I rolled my eyes. "Voldemort had people infiltrating the Ministry from the moment he returned two years ago."

Uncle Vernon strode back to the fireplace and back breathing so strongly that his great black mustache rippled his face still purple with concentration.

"All right," he said, stopping in front of Harry and I get again. "All right, let's say for the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don't see why we can't have that Kingsley bloke."

We'd addressed this topic a dozen times before.

"As I've told you," Harry said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting the Mug ¨C I mean, your Prime Minister."

"Exactly - he's the best!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with earring in.

"To be indelicate, to use Kingsley's word," I responded, "the Muggle Minister is a high-priority target. You're not. Hestia Jones and Daedalus Diggle are the best you will get, and they're frankly more than you deserve."

"If we'd even seen CVs..." began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience as much as I had. Getting to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set himself.

"These accidents aren't accidents - the crashes and explosions and derailments and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing and dying and he's behind it - Voldemort. I've told you this over and over again, he kills Muggles for fun. Even the fogs - they're caused by dementors, and if you can't remember what they are, ask your son!"

Dudley's hands jerked upward to cover his mouth. With his parents' and Harry's eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, "There are... more of them?"

"More?" I chuckled. "You think two or three guard a whole damn prison? There are likely thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despair-"

"All right, all right," blustered Vernon Dursley. "You've made your point-"

"I hope so," interrupted Harry, "because once I'm seventeen, all of them - Death Eaters, dementors, maybe even Inferi - which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark wizard - will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. And if you remember the last time you tried to outrun wizards, I think you'll agree you need help."

There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon blurted out, "But what about my work? What about Dudley's school? I don't suppose those things matter to a bunch of lay-about wizards-"

"Insult the people trying to protect you one more time and I will end you myself!" I snapped, rising to my feet, and Harry turned to me, eyes wide. He relaxed slightly. He knew what I looked like in a rage. I was annoyed, no doubt about it, but this was mostly showboating. "Call our father lazy all you like but here's the truth of the matter – he didn't have to work! His family was one of the richest in wizarding Britain! You think we want your house?" I scoffed. "Harry and I could buy the whole neighborhood if we wanted with money to spare. I myself am going to patent inventions and potions that will ensure ridiculous amounts of income once I'm of age. We don't need you for money, we don't need you for shelter, and certainly nothing you've ever done to us would make us terribly inclined to want to put much effort into keeping you alive. You mean less than nothing to us. So tell me, why you somehow think you have the right to spit on protection you're being offered from a world you could never hope to understand?"

"Dad," said Dudley in a loud voice, "Dad - I'm going with these Order people."

"Dudley," said Harry, "for the first time in your life, you're talking sense."

The battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order's help, his parents would accompany him. There could be no question of being separated from their Duddykins. I saw Harry glance at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

"They'll be here in about five minutes," he commented, and with that we both turned and left the room. There was nothing left to say. None of us were terribly broken up to be leaving the others, and what did you say as a farewell to people you'd loathed for a solid sixteen years, who had loathed you right back?

Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack then poked a couple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig's cage. They fell with dull thuds to the bottom where she ignored them.

"We're leaving soon, really soon," Harry murmured her. "And then you'll be able to fly again."

"I'm sending Artemisia to Hogwarts," I said, approaching my own owl. She nipped fondly at my fingers when I slid through the bars to touch her wings and I smiled faintly. "She'll be safe there and I'll reclaim her once it's all over."

I thought about how many things I cared about were being defended by the walls of Hogwarts. Artemisia, Silas and Sasha. Draco, shortly. Hogwarts was a main target of Voldemort, and yet I was confident that he wouldn't want to do much to damage it. Like Harry and I it was the one place that veer been home to him and he would want it intact. On top of that, as a descendant of one of the Founders it was his family's legacy.

"You know, I can't tell if it would be a compliment to you to point out how much you scare me sometimes," Harry commented, and I snorted. "What? You're a very good actress. I almost thought you might kill them."

I resisted the urge to confirm that yes I would potentially kill them with very little heartache. Instead I smirked and said, "Maybe when this is all over I'll become an actress instead of a brewer. Think I could make decent money?"

The doorbell rang as we both chuckled. Harry hesitated and I headed for the door, gesturing for him to follow me.

"Let's not leave Hestia and Daedalus to cope with the Dursleys on their own," I said lightly. "It's hardly fair."

Harry nodded in agreement, his mouth twitching up for a second, before joining me as we descended the stairs to let the Order members inside.

"Harry Potter!" squeaked an excited voice. the moment Harry had opened the door. A small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. "An honor as ever!"

"Thanks, Daedalus," replied Harry awkwardly, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon the dark-haired Hestia. I couldn't help but notice that Daedalus was studiously looking only at Harry and Hestia was shooting me suspicious looks. I tried not to be offended. "It's really good of you to do this... They're through here, my aunt and uncle and cousin..."

"Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" called Daedalus, happily striding into the living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus. I half expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his mother at the sight of the witch and wizard.

"I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one," explained Daedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. "We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house – Harry and Lorena being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest them - we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" he asked Uncle Vernon politely.

"Know how to-? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle Vernon.

"Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and knobs," said Daedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every word Daedalus spoke. I resisted the urge to double over and snort at his expression.

"Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately neither Daedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.

"You two Potters," Daedalus continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements-"

"What d'you mean?" interrupted Harry at once. "I thought Mad-Eye was going to come and take me by Side Along-Apparition?"

"Can't do it," disagreed Hestia tersely, "Mad-Eye will explain."

I scowled. "Is he being ridiculously paranoid again?"

The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, "Hurry up!" I looked all around the room before realizing the voice had issued from Daedalus's pocket watch.

"Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule," agreed Daedalus nodding at his watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. "We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your family's Disapparition, thus the charm breaks the moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys, "Well, are we all packed and ready to go?"

None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring, appalled, at the bulge in Daedalus's waistcoat pocket.

"Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Daedalus," murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and I and the Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.

"There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unnecessary by saying loudly, "Well, this is good-bye then, you two."

He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.

"Ready, Duddy?" asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry and I altogether. I smirked, unsurprised by their refusal to give Harry and I a proper send off. In sixteen years they'd never given us a proper anything, why change tradition now?

Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.

"Come along, then," blustered Uncle Vernon.

He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Petunia looking up at her son.

Dudley raised a large, ham-like hand to point at Harry and I. I arched an eyebrow. "Why aren't they coming with us?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.

"What?" demanded Uncle Vernon loudly.

"Why aren't they coming too?" repeated Dudley.

"Well, they - don't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and I and adding, "You don't want to, do you?"

"Not in the slightest," replied Harry instantly.

"I'd rather wrestle a graphorn," I sneered.

"There you are," Uncle Vernon told Dudley. "Now come on we're off."

He marched out of the room. We heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.

"What now?" barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.

It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, "But where're they going to go?"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

"But... surely you know where your niece and nephew are going?" she asked, looking bewildered.

"Certainly we know," huffed Vernon Dursley, like he was offended she would think he didn't. "They're off with some of your lot, aren't they? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry."

Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow.

"Off with some of our lot?" Hestia looked outraged. Witches and wizards always seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter. Even as his sister I should have been afforded some sort of affection, but there had never been anything of the sort between Dursleys and Potters.

"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It doesn't matter, honestly."

"Doesn't matter?" repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.

"They dislike us as much as e dislike them," I clarified.

Hestia still seemed personally affronted. "Don't these people realize what you've been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement?"

"Er - no, they don't," said Harry. "They think we're a waste of space, actually but we're used to-"

"I don't think you're a waste of space"

If I had not seen Dudley's lips move, I might not have believed it. As it was, I stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been our cousin who had spoken. For one thing, Dudley had turned red.

Harry seemed embarrassed. He coughed awkwardly and said, "Well... er... thanks, Dudley."

I narrowed my eyes when Dudley turned to me, like he was expecting me to echo my brother's sentiment. He would never understand what a difference there was between how a Gryffindor took and apology and how a Slytherin took one. For a Gryffindor the apology was often enough. For a Slytherin there were things to be taken into account, factors to be weighed.

"Unfortunately, after years of being your personal punching bag, I rather think that of you," I informed him coldly. "And a dull-witted apology won't change that."

Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, "You both saved my life."

"Not really," corrected Harry. "It was your soul the dementor would have taken..."

Although Harry seemed rather touched, I was quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence.

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry and I. "S-so sweet, Dudders..." she sobbed into his massive chest. "S-such a lovely b-boy... s-saying thank you..."

"But he hasn't said thank you at all!" protested Hestia indignantly. "He only said he didn't think Harry and Lorena were a waste of space!"

"Yeah, but coming from Dudley that's like 'I love you,'" explained Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved us from a burning building.

"Are we going or not?" roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living room door. "I thought we were on a tight schedule!"

"Yes - yes, we are," said Daedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanges with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. "We really must be off. Harry-" He tripped forward and wrung Harry's hand with both of his own before giving mine the same treatment."- good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon your shoulders."

"Oh." Harry blinked "Right. Thanks."

"Farwell, Potters," said Hestia also clasping his hand. "Our thoughts go with you."

"I hope everything's okay," offered Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

"Oh I'm sure we shall end up the best of chums," chuckled Diggle, waving his hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.

Dudley gently released himself from his mother's clutches and walked toward Harry, who looked a second away from pulling out his wand. Then Dudley held out his large, pink hand.

"Blimey, Dudley," said Harry over Aunt Petunia's renewed sobs, "did the dementors blow a different personality into you?"

"Dunno," muttered Dudley, "See you, Harry."

"Yea ..." said Harry uncertainly, taking Dudley's hand and shaking it. "Maybe. Take care, Big D."

Dudley nearly smiled. He turned to me, probably to give me the same sort of sentiment, but my expression seemed to make him think better of it, which was the plan. He lumbered from the room. I heard his heavy footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.

Aunt Petunia, whose face had been buried in her handkerchief looked around at the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry and I. Hastily stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, "Well - good-bye," and marched towards the door without looking at us.

"Good-bye," returned Harry.

She stopped and looked back. For a moment I had the strangest feeling that she wanted to say something to us. She gave us both an odd, tremulous look and seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little of her head, she hustled out of the room after her husband and son.

Harry ran back upstairs to his bedroom and I followed much more slowly, not at all interested in watching the Dursleys ride off into the sunset or what have you. I sighed and paused at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, feeling entirely alone in a way I hadn't in a long time. It was hard to feel along in a school as big as Hogwarts or a house you shared with four other people. I felt old, and I hadn't even been around for a full two decades. For a moment as I contemplated what was ahead of us – Horcruxes and loss and battles and skin-of-your-teeth escapes – and felt inexorably drawn down, wanting to collapse onto the ground and lie there while the world sorted itself out around us. Hadn't Harry and I already done enough?

Shaking the thoughts from my head I mounted the stairs and joined Harry in out room. He brushed past me. There was a moment where emerald met emerald and we silently communicated. Both of us felt oddly unseated, knowing the Dursleys weren't coming back here any time in the near future, and neither were we.

I moved to Artemisia's cage and pulled it open, turning it towards the window. "To Hogwarts," I urged her. "Stay there until I come for you."

Artemisia was only an owl, but she had been my companion for as long as I'd been a part of the magical world and I wanted her safe as much as I wanted ay of my Basilisks kept safe. She hooted at me and her eyes seemed as sad as mine as she hopped from her cage to the window sill and then took off into the night.

Harry had packed a rucksack, but I had my endless bag. It tied neatly to the belt of my jeans, a small weight belying the dozens of volumes it contained, a closet of clothes, and anything that might possibly be used for brewing. My wand slipped up my sleeve and I grabbed a pair of Fred and George's fingerless Shield Gloves from the desk drawer where I'd tossed them aside. I tugged them on as I picked up the other thing inside of the drawer and tossed it over one arm. I didn't quite know how to feel about the fact that I was walking out of my childhood – not home, but… habitation? – with nothing but a pouch at my side. It conflicted with the side of me that had been raised by Muggles. I wondered if the weight of something on my shoulders would be an anchor or a comfort.

The light was fading rapidly, the hall full of shadows in the evening light. Harry stood in the middle of the hallway with the strangest look on his face, like he was almost feeling a little nostalgic about Privet Drive. I could understand. There were memories here, and not all of them bad. I remembered the amazing battles Harry and I would have with our little painted soldiers in the cupboard under the stairs, curling tightly together at night to fight of feelings of cold and helplessness.

"I have something for you to wear," I said, and offered Harry the garment draped over my arm. Patterned from a t-shirt smuggled from his dorm, it was a dueling vest made of basilisk scale, with a soft inner lining to save from any chafing. I made it from scales from the underbelly to keep it from restricting movement.

"Is that what I think it is?" Harry asked, eyes lingering on the scales. They were almost the same shade of vibrant green, I noticed with slight amusement.

"In case of rogue spells," I explained, and passed it over. Harry took it with a grin and pulled his shirt off over his head. There was a line of lacing up the front so that the fit could be adjusted, let out or in to suit him, and Harry struggled to loosen it up enough to get it over his shoulders but got it on and tightened it up, knotting the lace near the top of his throat. Harry pulled his shirt back on and peered at his reflection in the decorative mirror on the wall.

"Have I told you lately that you're brilliant?" he asked. I smiled softly.

"You could stand to mention it more," I replied. Harry turned to look at me and questioned,

"What about you?"

I lifted the hem of my shirt and revealed the basilisk scales skimming the top of my jeans. Harry nodded approvingly and looked around.

"Does it seem weird to you to be leaving?" he asked.

"Yes and no," I admitted. "I've wanted to leave this place and not come back for ages. But I didn't think it would be like this. Off questing like we're the bloody Fellowship of the Ring."

"Do you want to take a last look at the place?" Harry asked Hedwig. "We'll never be here again. Don't you want to remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories..." There was a faint grin on Harry's face as he reminisced, "Dudley sobbed on it after I saved him from the dementors ... Turns out he was grateful after all, can you believe it? ... And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door..."

Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment and turned his back on the front door.

"And under here-" Harry pulled open a door under the stairs "-is where I used to sleep! You never knew me then," he added to Hedwig. "Blimey, it's small, I'd forgotten..."

I stepped up next to him and peered inside. We had moved out of there when we were eleven and hadn't looked back. I tried to figure out how Harry and I had fit in there. Back then it had been cramped but livable. I didn't think either of us could have curled up on the floor anymore, at least not without considerable squishing and swearing.

"I could lock you inside for old times?" I asked with a smirk, and Harry nudged me with his shoulder.

There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Harry and I straightened up in nearly the same moment. I avoided it, but Harry smacked the top of his head on the low door frame. Pausing only to employ a few of Uncle Vernon's choicest swear words, he staggered back into the kitchen, clutching his head and staring out of the window into the back garden.

I followed and was surprised. We'd been expecting Mad-Eye, not a whole regiment. The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. One by one, figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. I followed more slowly, fully aware I wouldn't be nearly as well received. There was a general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, "All righ', Harry? Ready fer the off?"

"Definitely," said Harry, beaming around at them all. "But I wasn't expecting this many of you!"

"Change of plan," growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let's get undercover before we talk you through it."

"Into the kitchen then," I called, holding the door open, and like I'd just decided to strip naked, all eyes turned to me. I saw Fleur and Bill who both looked uncertain but not hateful. Ron and Hermione had much the same expression. Hagrid seemed sad. Tonks and Remus were standing together, I was glad to see, and they were some of the few that seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Moody looked outright hateful.

"Lorena," Remus said, and broke the awkward silence as he approached and scooped me into his arms. I smiled and hugged him back. The crest ring on my finger felt warm as I clenched my fingers on Remus's bony back.

"Hello Uncle Moony," I whispered too quietly for anyone to hear. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too," Remus agreed as he pulled back.

They all piled into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia's gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances. Ron, long and lanky. Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait. Fred and George, grinning identically. Bill, badly scarred and longhaired. Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry. Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket. Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of bright pink. Remus, grayer, more lined. Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair. Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady hound's eyes and matted hair.

It was a motley assortment if I'd ever seen one.

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" Harry called across the room.

"He can get along without me for one night," replied Kingsley, "You're more important."

"Guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at us. A ring glistened there.

"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Remus.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, it was very quiet," Lupin apologized. I beamed at him, knowing that despite the quietness of the whole romance he was beyond happy. Tonks absolutely adored him, that was clear, and Remus needed to be adored. A lifetime of rejection and mistrust would do a lot to a man's self-esteem. He and Snape were shining examples of that fact.

"That's brilliant, congrat-"

"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later," roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen.

I glared at the Auror. "Stow it Alastor, I have a new aunt, and damn it, I'm going to hug her before you ruin the mood!" And with that I shoved my way through the crowd, hopped up onto the washing machine next to Tonks, and hugged her tightly. Tonks embraced me happily, kicking her feet like a child, and laughed. Over her shoulder I saw Remus smiling at us both fondly and knew that Harry and I's acceptance meant something to him. Perhaps not a lot, but something.

"If we can proceed with getting you both to safety, Potter?" Moody asked gruffly as he dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Daedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely."

"Probably done knowingly. Thicknesse would be the perfect choice for a puppet for Voldemort," I commented.

"Yes, we know," Moody grunted. "Second problem: You're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"I don't-"

"The Trace, the Trace!" repeated Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters.

"We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you'll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks he's got you cornered good and proper."

Harry looked fairly uncertain when Moody laid out what all we had stacked against us. "So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can't detect, because we don't need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike."

I stared. This reeked of Moody's paranoia but the fact remained that this plan was already in place and I knew better than many how much changing the script midway through could trash not one but both plans about what to do. Unless Moody came out with something truly ridiculous, my plan was to keep my mouth shut.

"Now, your mother's charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or-" Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen "-you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you're never going to live together again, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"God willing," I quipped.

"So this time, when you leave, there'll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We're choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen.

"The one thing we've got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn't know we're moving you tonight. We've leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you're not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we're dealing with, so we can't rely on him getting the date wrong; he's bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we've given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide you, they've all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley's place, Molly's Auntie Muriel's - you get the idea."

"Yeah," said Harry warily.

"You'll be going to Tonks's parents. Once you're within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we've put on their house you'll be able to use a Portkey to the Burrow. Potter, you'll be going to Muriel's. Any questions?"

"Er - yes," interjected Harry. "Maybe they won't know which of the twelve secure houses Lorena and I heading for at first, but won't it be sort of obvious once-" he performed a quick headcount "-fourteen of us fly off toward Tonks's parents and Auntie Muriel's?"

"Ah," said Moody, "I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won't be flying to Tonks's parents. There will be several Harry and Lorena Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house."

From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word. Harry and I understood the rest of the plan immediately.

"No!" Harry said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"

"I told them you'd take it like this," sighed Hermione with a hint of complacency.

"If you think I'm going to let people risk their lives-!"

"-because it's the first time for all of us," scoffed Ron.

"This is different, pretending to be me-"

"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."

I coughed pointedly and raised an eye at him.

"Or gorgeous, clever girls," George corrected with a wink. "No offense Rena." I nodded approvingly.

Harry did not smile. "You can't do it if I don't cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."

"Well, that's the plan scuppered," said George sarcastically. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."

"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," Fred continued in the same tone.

"Funny," scoffed Harry, "really amusing."

"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Everyone here's overage, Potter, and they're all prepared to take the risk."

Mundungus shrugged and grimaced. The magical eye swerved sideways to glance at him out of the side of Moody's head.

"Let's have no more arguments. Time's wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now."

"But this is mad, there's no need-"

"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we're lucky he'll have swallowed the fake bait and he'll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he'd be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it's what I'd do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother's charm holds, but it's about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can't split himself into seven."

"Ignoring this no doubt deeply well thought out rant," I commented, sliding off the washing machine, "I think your plan is ridiculous, but as no one has anything better…" I reached up and tugged a couple of hair from my head. I strode towards Moody, and snatched a few hairs from Harry's head as I passed.

"Bloody hell, Rena!" Harry protested irritably as he rubbed the spot where I'd just yanked. I presented Moody with the strands of red and black, squinting at the Polyjuice. The texture of it was a bit off, the bubbling a little too fast. It was functional but it could be better. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

"If I weren't saving it for an emergency I'd insist we use some of my own stores," I huffed.

"You're carting around Polyjuice Potion?" Mundungus asked, perking up a little bit. "Expensive, that is."

I gave Mundungus a filthy look and he went bleach white as he seemed to suddenly recall that the last time we'd interacted I threatened to snap his wand.

"Do _not_ speak to me, scum," I hissed.

"Enough!" Moody snapped as he divided the hair and produced another flagon. He dropped the hairs into the potions and they began to shift and change color. Harry's turned a clear, bright gold and mine a deep green with a dark reddish shift.

"Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle," commented Hermione, before catching sight of Ron's raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you know what I mean - Goyle's potion tasted like bogies."

"Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," ordered Moody.

Ron, Hermione, George, Tonks, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia's gleaming sink.

"We're one short," commented Remus.

"Here," said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and Tonks instead.

"I'm a soldier, I'd sooner be a protector," protested Mundungus.

"Shut it," growled Moody. "As I've already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture the Potters, not kill them. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish the Potters in person. It'll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters'll want to kill them."

I figured it would not help general opinion of me to point out that Voldemort didn't want me dead at all, but instead wanted me at his side.

Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

"Altogether, then ..."

Ron, Hermione, Tonks, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats. At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione, Tonks and Mundungus were shooting upward. Ron, and George were shrinking. Their hair was changing color, Hermione's, Tonk's and Fleur's appearing to shoot out from their skulls.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were three copies of Harry and I gasping and panting in front of him.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow, we're not identical!"

"I dunno, though, I think I'm still better-looking," said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

"Bah," said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, "Bill, don't look at me - I'm not myself."

"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I've got smaller here," barked Moody, indicating the first sack, "and vice versa. Don't forget the glasses, there's six pairs in the side pocket. And when you're dressed, there's luggage in the other sack."

Hermione, Fleur, Tonks and I vanished into the living room to change, all of them wary of exposing my body in front of a bunch of men. It was strange to see my body form the objective perspective. I didn't recognize myself. The long red hair was the same, and Hermione managed to pull off my trademark ponytail rather effortlessly. The scars I knew intimately, the same for the tattoos, which Tonks took a moment to survey curiously.

"These are good, where'd you get them done?"

"Inigo's Inks, down Knockturn Alley," I replied absently as I picked up the glasses from the table and passed them around. I was wearing my contacts, which would make me stand out a little, but it wasn't inconceivable that if we were attacked my glasses would have fallen off in the ruckus. That was the exact reason I'd stopped wearing them.

"Oh mon dieu!"

I turned to see that Fleur had caught sight of the reflection of her back in the darkened television screen. She was staring with wide eyes at the scars from Fluffy that raked across my back and side. My own scars seemed painfully present in a way they hadn't since I'd first got them. Aside from a few random cuts and of course the S on my cheek, it was my oldest one. I'd had the most time to adapt to the presence of that one.

"What did zis?" Fleur asked, touching the scars uncertianly. She blinked. "It feelz very strange!"

"Magical damage has a bad habit of damaging nerve cells, that's what you're feeling," I explained, feeling odd trying to rationalize the things that I had long ago accepted as being as indisputable and unchangeable as the color of the sky. "And that was a Cerberus when I was eleven."

"I didn't realize Fluffy left such a bad mark," Hermione murmured. "You were always covered up when I came to see you."

"Well I don't exactly run around topless, so why would you?" I chuckled.

We all returned to the kitchen and the fake mes started to grab luggage, but pause. I smirked as I realized what they were noticing – that while Harry had things with him, I didn't.

"Artemisia was sent to hide out at Hogwarts with the other owls and all of my stuff is in here." I patted my pouch.

"Right, you made a bunch of those for the Order!" Tonks grinned. Or at least, I thought it was Tonks. All I knew was that a smile that big looked incredibly unnerving on my face.

"Good," approved Moody as a truly unnecessary amount of Potters stared back at him. "The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom-"

"Why'm I with you?" grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

"Because you're the one that needs watching," growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, "Arthur and George. Tonks, you're with Remus. Miss Delacour-"

"I'm taking Fleur on a thestral," interrupted Bill. "She's not that fond of brooms."

Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that I hoped had never appeared on my face before with Draco of I would be flinging myself off the Astronomy Tower post haste.

"Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral-"

Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley's smile. Hermione also wasn't too confident on a broomstick.

"Which leaves you and me, sweetie," Fred grined, swaggering over to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his side. He paused and asked, "You are the real one, right?"

I winked. "Wotcher, Fred."

Fred recoiled in horror and looked at Remus, like he was expecting him to hex him for daring to grab a hold of his wife. I smirked and echoed what I'd heard a thousand times from one Weasley twin or the other.

"Only joking, I am Lorena."

Fred gave a weak laugh and rubbed his chest. "Give me a heart attack why don't you?"

"You're with me, Harry. That all righ'?" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious. "We'll be on the bike, brooms an' thestrals can't take me weight, see. Not a lot o' room on the seat with me on it, though, so you'll be in the sidecar."

"That's great," said Harry, though I could tell he wasn't entirely confident in that.

"We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom," said Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. "Snape's had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he's never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we're betting they'll choose one of the Potters who looks at home on a broomstick. All right then," he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters' clothes in it and leading the way back to the door, "I make it three minutes until we're supposed to leave. No point locking the back door, it won't keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking. Come on ..."

Harry hurried to gather his rucksack, Firebolt, and Hedwig's cage and followed the group to the dark back garden. I strode out the door. This wasn't the best plan. Polyjuicing into an old woman, toddling off down the street, and Disapparating once we were beyond the sphere of influence seemed a good idea. But this one was actually solid enough to have backups, which counted as a plus.

On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands. Hermione had already been helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

"Is this it? Is this Sirius's bike?" Harry asked interestedly, and even I was intrigued. I'd never seen the thing before but I could easily imagine Sirius, with his fondness for ink and jewelry and leather, looking right at home on it. I wondered if he'd ever done a Weasley and driven it to school instead of taking the train. Or back in second year, would we have done a Black?

"The very same," said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry as I smothered a smile. "An' the last time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!"

Ron smirked at the sight of Harry sitting there several feet below the rest of us as I threw my leg over the back of the broom and held tightly onto Fred. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his feet and rammed Hedwig's cage between his knees.

"Arthur's done a bit o' tinkerin'," said Hagrid cheerfully as he settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank inches into the ground. "It's got a few tricks up its sleeves now. Tha' one was my idea." He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.

"Please be careful, Hagrid," urged Mr. Weasley, who was standing beside them, holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable and it's certainly only to be used in emergencies."

"All right, then," interjected Moody. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Everybody motioned their heads. Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Moody. "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One... two... THREE…"

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Fred kicked off. I clung on, arms coiled tightly around his waist, and squinted against the wind as my ponytail was whipped around behind me.

"Having flashbacks to Quidditch games past?" Fred called over his shoulder as all around us the guard rose into the air.

"Maybe a little," I admitted.

I didn't know why I had expected this would work. Maybe because Moody was a paranoid bastard that wouldn't possibly allow for any sort of leeway for incident. Maybe because this was only the start of our grand Horcrux hunt and how underwhelming would it be if we all died before it really got underway? Maybe because I trusted at least a handful of the people involved in the operation not to put my life in danger.

But I really should have known it would all go to hell.

* * *

 **So yeah, we're not quite out of the woods yet. This chapter was intended to have the whole leaving of Privet Drive, but it started getting waaaaaay too long. This chapter is already almost 9000 words and the chase is at least 3000 so... yeah. That'll be up next week.**


	113. Abandoning Privet Drive

**I am so sorry for not updating yesterday, it was kind of crazy. I meant to go back and do final edits but then we get news that my grandfather is coming into town to stay the night so we had to make up a room for him, then I had to go to work, come home, visit with him. I wasn't in bed until almost 11 last night and I honestly us forgot amongst all that. Here we are though, the flight from Privet Drive and some medic!Rena**

* * *

Adrenaline was truly a beautiful thing, and I could easily see how people might become addicted to it. The feeling of your heart beating in your ears, the way your guts clenched up so tightly it felt like you might explode. It made the world seem to at once speed up and slow down. The main features blurred but the details sharpened and somehow that made everything seem foreign, yet easier to understand.

This was not a random patrol like Moody had been concerned about, this was an ambush. We rose out of the backyard and were instantly trapped in a circle of black-robed figures on brooms. Shouts, orders, green lights, cold wind, the smell of Fred's shampoo. It was a sensory overload and somehow I felt completely in control in a way I only rarely did.

"George!" Fred yelled worriedly, straining to catch a glimpse of his twin and nearly throwing us into a roll. I yanked him back upright.

"He's with your father, he'll keep him safe!" I shouted in his ear, resisting the urge to whip around and look for Hagrid. I could hear the roar of the motorcycle, knew the general direction Harry was in, and knew that going by the fact that Hagrid was shouting himself hoarse, they were something resembling okay.

Fred had trailed off into a constant stream of swear words spilling from his lips without conscious thought. I hit me like a truck that this was the first battle Fred had ever been in. I was somewhat prepared for this, he wasn't. He needed to know what to do, we were just hovering awkwardly back and forth, dodging whatever came our way.

"Do a lap around the interior of the circle!" I ordered.

"What?" Fred demanded.

"Close as you can get, do it before they break formation!" I roared. "I'll keep us safe, go!"

It helped to have something to do and it was enough to make Fred lean forward and accelerate towards the edge of the circle. We shot towards the ring and I knew that the man in front of us that I was aiming my wand at might be Nott's father, might be related to another of my Basilisks. I knew it wasn't Draco's dad though, no long blonde hair, and so when he raised his wand I had no problem with pointing my own at him and casting a non-verbal Bone-Breaker. He shrieked as the spell hit him in the arm and spiraled down and around. I tossed up a Shield to keep a stray spell from us as Fred curved into a loop. The Death Eaters were starting to break ranks, to target pairs of Potters and protectors, but they were still loosely arrayed around us and that was enough.

I shot a wordless Reductor in the direction of the broom of one Death Eater who shot past us, aiming for Remus's broom. It hit the tail of his broom and blasted it to bits. Suddenly he was falling with nothing to slow him. I heard the crack that showed he'd Disapparated, the only option left aside from a long drop and sudden stop, and knew he was out of the fight. My next spell was a Stunner right to the face of a Death Eater who peeled off and curved towards us. He blocked, my spell dissipating against his Shield, and I heard him laugh as he and Fred ran head-on towards each other.

"Rena, do something!" Fred yelled.

" _Sectumsempra!"_ I shrieked, and punched my wand forwards, then slashed down. The Death Eater had been so confident that watching my spell fizzle would rattle me, that we would swerve, but we did nothing of the sort. Maybe he was confident I wouldn't toss anything worse than what a basic shield would handle. It didn't matter what he thought. The spell punched a hole in his shoulder and yanked down along his chest. He fell with a scream, blood drenching his robes shockingly quickly, and another Death Eater dove to try and catch him.

" _Stupefy!"_

I had a spell up within a second of hearing the yell and saw the blast of red that meant the spell had connected with my Shield at my back.

"Roll!" I ordered, and Fred obliged, dropping into a roll. I twisted around, my free hand gripping the broom just above the twigs to keep me stable and attached, and saw two Death Eaters trailing behind us.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Fred must have heard the spell, because he jerked sideways and the green spell shot past us into the darkness. My heart raced, knowing I'd just escaped death by all of a foot. It slammed to a stop when I heard a familiar deep voice behind us. The person was flying unsuspended, no broom, no thestral, no flying motorcycle or car. The shape was right. I knew that was Snape, that he had somehow found me, whether it was dumb luck or he'd somehow known.

"He wants her _alive,_ fool!" Snape cursed the person next to him.

"Fuck this," I growled. I still had a grip on the rear of the broom. I hooked my foot up and around, looping my foot over the end of the broom. With a jerk I twisted myself around in one motion until I was riding backwards, leaving Fred to steer. I'd always been known for my acrobatics when I played Quidditch, and I'd never honestly thought it would amount to anything other than me showing off. Apparently it was surprisingly useful to be slippery on a broom, though this would never work with only one person.

Gripping the wrapping on the twigs just in front of me to stabilize I aimed for the Death Eater on the broom with extreme prejudice.

" _Ossio Dispersimus_ ," I cast, and he swerved. Snarling, he straightened his path out.

I opened my mouth to shout a shield but I was a second too late. I shrieked in pain as something drilled into my shoulder. I felt sickened as I looked down and saw an arrow protruding through my shoulder. It was a foreign body in mine and the idea made my stomach start to rebel and my vision flicker, but I had bigger problems. A numbing charm was enough to make the pain slightly lessen, but the situation was too mad to try any real healing.

"Rena!" Fred yelled, and I resisted the urge to groan aloud as he gave us away.

"It's her!" cheered the Death Eater. He was still laughing as he dragged his sleeve back with his teeth. I couldn't see it in the darkness but I knew he was about to summon Voldemort to deal with me. I saw Snape's wand turning towards him and catalogued scenarios at the speed of light. He took down this Death Eater and the man happened to survive, his cover would be blown. Therefore, Snape would have to kill this man to protect me. My stomach lurched as I realized how easily he was making such a decision. But I'd killed Dumbledore to save him from murder, I could save him a second time.

This time the spell was silent and it smashed into the wizard's chest. He howled as his rib cage shattered, shard doubtlessly piercing organs and making his chance of survival very small. I had done it again, killed someone, and once more I felt more guilt over not feeling guilty than over the actual action itself as I turned back around, satisfied that Snape wouldn't follow after us.

My shoulder hurt like hell but I wanted to get some more distance before we went down, and I full intended to take us down. To hell with safe houses and Portkeys, Apparition would get us there just fine and without all of this fuss. I needed a safe place to deal with the arrow in my shoulder.

"Keep going, we're safe!" I yelled.

"There's a second one!" he protested.

"Snape, we're fine, go!" I insisted, and Fred accelerated to the limits of the broom's endurance, tearing us away from the rest of the fight.

"Rena, are you okay?"

"Glancing blow," I lied. I was being careful to keep from pressing against Fred so that he couldn't feel the metal of the arrowhead scrape. I tried to hold as still as possible. There was a horrible grinding feeling of the shaft against bone every time my shoulder moved, a deep sensation, and it made me want to heave my breakfast up all over Fred's back.

For a time the only sound was the roaring of the wind in our ears, the flapping of Fred's robes. We were beyond the fight now, relatively safe, and I started to say something, but Fred cut me off, saying shakily,

"Th-That… was…"

"Yeah," I replied simply, because there weren't words for it. The pure, heart-stopping fear and exhilaration that coursed through me in a fight, a real fight. Knowing that I was powerful, that I was gifted, it gave me a certain confidence. It erased nerves and made the prospect less a frightening thing and more of a… challenge. And I did love a challenge. I suspected that wasn't what Fred felt, though, going by the way he was shaking under my grip.

"Go down," I called over the roar of the wind, and after what we'd just been though Fred didn't question me, just angled for the ground. We landed in a field, of what I had no idea. There was a house in the distance, and a barn. There were still lights on in the house. It was a Muggle place, we were likely safe here. Snape and whoever he was partnered with had been the only ones to trail us. I hoped that the loop Fred and I had made helped some of the others get away free, but there would be know way to know until we got back to the Burrow, which was my plan. Fred all but fell off the broom as I calmly dismounted.

I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed firmly. Fred was panting and he was sheet white, shaking like he couldn't stop. I took his other shoulder and spun him around to face me.

"Are you okay to Apparate us to the Burrow or do you need me to do it?" I asked him bluntly.

"Y-You…" Fred swallowed, seeming to gather himself. "You don't have a license…"

It was such a banal answer it actually made me snort. I didn't have a license for a hell of a lot of things I did, enchanting objects, being an Animagus, and Apparition being only the most important of those things.

"Somehow I'm not too fussed," I said lightly. Fred cracked a weak, trembling grin, but nodded firmly, gathering his determination. He was a Gryffindor, and they were designed to keep it relatively together in a crisis. A little panic was allowable for a first firefight.

"I can do it," he said, and caught a hold of my arm. I hissed, my spell having faltered. He jarred my shoulder and, for the seemed to notice the arrow sticking out me.

"'Tis only a scratch," I quoted, and wasn't surprised when Fred looked horrified instead of laughing. "Get me to the Burrow and I can fix it."

Nodding grimly and now moving slowly, wary of jostling me too much, Fred looped his arm instead around my waist. I knew Apparating with an arrow in my shoulder was going to hurt, and sure enough it felt like the arrow was slowly ripping through my shoulder once again. I bit my lip to keep form screaming – Fred didn't need me distracting him – as the pain washed over me and fought to keep conscious. Air slammed back into my lungs as my feet hit the gorund. With a low moan I sank tomy knees, stomach roiling from the pain, and pitched forward, my good arm supporting me as a wretched on the ground.

"Rena?" Fred took a knee next to me, his hand on my back nervously. "What's wrong?"

"I've got an arrow in my shoulder, Fred," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady. "That'll mess with you."

"Ginny! Ginny!"

The crack from our Apparation must have been heard even inside the Burrow, because the door was slamming open and Molly Weasley came pelting out. Ginny was on her heels, face white and scared. Going by the lack of anyone else, we were the first ones back, which wasn't surprising. We hadn't actually reached our destination, we'd just gotten away from combat and Apparated. Which, come to think of it, made a hell of a lot more sense than all this 'things the Ministry can't detect' nonsense.

"I'm gonna kill Mad-Eye," I grunted. Mrs. Weasley came to a stop, staring at me in horror and mistrust. I smirked faintly, panting, and admitted, "Oh, bit of a crude joke now, I suppose."

"Fred, are you okay?" Ginny asked him worriedly, stopping next to us and looking down at her brother in concern.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," Fred admitted tremulously. "Just a little shaken. R-Rena kept me safe." His hand, warm and strong, ran up and down my back once and I glanced sideways, smiling at him weakly as I sat back so that I was in a kneeling position. Ginny gasped as she finally caught sight of the arrow sticking out of my shoulder.

"Merlin," she cursed, and dove on me instead. "We've got to get you inside, get that out of you, get you patched up."

"Ginny, get away from her!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply. I looked up and the matriarch was standing over me, pointing her wand at me coolly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you, Molly?" I asked somewhat tartly. My shoulder was killing me and I wanted the arrow _out. Now._

"Mum?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"It might be an imposter!" Mrs. Weasley said defensively. "None of them were due back yet! If you are Lorena Potter, then how did we meet?"

I smiled faintly at the memory, hand coming up to press against my shoulder under where the arrow was stuck in the skin. "Harry and I didn't know how to get on the train. Easy."

"It's her, mum," Ginny insisted, and ducked under my good side, hauling me to my feet. Once I was upright I leaned against her heavily and, like perhaps the most pathetic entrant in a three-legged race. Trooping behind us came Fred and Mrs. Weasley, who abandoned us at the door to wait, watching the sky and the yard for any signs of brooms or Portkeys.

"What do you need me to get?" Ginny asked as she set me down on the couch.

"A bowl would be good," I replied, wincing as I set to work untying my pouch from my hip with one hand. Ginny nodded and was off into the kitchen in a flash. "And a wooden spoon!" I called after her. I undid the mouth of the pouch and poked my wand inside.

"Accio phoenix tears," I muttered, and a bottle came flying out of the bag into my hand.

"Are you mad?"

I looked up and saw Ginny standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at my wand incredulously.

"You're underage!" she hissed. "You've still got the Trace!"

I scoffed and beckoned her over, setting my wand down on the table in front of me. Ginny sat down on the couch by me and passed me what I'd asked for. I set the bowl on the table by my wand, within easy reach, and began to explain,

"The Trace detects magic around an underaged person, but not who actually performed the magic. That's why Harry and I got blamed when Dobby did a Levitation spell in second year. We were the only magical folk in residence so the Ministry assumed it was up. That's why Muggleborns are at a disadvantage. In theory, you all could have done as much magic as you wanted here and it would have been assumed it was your parents while a Muggleborn would instantly be caught. The Ministry relies on wizarding parents to keep their kids in line. Another staggering example of prejudice built into the system," I said in disgust, and pulled the spoon out of the bowl.

"That's not fair!" Ginny protested. I nodded in agreement.

"No, it's not."

She looked at the spoon curiously. "What do you plan to do with that?" she asked suspiciously.

"This is gonna hurt like hell," I explained, and put the spoon in my mouth, fitting it between my back molars. Ginny looked at me incredulously and I pointed my wand at the arrow, casting a wordless Vanishing spell. The arrow was gone with a sucking sensation tugging at the raw edges of the wound and, without the shaft there, blood gushed from the hole. I cast my wand aside and, panting with pain, and tilted the bottle of phoenix tears. They were my own, not quite as strong as the real thing, but they did the job. Ginny watched in awe as the wound immediately began to knit and heal. In under a minute there was only a white starburst of false scar that would be gone in a few days.

"What is that?" Ginny breathed.

I spat out the spoon, now with new teeth marks, and relaxed slightly. "Phoenix tears. My own, so not quite the real thing, but almost as good as." I smiled with a tired kind of pride. "Better than most wound-healing potions you could brew."

There was a faint shriek through the open front door and Ginny pitched her voice louder, yelling, "What's happened, mum?"

"Remus and Tonks, their Portkey just came through without them!" Fred yelled in reply, and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. _No. Not Remus. Not Tonks…_

I pushed myself to my feet and Ginny grabbed my arm, trying to stop me.

"I'm fine," I assured her, smiling encouragingly. "I'll down a Blood-Replenisher later. But in case there's any more injuries I should be there and waiting. Mediwitch-in-training, remember?" I asked sarcastically, and Ginny snorted. She lingered close to me as we walked towards the door, and I sort of loved her for that, but she didn't say anything more as we stood by the door and waited.

"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley finally asked. "Why were you back so early?"

"We didn't make it to Auntie Muriel's," Fred explained. "We got to a field outside some Muggle farm and then Disapparated here."

"There was no point in going to Muriel," I added. "We'd broken away from the fight and the more time we spent travelling the more chances there were that they'd catch up with us. The faster we got here the safer we'd be."

Mrs. Weasley bristled slightly. "Alastor said-"

"Alastor is paranoid to the point of making plans needlessly complicated," I replied shortly. "And in this case he really outdid himself." I scoffed, my fists clenching at my sides. "Decoys, unnecessarily slow transport for the sake of some extra surprise that wasn't necessary."

We all tensed up as another Portkey appeared. A bit of blue light spinning and growing and then a rusty oil can was hitting the ground and two figures were staggering away. One was leaning heavily on the other and moaning.

"Molly!" It was Mr. Weasley and he sounded panicked beyond belief. Mrs. Weasley went flying forwards and we were hot on her tail, wands lit and aloft. The circles of light fell over Mr. Weasley, who was supporting George. George's head was lolling forwards and blood streaked down the side of his face and onto his robes. For a second I couldn't' tell where it was coming from, and then I realized – it was his ear. It wasn't cut, it was outright gone, cleanly severed, and somehow I knew exactly what spell had made that cut. My stomach knotted.

"Oh George, George," Mrs. Weasley moaned, taking her son's other arm. George was barely able to get his feet in front of each other, staggering towards the Burrow between his mother and father as we trailed behind. Fred's face was as pale as I'd ever seen it and he looked and inch away from throwing up, tears silent running down his cheeks. Ginny looked only a little bit better and their hands not holding their wands were clenched so tight they looked to be cutting of each other's circulation.

"Get him on the couch," Mrs. Weasley said frantically, and Mr. Weasley flicked his wand. The table slid away, making room for them to stagger closer to the piece of furniture. Working carefully, they laid him down and Mrs. Weasley sat down on the side of the couch. She flicked her wand and supplied like bandages and gauze came flying in from the other room.

"George," Fred muttered, moving around to the back to the couch as Mrs. Weasley moved her wand over George's head, muttering spells. The bleeding slowed a little and clotted around the edges, but Mrs. Weasley was working with the sort of basic healing spells a mother with particularly rambunctious children learned, not the sort I knew that were made to deal with Dark curses and spells. She wouldn't manage to staunch the wound by anything other than simply waiting for the bleeding to clot and helping it on a little, but which point George would already have lost quite a bit more blood.

"Move," I ordered, judging that in this case, I was more qualified. "I can do it."

" _You are not coming near my son_!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked a little hysterically. I blinked, surprised.

"Mum," Ginny said softly, also looking a little startled.

"Molly, "Mr. Weasley said gently, and put his hands on her shoulders, slowly easing her upright and back away from her perch on the couch. "Lorena knows what she's doing. She'd never hurt any of the kids."

I resisted the urge to say that I would definitely hurt Ron should the occasion call for it and took Mrs. Weasley's place on the edge of the couch. I grabbed my pouch up from where it had been knocked off the cushions onto the floor and thrust my wand inside, summoning a couple of bottles out. I set them all inside the bowl waiting on the table, which I hadn't ended up needing but was now very glad for. I grabbed a vial of Blood-Replenisher, popping the cork out with my teeth and spitting it into the bowl. I down a shot of it for myself before pouring the rest down George's throat.

"Come on Georgie, swallow for me," I muttered, rubbing his throat to encourage him to get the potion down. "Good boy." I raised my wand and muttered a couple of diagnostic spells that Madam Pomfrey had taught me to help determine what kind of magic had caused an injury and how severe it was. Smoke settled across George's face and then concentrated over the wound, thickening and changing colors. I wrinkled my nose, not pleased with what I saw, and bit my lip. Dittany wouldn't do it on this case, so I plucked up the last of the vial of phoenix tears that I'd summoned back out. I picked up a piece of gauze from the pile Mrs. Weasley had Summoned and splashed the tears onto it, bringing it up and placing it over the wound. The tears soaked into the skin and while the gauze was instantly stained red with blood, I could faintly feel skin shifting under the wound as it started to heal over.

I pulled the gauze back and revealed the result. The wound was healed over but there was still no ear there. The tears had tied together the edges of the wound and stopped the bleeding, but not even phoenix tears could heal what simply wasn't there anymore. Magic did not equal miracle, unfortunately. Scowling deeply, I flicked my wand and sent the bloodied gauze into the fireplace to burn away and picked up a third vial, dripping a little bit onto my hand and gently massaging it into the freshly-healed skin. This would held encourage healing and minimize scarring, thought there was only so much that could really be done on that front. The lack of an ear was hard to hide and I sighed in disappointment.

"Is he going to be alright?" Fred asked, leaning down over the back of the couch to get a better look.

"That's as much as I can do," I admitted. "He should be fine. That ear isn't coming back," I explained grimly, "but he's not going to bleed out and there shouldn't be any chance for infection now." I reached for a third potion and poured it down George's throat. "A pain reliever," I clarified as I work. "Freshly-healed skin can still be very tender and this should get rid of the worst of it."

"Thank Merlin," Fred breathed, lowering his forehead to rest against the back of the couch wearily.

There was a sudden burst of commotion as staggering through the door came a crowd of people. Harry and Hagrid, Remus and Tonks. Once more there was a flurry of pointing wands as everyone distrusted the others, wary of interlopers.

"Harry, why did I never mind sleeping with you as a kid?" I asked him bluntly, and received some very strange looks as Harry gaped and me and went bright red.

"Er… because I didn't complain when you warmed your feet on me?"

"And bless you for it." I nodded approvingly and pointed my wand to Remus now. "The nickname I call you?"

Remus smiled fondly. "Uncle Moony." His eyes slid past me to George laying on the couch and he saw the blood streaking the front and side of his shirt. "What happened?"

"Oh Merlin," Tonks murmured when she saw as well, and her hand fumbled for Remus's. He caught hers and squeezed and I resisted the urge to smile.

"George lost an ear," Mr. Weasley said shakily. "It was Snape, his hood came off and we saw him. Lorena's got him well in hand though." He was still holding his wife and slowly stroking her arms. He smiled at me gratefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied slowly, lingering on Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes had yet to leave her downed son or lose that haunted expression. I winced and turned, flicking my wand and clearing away the drying blood from George's clothes and where it had seeped into the couch. At least without that he looked less like he'd wandered out of a zombie movie. It seemed to give Mrs. Weasley some comfort, because she relaxed a little.

"Snape did it, you say?" Harry asked bitterly, and I could feel his eyes burning into my back.

"It was an accident," I replied absently, still peering and George and contemplating if it would be better to let him wake up naturally or give him a sleeping draught and let him rest some and gather his strength.

"How can you say that?" Harry demanded hotly.

"Because we saw him too," Fred said hoarsely, surprising everyone. "He came after us with some other fellow."

"He Vanished right after he got George," Mr. Weasley recalled. "So that's where he went…"

"Lorena downed the fellow with him and he just faded back even though they knew it was her," Fred recalled, looking up. He wasn't talking to the room at large, he was talking to me, because he knew as well as I did that it would mean more to everyone coming from him. "So the way I figure it, Snape was on our side. George's ear must have… must have been a missed spell. Merlin knows there were enough of them flying," he mumbled bitterly.

"If they knew it was you then why didn't Voldemort show up after you too?" Harry asked in surprise, and I whipped around to face him in surprise.

"You saw him?" I demanded. Harry nodded, and the haunted look on his face made it clear it hadn't been a cakewalk.

"The Death Eaters figured out it was me. Hedwig, she…" Harry paused and swallowed, tears in his eyes, and I knew with sinking certainty that Hedwig was no longer with us. "She took a spell for me. They all fell back and I thought we were safe, but then he was there. He can fly," he added, sounding surprised. "Why come after me and not you?"

I snorted softly. "Because you're the threat, I'm just the trophy," I replied darkly, peering around the room. "Anybody else need healing?"

I didn't get an answer to that question because at that moment the front yard lit up with blue lights accompanied by cracks and pops. There was a rush for the door as everyone not Weasley ran to see who was back. The answer was everyone, I saw at a quick glance around, with the exception of Mundungus and Mad-Eye. Those who had been playing at being Harry and I were now back to their normal selves, either swimming in or popping out of their borrowed clothes. Harry staggered forward to catch Hermione and Ron in a three-way hug and Bill embraced Fleur tightly, the glasses still resting on her nose making their kissing a little awkward, but neither seemed to care. Kingsley and Remus were holding each other and wand point, neither looking thrilled.

"The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us!" Kingsley demanded.

"'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,'" said Lupin calmly. I resisted the urge to sneer at that.

Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, "It's them, we've checked!"

"All right, all right!" said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak, "But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!"

"So it seems," replied Lupin, "but apparently they did not realize that there would be multiple Potters."

"Small comfort!" snarled Kingsley.

I scowled and pointed my wand up in the air. A batch of silver and green fireworks shot up with pops and cracks, bursting overhead, and all eyes turned to me, which was rather the point.

"This is all well and good, and I'm glad everyone's alive here," I replied to their stares. "But if anyone else is on the verge of bleeding out I'd love to know so I can do something about it."

"We are fine," Fleur answered throatily, reaching up and pushing the glasses up onto the top of her head like they were sunglasses. She still looked like a model, damn her. She looked up at Bill adoringly. "Bill waz wonderful."

"Kingsley keps them off of us," Hermione explained.

"Hold on, you said anyone else bleeding out?" Bill noted suddenly, looking away from Fleur's starry eyes. "Who got hit?"

"George lose an ear but I've got him stabilized and the wound healed. He'll be fine once he wakes up," I explained, and Bill paled. Dragging Fleur after him then headed into the house with Ron hot on their heels, Harry and Hermione following a little more slowly.

"Remus got hit," Tonks blurted, and Remus gave her an exasperated look.

"I'm fine, really, you needn't worry-"

"Tough luck," Tonks countered, her hair finally coming to life and turning as red as it had been when she was me. "I want her to look at you! It was Bellatrix, after all!"

"Bellatrix?" I perked up interestedly as we all headed for the door. The Weasleys were dominating the living room, surrounding the couch where George was apparently something resembling conscious. He was muttering about saints, but I knew Sectumsempra didn't cause mental damage so I figured he was probably just a little disoriented. Herded Remus and Tonks into the kitchen, forcing him into a chair. Kinglsey came in after us.

"What happened to you?" Lupin asked Kingsley.

"Followed by five, injured two, might've killed one," Kingsley reeled off, "and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can-"

"Fly," supplied Harry. "I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me."

"So that's why he left, to follow you!" said Kingsley, "I couldn't understand why he'd vanished. But what made him change targets?"

"Hedwig apparently took a spell for Harry, sort of gave it away," I recalled, pointing my wand at Remus. In a flash his shirt was off and folded neatly on the table next to him. Remus jerked and flinched at being suddenly exposed. His skin was traced all over with silvery claw scars from past transformation, but there was nothing to be done about those. Of far more concern was the massive bruise that was covering his right side.

"You've got to teach me that spell," Tonks joked, whistling, but there was a nervousness in her eyes that belied the humor.

"Later," I assured her as I flicked my wand in the direction of the living room.

"You can't do magic!" Kingsley snapped at me. "You're underaged!"

I rolled my eyes as my equipment came flying into the room and guided them to sit on the table. "Come on Kingsley, you know I'm not going to set anything off here at the Burrow. The Ministry only tracks the magic, not who actually did it, and as much household magic as Molly uses this isn't going to be a blip on their record."

I raised my wand and approached Remus as he continued to review the fight with Kinglsey.

"Harry mentioned something about seeing Stan Shunpike, trying to Disarm him," Remus explained. "He was in Azkaban last heard though."

"There's obviously been a breakout, but they've hushed it up," Kingsley growled. "I didn't even know. I saw Travers and he's supposed to be locked up as well."

"They may have started to realize you're not on their side," I commented as I started casting diagnostic spells. It looked like what Bellatrix had done was roughly the magical equivalent of a giant punching Remus in the side. Chances were good that her plan was too launch him off the broom and have Tonks watch her new husband fall to his death. That seemed like her style.

"There's internal bleeding and broken bones," I noted as I Summoned out more potions and popped the corks out, lining them up on the edge of the table. I nodded to them and smirked at Remus. "Now we're going to find out how wild you get on nights out. Start drinking."

"I'm going to kill her," Tonks said wrathfully, and I looked at her approvingly.

"Can I help?"

"Sure."

"Both of you…" Remus shook his head and sighed heavily, but the deep breath jostled his damaged ribs and made him winced. He reached for the first potion and then glanced at me. He smiled slightly, whiskey eyes twinkling, and I saw a flash of the boy in the pictures from when they were the Marauders as he downed it like a shot, slammed it down, and picked up the next. Remus worked his way down the line of four potions in a flash and then looked at me with a somewhat wolfish smile.

"Damn," I replied eloquently. "That was impressive."

"You told me you don't drink!" Tonks protested incredulously.

"I don't drink often," he corrected her somewhat sheepishly. "But Lorena is right, when I was in school, we did used to have parties that got slightly out of hand…"

"I doubt you ever did anything slightly," I snorted.

"Do we know who did George's ear?" Kingsley interrupted.

Remus glanced at me and cleared his throat. "We think Snape got it on accident."

"Right." Kingsley scoffed. "Accident."

"Then tell me why he would purposefully wound George but fall back when he realized it was really me with Fred," I countered swiftly. "And it wasn't to warn Voldemort, because he never turned up."

We all turned around as Bill appeared in the doorway, his face grim. "I've told the others," he began. "But Mad-Eye's dead. Voldemort, he… he went after them first and Dung Disapparated as soon as he saw him. Moody took the spell meant for him and went down."

Tonks gasped and pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it to her leaking eyes. Moody had been her mentor and I could somewhat understand what it was like to lose that person in your life. After all, for all that he was still alive I couldn't actually see Snape any more than I could see Draco.

"We're going to toast," Bill added, waving his wand. A bottle of firewhiskey popped out of the cupboard and was followed by parade lines of glasses. "If you want to join us."

"Go on, I'll clean up in here," I urged, gesturing to the vials now staggered across the table. Remus gave a pointed look to his shirt and I chuckled, flicking my wand. It replaced itself on his torso and he nodded thankfully, rising and putting an arm around Tonks, pulling her close. It was a testament to the potions I'd gotten in him that he was able to do that already and I felt proud knowing what sort of healing I'd managed tonight as I began to clean and stopper the vials, sending them back into my bag and making mental notes that I might want to brew some small batches of the potions I'd used tonight to get my stores back up to where they were.

As I worked I listened to the conversation in the living room, a place I had no place being. I didn't mourn Mad-Eye more than I would losing a valuable warrior on our side. The fact was that some part of me still saw Barty Crouch Jr. when I looked at him and it wasn't hardly Moody's fault. His less-than-stellar personality quirks didn't help matters, but I could hardly cast blame on that front.

"So Mundungus disappeared?" asked Remus quietly.

"I know what you're thinking," answered Bill, "and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn't they? But Mundungus can't have betrayed us. They didn't know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you've forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn't he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it's as simple as that. He didn't want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic."

"You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to," sniffed Tonks. "Mad-Eye said he'd expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley... "

"Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Fleur, "but still eet does not explain 'ow zey know we were moving 'Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze 'ole plan."

There was a moment of silence and I knew that there was distrust in the eyes of everyone in the next room as they looked around and tried to work out who was most likely to have betrayed them. I also knew that my name would occur to more than one of them.

"No," Harry said loudly, "I mean... if somebody made a mistake," he went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort."

More silence followed his words.

"Well said, Harry," praised Fred unexpectedly.

"Year, 'ear, 'ear," said George, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"You think I'm a fool?" demanded Harry suddenly.

"No, I think you're like James," Lupin corrected, "who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends." He continued, "There's work to do. Kingsley do you-"

"No," said Bill at once, "I'll do it, I'll come."

"Where are you going?" asked Tonks and Fleur together.

"Mad-Eye's body," said Lupin. "We need to recover it."

"Can't it-?" began Mrs. Weasley a little desperately.

"Wait?" said Bill, "Not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters took it?"

Nobody spoke. I heard the door open and close and guessed that Bill and Lupin had left, probably taking Tonks with them. She would want to go and help with Moody's body. I would want to help with Snape.

I retied my pouch to my belt loop and lingered in the door between the kitchen and living room, leaning against the lintel.

"Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," said Hagrid, gamely trying to recover some kind of cheerfulness. "Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!"

"It wasn't me," answered Harry flatly. "It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord."

I raised an eyebrow, contemplating that. It was a well-known fact that the bond between a wand and its wizard was something mysterious and not even close to fully understood. Harry, Voldemort, and I were all tied together by our wands. The idea that this in addition to the sheer amount of magical power we had expended at and around each other might have made some sort of link. Normal magical rules never seemed to apply to Harry, or indeed to Voldemort.

Hermione said gently, "But that's impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively."

"No," corrected Harry. "The bike was falling, I couldn't have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn't even a spell I recognized. I've never made gold flames appear before."

"Often," said Mr. Weasley softly, "when you're in a pressured situation you can produce magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they're trained-"

"It wasn't like that," growled Harry through gritted teeth. I narrowed my eyes at him. Something was wrong, he seemed unnaturally angry about having his recounting of events questioned, and his eyes were squinting like a headache. His scar, I realized, it was plaguing him.

"Take a walk," I ordered Harry, and he gave me a look before almost scrambling for the door. I watched him go nervously, knowing that for him to leave that easily he must have been in quite a bit of pain. I'd follow in a moment, but for now…

"Harry was never prone to that sort of accidental magic," I told Mr. Weasley coolly. "When his magic occurred as a kid it was almost always Transfiguration or Charms magic. I was the one who made fire and blew things up. If Harry says this wasn't him, then I'd believe it. You can't possibly know the ways Harry and I are tied to Voldemort. I'm not being arrogant when I say I think we've altogether passed beyond the bounds of what any of you understand about the nature of magic. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go check on my brother, since you're done patronizing him," I finished coolly, heading for the door. There were footsteps behind me and I knew Ron and Hermione were coming too.

It wasn't hard to find him. Harry stood shaking in the darkness, clutching the gate into the garden. I rushed to him, casting a cooling charm on his forehead. It wasn't going to do much but it might help him feel better. I laid my hands on his shoulders, Hermione and Ron on either side of us, and asked, "What happened?"

"You look awful!" Hermione said gently.

"Well," answered Harry shakily, "I probably look better than Ollivander..."

He explained what had happened. He'd slipped into Voldemort's mind once more, watched through his eyes and felt his anger. Voldemort still had Ollivander and was looking for a way to beat the twin cores ti seemed. He'd taken someone's wand to try and protect himself but it hadn't worked. Now, he was taking it out on Ollivander.

Ron looked appalled, but Hermione downright terrified.

"But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar - it wasn't supposed to do this anymore! You mustn't let that connection open up again - Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!"

When Harry did not reply, she gripped his arm.

"Harry, he's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding world! Don't let him inside your head too!"

"He can't help it any more than I can!" I hissed at her. "You can't possibly understand how we are tied to him! I don't even know, I only have theories, but the three of us are all knotted up around each other and this sort of bleeding together… I'm fairly certain that we're lucky this is as bad as it gets!"


	114. Burrow Plans

My healing of George and getting Fred home safely had warmed Mrs. Weasley to me, but she had also found out that Ron, Harry, Hermione and I were dropping out of Hogwarts to go and do – something. Harry had been purposefully vague on that front when she confronted him about it and I had simply refused to address the questions. Her tactic then seemed to be to keep us so busy with wedding preparations that we could hardly think straight. From the time breakfast ended until nearly bedtime it was an unending stream of cooking, decorating, arranging chairs, cleaning the Burrow…

A definite advantage though was that since the Burrow had basically replaced Grimmauld Place, our meals often boasted one or more Order members surrounding the table with the multitude of Weasleys. I'd seen McGonagall, who had given me a somewhat stilted congratulations on managing to successfully transform. Hagrid had popped by and we had spoken briefly about the centaur herd before he went along, frankly too large for the dining room. Tonks and Remus showed up often and I was happy to see them far more often than I ever had before.

"And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm," Bill was explaining after Harry finally asked why no one was going to Grimmauld Place. "Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can't expect it to hold much longer."

"But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?" asked Ron.

"Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they'll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can't be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky."

"Excuse me?" I looked up and stared at Bill incredulously. "Why exactly have spells been set up against Snape?"

The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. Harry was jammed between me and Ginny, Bill and Ron across from us. The hubbub of conversation meant that, for the moment, the venom in my question went unnoticed by any but whom it was directed at.

Ron scoffed. "Look, I know you think he's some sort of saint-"

"No, I know he's an ass," I replied shortly. "But I also know that he is the only source we have inside Voldemort's ranks and therefore we should be grateful as hell that we have him, not cutting him out."

"Moody was more wary after Snape fled Hogwarts with the Death Eaters," Bill tried to explain. "he hadn't reached out to Snape for information in weeks even before he…" Bill trailed off. Moody was still a sore spot around the Burrow. Bill, Tonks, and Remus had failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle.

"No news about Mad-Eye?" Harry asked Bill, swiftly chancing the subject while I stewed in my fury. Half of the reason I had done what I did was to protect Snape and keep our spy in play, but did that matter to the Order? No, he was a Slytherin who made a mistake and got in with the wrong crowd, and they didn't understand the concept of keeping a cover. What was Snape supposed to have said? Sorry chaps, be along later?

"Nothing," replied Bill. "The Daily Prophet hasn't said a word about him dying or about finding the body," he continued. "But that doesn't mean much. It's keeping a lot quiet these days."

"And they still haven't called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?" Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head.

"Because they know I had no choice or because they don't want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked me?"

"The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn't want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban's seen a mass breakout."

"Yeah, why tell the public the truth?" muttered Harry bitterly, and it caused another surge of anger. The Ministry-controlled monstrosity that was the Daily Prophet had been running a smear campaign against me for the better part of two months now when only a year ago I had been a hero who saved a fellow student. It was an amazingly fickle thing, public opinion, and so easily swayed. If only the Order could be swayed to my way of thinking on Professor Snape so easily.

"Isn't anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?" asked Ron angrily.

"Of course, Ron, but people are terrified," Mr. Weasley replied reasonably, "terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don't believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn't been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office all day; I just hope he's working on a plan."

There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the work surface and served apple tart.

"We must decide 'ow you will be disguised, 'Arry," said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. "For ze wedding," she added, when he looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."

"Yes, good point," said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. "Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?"

"Why?" exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother. "Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!"

"We are holding your brother's wedding here in a few days' time, young man-"

"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Ron furiously. "No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left-"

"Don't talk to your mother like that," interrupted Mr. Weasley firmly. "And do as you're told."

Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart.

"I can help, some of it's my mess." Harry offered Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across him.

"No, Harry, dear, I'd much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and Hermione, I'd be ever so grateful if you'd change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they're arriving at eleven tomorrow morning. Lorena, would you mind helping Ginny clear out her room?"

"No," I replied with a calm that belied how I felt. "I don't mind."

I heard Ginny make a soft whining sound of protest from Harry's other side, but after having seen how much good protesting had done Ron she didn't say anything to her mother. I set down my fork and took my dishes to the sink, Ginny doing the same as we trooped up the stairs to the bedroom that she, Hermione and I were all sharing. With the Delacours coming in, the Burrow was more crowded than it had ever before been and quarters were cramped.

"There's not much to do up here," Ginny said as we stepped inside. "Mum's just trying to keep you lot from planning your escape."

I smirked faintly and sat down on the edge of my bed. "So I noticed." I drew my wand and flicked it, setting the room to cleaning itself.

Ginny looked around jealously. "I can't believe I didn't know that I could do that."

"It's not exactly widely-publicized," I replied drily. "But as it happens, your mother's done me a favor. I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now."

"About what?" Ginny asked, settling herself cross-legged on her bed and facing me.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Ginny gave me a pointed look. "Did I grow up with Fred and George as brothers?"

I snorted. "Of course, silly question. Now you've probably heard that I did some work for the Order, put them together some emergency potions and the like." I reached into my pocket and pulled out my mirror, setting it on my palm for her to see. "This is something I created that was also distributed."

Ginny leaned forwards interestedly. "What does it do?" she asked. "I know it's not for checking your lipstick."

"In fairness, you can use it for that purpose," I countered, and repositioned myself so that I was sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed. I opened the lid of the mirror and spoke clearly, "Daphne Greengrass."

There was a moment of awkward silence where Ginny looked between me and the mirror expectantly. Then colors began to swirl across the surface and after a moment Daphne's face appeared, darting between Ginny and I. I could actually watch as she took in details.

"This is a surprise," Daphne greeted coolly. "Are we taking Weasleys into our ranks now?"

Ginny scowled. "Watch it Greengrass-"

"Down girls, both of you," I scolded them. "Daphne, I wanted to broker something like a truce between you and Ginny."

"And why would you want to do that?" Ginny demanded.

"Because Harry and I aren't going to be at Hogwarts this year, but we've both left something behind," I explained to both of them. "My Basilisks, his DA. You both have the same goals. You both want Voldemort gone and you want to be prepared to defend yourselves in case the worst comes. Now Daphne, I'm not saying invite them down to the Chamber, and Ginny, I don't expect you to hand my people Galleons," I added when I saw their respective nonplussed expressions.

"Then what do you expect?" Ginny asked irritably. "They don't like us and we don't like them."

"I don't intend to start group hugging a bunch of Gryffindors anytime soon," Daphne agreed.

"I'm not asking you to pair off and start a family, bloody hell," I grumbled. "I picked you two because I thought you would be the most reasonable. And because with Harry and I gone, you two will be in leadership positions in your respective groups," I added. "You have the power to sway the others."

Daphne smirked in the surface of the mirror. "May I please tell Theodore that you've left me in charge? His face will be priceless."

I snorted. "Go ahead. But back on topic… I want you both comfortable with the idea of going to each other if you need help. I know neither of you like the idea of asking for it but I think we're all mature enough to know that with Dumbledore gone and the Ministry under His control, the new headmaster at Hogwarts is not likely to be someone sympathetic to our cause, nor are whatever new teachers that are hired on."

"That's true," Daphne agreed. "My family's not in the inner circle, but we know people who are. I've heard my parents talking late at night. They're debating about whether or not to pull me out of school because the rumors are that the Carrows are going to be teaching."

"Shite," I cursed. "The Carrows were there on the Astronomy Tower that night. Nasty pair of work, brother and sister."

"They can't take me out though because of how it would look if they did," Daphne continued, nodding in agreement. I looked to Ginny.

"That brings up a good point. Your lot have to understand that my lot have appearances to keep up for the sake of themselves and their families even if they're not on the other side. You have to be ready to forgive them some nasty comments and a couple hexes."

"My lot aren't going to like that," Ginny scowled. "But I can probably get Neville and Luna on board. They'll be the oldest members there and that'll mean something."

"People will listen to Longbottom and Lovegood?" Daphne asked incredulously.

"They're better than you think," I commented absently. "So Ginny, your end is covered, and Daphne, if you can get people to tone down the… ah, well, the amount of Slytherin they put out, then we should be alright."

Daphne smirked. "I know what you mean."

"More important is that I want updates from both of you on the state of Hogwarts," I continued. "How classes are being run, how the teachers are doing on both sides, what the mood is like and what's being taught. I wouldn't put it past them to start reading and censoring mail coming and going from the school, so people might not be able to get out what's going on. I can pass that information onto the Order and they may be able to do something with it."

"Good." Daphne nodded in satisfaction. "And I'd like to be kept informed on the reality of the war's progress, not what the Daily Prophet prints."

"That I'll agree with you on," Ginny said, and the two girls exchanged measuring looks. I knew that they didn't like each other all that much, but I also knew that they were practical enough – Daphne's arrogance and Ginny's temper notwithstanding – to put aside those differences to keep those they cared about safe. That made them the perfect people to start drawing the DA and the Basilisks together into, perhaps not a solid force, but at least allied groups. That could be critical in the coming year.

"I can't help but notice though that I don't have one of these mirrors, so how am I supposed to let you know what's going on?" Ginny asked.

"Ye of little faith," I smirked, and reached for my pouch resting on the edge of my bed. It took a moment of digging but I managed to come up with a second mirror. This one had a blank lid, but Ginny didn't seem to care as she took it and lifted the lid curiously. "They have to be enchanted in batches, so you won't be able to contact any of the Basilisks, but you'll be able to keep in contact with me," I explained. Ginny looked up at me, eyes flashing. I smiled and knew we had something else to address, just her and I, so I looked back to Daphne and asked bluntly, "Can I count on you?"

Daphne arched an eyebrow smoothly. "What do you think?" And with a small huff she shut the lid of her mirror and severed the connection. The moment she was gone Ginny looked at me and demanded,

"Does that mean-"

"It does," I cut her off. "If he's amenable, it means that Harry will be able to stay in contact with you through me, and I'll be able to keep you updated on him and Ron, how they're doing."

Ginny looked like some sort of weight had just been lifted off her shoulders and I wondered how much of that was for Ron and how much was for Harry. An almost equal split, I guessed.

"Thanks," Ginny said quietly, and I knew that meant a lot more to her than she'd ever be able to say. "I… really appreciate this, Rena."

I smiled back at her faintly. "You're welcome. I've told you, I fully intend for you to be part of my family one day and I will hex my brother into submission if he disagrees, so it's in my best interest to keep you safe."

* * *

Hermione and I sat in the boy's room. With Harry and Ron being the only ones to occupy it, it was one of the safest places to talk without being overheard. The pair of us were going through our supplies. Nearly everything had been spread out across the floor – potions in unbreakable vials, books, ingredients and cauldrons, some of Fred and George's products, my spare wand, anything and everything we might need as we combed through and compared notes on when and where we might need individual items.

Harry and I had just been made aware of the plans to protect their families and I had to admit was impressed – with Hermione. Her plan had included no end of tricky spellwork and was nearly foolproof. Unless the Death Eaters had a solid lead to take them to Australia they were highly unlikely to look that far away. Ron, meanwhile, had left the tricky spellwork to his brother and father and his plan was half-baked at best.

A ghoul with spattergroit. _Honestly._

"This R.A.B. person," Ron said suddenly, obviously picking up some random train of thought he'd had. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?" Hermione looked up curiously and nodded. "He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"

Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.'s note was still folded. I gave it a disgusted look. I wasn't thrilled about the fact that Voldemort was forcing us to hunt down so many of the things to end him, but I also wasn't thrilled that he'd taken artifacts of important historical significance and was not going to make us destroy them. As a Slytherin, the idea of destroying something of Salazar's stung a little bit.

"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can,'" Harry read aloud.

"Well, what if he did finish it off?" asked Ron eagerly.

"Or she," Hermione added sternly.

"Whichever." Ron waved off her concern. "it'd be one less for us to do!"

"We still have to find out whether or not it's been destroyed," I pointed out, rolling my eyes. "I don't know about you but I don't want to walk up to Voldemort with even the slightest chance he's got another one of those to fall back on."

"I know that!" Ron snapped. "I'm just saying maybe we're not as far off from the end as we thought!"

"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Harry, interrupting before Ron and I could get into it. I sighed. This was going to be fabulous, living with Ronald Weasley in close quarters for the foreseeable future.

"Well," said Hermione slowly, "I've been researching that."

"What a coincidence." I smirked. "So have I."

"How?" asked Harry in surprise. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"

"There weren't," admitted Hermione, who had turned pink. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he - he didn't destroy them."

Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed. "How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books, Hermione?"

"It - it wasn't stealing!" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. I rolled my eyes. "They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure he would have made it much harder to-"

"Get to the point!" huffed Ron.

"Well... it was easy," said Hermione in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know - _Accio._ And - they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"But when did you do this?" Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

"Just after his - Dumbledore's - funeral," she continued in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to get my things it - it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be... and I was alone in there... so I tried... and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I - I packed them."

She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Well done Granger!" I praised. "Petty theft is a lovely way to start this road trip!" I clapped her on the shoulder and she gave a groan of horror. "What'd you get?" I asked, and added, "The Slytherin Common Room has a collection of books on Dark magic. Usually nothing so nasty, but sometimes you'll find something really Dark." I shrugged. "I went through and made copies of the books we might need."

Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.

"This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ \- it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library... if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here."

"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" asked Ron.

"Tom would never have gone for a professor to answer a question if the answer could be found in a book," I said slowly. "He would have considered it beneath him to ask for help when it could be researched. What he needed from Slughorn was an opinion on whether or not more than one Horcrux could be made."

"And the more I've read about them," picked up Hermione, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"

I paused, pursing my lips. The idea of ripping souls made me think of my own. I wished there was some kind of spell you could do to see your souls. What would mine look like? Was it blackened beyond repair? Was it cracked in half thanks to Dumbledore? Or was I still whole as I believed myself to be? I had committed murder, but I also hadn't. It was a question of subtleties and conditions and I didn't know what the rules were so I couldn't even hazard a guess. Snape had always insisted that it was the fact that I still cared that showed I was still good, and I hoped that logic applied to my soul as well.

"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Ron asked.

"Yes," replied Hermione with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."

"Why? How do you do it?" pressed Harry interestedly. I knew him, knew that a part of him was hoping he wouldn't have to kill anyone. That was fine for me, but not for him. It was a naïve hope, but it was sweet that he could still have it.

"Remorse," I answered dully. "You've got to really feel what you've done. Imagine all the pain he's caused. Feeling bad for all of that? The pain of it would destroy him. Besides, he wouldn't feel sorry for what he's done. Have I ever felt guilty for making the Dursleys hurt or angry?" I asked Harry. "To him, it's much the same thing."

Ron cleared his throat, eyeing me warily. "Since You-Know-Who breaking down doesn't seem likely, do we know how to destroy Horcruxes?"

"Yes," answered Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Harry did to Riddle's diary was one of the few really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Oh well, lucky we've got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then," said Ron sarcastically. I smothered wild laughter. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."

"It doesn't have to be a basilisk fang," said Hermione with admirable patience. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare-"

"-phoenix tears," finished Harry, nodding. He'd felt the burn of the venom in his veins and been spared that death thanks to Fawkes. I had no doubt that, going by the somewhat distant look in his eyes, Harry was remembering that day down in the Chamber.

"Exactly," agreed Hermione. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."

"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Ron slowly, "why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"

"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being," I answered for Hermione. "If I grabbed a gun and shot you in the face right now Ron, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."

"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Ron sarcastically. Harry laughed.

"It should be, actually!" Hermione scolded him.

"But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched," I continued. "But a horcrux isn't a human. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can't exist without it."

"That diary sort of died when I stabbed it," explained Harry uncertainly.

"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new," Hermione reminded him.

"Hang on," interrupted Ron, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"

"It's like a leash. If someone gets too close to a horcrux – and I mean emotionally, not just holding it for a bit – then it can jump out and latch on. But it's still tied to the container. If the person was removed from its influence for long enough, they'd go back to normal and the soul would shoot back to the container. The item its tied to is the source of its power. Without that, it can't survive. A whole soul is something wonderful, but a tattered piece of one is a parasite in the strictest sense. It needs a host to survive, be that a person or a specially-enchanted item.

"And Ron, your comment about basilisk fangs was a little premature," I added, reaching into the bag and pulling out something else. It was a small box, because the fangs would pierce a sack or pouch. I lifted the lid and offered it up for examination. Inside, resting against the wood, were four basilisk fangs. "Now did you really think I was going to let a rarity like basilisk fangs go to waste without taking some for myself?"

Harry beamed at me as I shut the box and smiled smugly, sliding it back into the pouch. "You're brilliant, Rena."

"I know I-"

The bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly. Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall. I yanked out my wand and spun to my feet, raising it. Harry also instinctively dove for his wand. With a jolt I realized that it was not, as my instincts would have be believe, a Death Eater attack. I was looking at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage. She was still trying her damnedest to keep us apart and prevent us from planning our departure. Her attempts might have been adorable if they weren't so annoying.

"I'm so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sure you all need your rest... but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."

"Oh yes," said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction. "We will... we're sorry..."

With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley. I sighed and stowed my wand, following Hermione out. I heard Ron mutter something about house elves. I started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley's room, stopped quite abruptly.

"How in the hell do they know so many people?" I demanded.

* * *

The arrival of the Delacours meant that the Burrow had long since passed packed to capacity. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour's protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy's old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron, Hermione and I took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house. Even that didn't work and Mrs. Weasley would come rushing out after us as soon as she figured out we'd gone off together.

I was feeling quite smothered as night fell. The house seemed jam packed even when everyone was asleep. Ginny and Hermione breathed deep and slow in the camp beds next to me and I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get out of this house, so I tossed off my sheets, donned my cloak and some shoes and left the Burrow, wandering out into the garden. The gnomes were all in hiding, the old cauldrons and Wellingtons carted off somewhere, and it was actually rather nice as I sat down on a stone bench under a tree.

I knew exactly what I needed and reached into the pocket of my cloak, pulling out my mirror. I clicked it open and, feeling a little guilty about the lateness of the hour, said, "Amity Raincrow." I didn't honestly expect her to answer, there was no reason why she would have it on her so late, but the surface of the mirror did change, turning into darkness. Something shifted and a sleepy voice asked,

"Lorena?"

"Amity?" I replied uncertainly. "I can't see you."

"Huh? Oh, right, some of us can see…" There was a sound of shifting, bedsprings creaking, and then a click as a lamp came on. Amity was lying flat on her back in a bed, lifting the mirror up so that I could see her face. She hadn't opened her eyes, not that it would have mattered if she did. Her hair was in a messy braid, strands coming loose from sleeping and falling around her face.

"I'm sorry to call so late," I muttered, aware that I'd woken up. "I didn't think you'd answer…"

Amity chuckled sleepily, the corners of her mouth curving up. "Please sweetie, I've been keeping this on me at all times. It stays under my pillow when I'm asleep. I don't want to miss any calls from you. Something wrong?"

I sighed. "No, not really. Just… I'm at the Burrow, we're staying here until Ron's brother gets married and then we're off. The place is packed and Mrs. Weasley is determined to keep us apart so we can't plan-"

"-which is annoying as hell," Amity finished for me. "Can't blame her though, not wanting you all to run off into the wide blue yonder."

I grunted. "Yes, I suppose. Still, it's inconvenient in the extreme." I paused, cracking a smile and asked, "Sorry, run off into the _what now?"_

"Hush up or I'm pitching your tea into the nearest harbor."

I started giggling and once I started I could stop. I found myself curled up, elbows resting on my knees and my head hanging low. Moisture built in the corners of my eyes and I sniffed a little, gathering myself. Already I felt better. I checked thee mirror and saw Amity wearing a bemused expression.

"You okay?" she asked. "I can't tell if you're laughing or crying."

"Laughing," I reassured her. "Definitely laughing. I just really needed that. I feel like I'm walkingon eggshells here between people who like me and people who don't and it's getting too me."

"Hey, look on the bright side, soon you'll be away from them hunting soul chips," Amity offered sarcastically. She paused and repeated, "Soul chips." Amity snorted. "That sounds like a cereal." She groaned and threw an arm over her face. "Oh, ignore me, I'm useless after midnight."

"Sorry for calling so late," I apologized, but Amity shook her head.

"No, don't apologize. I'm here for you whatever you need, chickadee. Someone's gotta keep you and Severus sane and I've been drafted."

I winced. "Sorry," I said again.

"Not sorry. Private Raincrow, reporting for duty, Captain," Amity grinned, winking at me as she removed her arm. "Permission to perk you up, buttercup?"

I smiled faintly. "Already done, Amity. Thanks."

"Mission completed."

* * *

 **Little bit short this week but we have a whole wedding and fleeing from said wedding to cover next week so this was the ideal place to stop for the time being.**


	115. Maturity and Inheritance

"Lorena. Wake up!"

I came awake with a jolt as a pillow smacked down across my face and sputtered, flinging it away from me and reaching clumsily for my wand. Ginny caught the pillow she'd obviously launched at me, sitting up in her bed, while Hermione eyed her sternly, hair even more of a mess than usual from sleeping on it.

"Don't do that, it's her birthday!" Hermione chided.

"It's fine, I'm up," I muttered, shifting into a sitting position and eyeing the small pile of presents waiting there for me. There were also a couple of vases of flowers. I recognized the card from Blaise's favored florist and a second bouquet that I guessed might be from Nott when I saw the same card, and faltered slightly when there were no white tulips.

It hurt… more than expected. I had to tell myself that Draco could hardly be ordering me flowers in front of Voldemort and I very likely wouldn't be getting any this Christmas either, but that didn't mean that I hadn't still expected them, deep down. They were a staple, like a solid reminder that I was on Draco's mind, and having them missing was like a punch in the gut.

"Ginny-"

"I told you she'd look like that," Ginny said, and reached behind the edge of her bed, plucking out another vase. Inside were a bunch of white tulips and I snatched them from her happily, burying my face in them and inhaling the scent. "Merlin, I hope she's this excited over what I got her."

"She won't be," Hermione said confidently, eyeing the flowers knowingly. "There's a card, Lorena, before you swoon."

"Haha," I replied shortly, but I couldn't keep the smile off my face as I plucked the card from the flowers and brought it up to my eyes to read.

"Come on then, what's it say?" Ginny demanded.

"I mean all of it," I read aloud, and to my eternal embarrassment, I did swoon a little. "Oh Merlin, he really is too good at that," I murmured, shaking my head as I breathed in the flowers again.

"One day you'll have to tell me who this guy is," Ginny said jealously. "And if he has a brother."

"No brother, sorry, and one day," I replied softly as I pulled flower from the arrangement and cast a spell that dried it immediately. It and the card were tucked away into the wooden box which I refused to leave behind. It had been hit with every protective spell I had ever learned and was now, I was fairly confident, safer than my vault at Gringotts.

That safely done I turned to my other gifts. As expected, the other bouquets were from Blaise and Nott, generic birthday greetings, nothing too specific or too telling, but I still kept the cards. It meant a lot that they'd sent them despite everything. From Daphne there was a silver U-pin for my hair. Fairly plain, only a little bit of filigree along the bend, but still lovely. Dobby sent me a pair of thigh-high socks that were patterned with snakes wrapping up the legs. They were hideous and incredibly comfortable. Quinlan and Maeve had sent me gifts as well, I was surprised to find. It was only a scarf and a note that they were standing by, but it meant a lot to hear from them.

"This is from me," Hermione said, passing me a small pouch. I opened it up and peered into the glittering dust inside. "Floo Powder," she added a bit nervously. "Not much but I figured it was something more practical and it would be decent to have some along, just in case…"

"It makes it hard to shop for someone when you know they're about to run off and try to save the world," Ginny agreed, picking up a box and chucking it at me. I caught it and pulled it open. It was a new cloak from Madam Malkin's. _Waterproof and fireproof,_ according to the tag, _perfect for all weather!_ I grinned at her thankfully.

"This is great, Ginny, thanks."

Ginny nodded sharply, and I could tell that she was a little bit down at the reminder that we'd all shortly be heading off, but she didn't let on too much. "Good, I'm glad I did well."

We climbed out of our beds and I took advantage of now legally being able to do magic outside of school to Vanish the wrapping paper and ribbons from the floor so we didn't trip over them as we got dressed. I pulled my hair up in a twist with Daphne's pin, remembering the very long, stern lecture she'd once given me when I'd told her that a ponytail or braid was more practical for a fight during one Basilisk meeting. She'd responded with a long tirade about how despite what my personal style might indicate, there were more things a person could do with their hair.

There were more presents waiting when we got down to the kitchen, Ron and Harry already down there as well with most of the other Wealseys. Harry and I made eye contact over the pile of presents and announced as one, "Happy birthday."

I grinned as I wrangled him into a hug, planting a loud kiss on his cheek purely for the purpose of embarrassing him. I perched on the arm of his chair and it gave an unnerving creak but supported me as I hefted the box I'd snatched from inside my pouch on my way down and passed it over to him. Harry replied by somewhat sheepishly handing me an envelope. I took it and raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you brother, it's just what I've always wanted. Stationary," I said drily.

"Open it!" he huffed as he used his wand to slit the wrapping on my gift to him. He grinned a little as he did so, not used to doing magic outside of school yet. I suppose it was probably more exciting if you hadn't been doing it for the past several days. Harry reached into the box and pulled out something that he probably recognized but didn't realize.

"Thanks, now my fingers will stay warm," Harry said gratefully, and I rolled my eyes.

"They're Fred and George's Shield gloves, Harry. Wear them and no one will be able to turn your signature spell on you," I replied lightly as I slit the envelope with a blade from the end of my wand, drawing some chuckles from around the table.

"I feel a little outdone," Harry admitted as I pulled out the letter inside. I read through it and my eyes widened slightly. The long and short of it was that, despite Harry being the Potter heir as the eldest male, he had asked for ownership of most of the heirloom jewelry he'd inherited be transferred over to me and placed in my vault instead. This included the set I'd worn at the Yule Ball, a pearl set, and a ruby necklace and ring. According to the inventory.

"Harry," I scolded lightly, "you didn't have to do this, the stuff's rightfully yours to pass on."

"Thanks, Rena, but I think it'll suit you more," he replied with a snort, and I rolled my eyes.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He's transferred most of the jewelry from the Potter estate over to me," I explained, tucking the paper inside my shirt with a grin. The gesture meant more to me than I really let on, especially considering that that particular set from the Yule Ball meant something to me.

"I kept a couple things," Harry admitted. "There's cufflinks and the like, and a family engagement ring, apparently."

The rest of the pile was divvied up between Harry and I and we began to open more gifts.

"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth," said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at us, even at me. "He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our presents on top."

Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth. It was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.

"It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," explained Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. "I'm afraid that one isn't new like Ron's, it was actually my brother Fabian's and he wasn't terribly careful with his possessions, it's a bit dented on the back, but-"

The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. My own gift was not a watch, which I was actually rather glad of. For all that Molly was the closest thing Harry had ever had to a mother she didn't mean the same to me. If I was to get a watch it should come from… well, it should have come from Sirius, but it would likely come from Remus if anyone. Maybe Snape, though I doubted he'd get me anything this year. He'd dub it too risky.

From Mrs. Weasley I'd gotten a set of knitting needles and a few balls of yarn. It didn't seem like much but it reminded me of several years ago when she'd taken me aside over the holidays and spent hours teaching me different stitches and which sort of yarn to use for which project. I took that to mean that I was forgiven, likely in light of what I'd done for Fred during the flight from Privet Drive. I wasn't quite as demonstrative, but a polite thank you and your welcome made both of us smile and I knew that at least I didn't have Mrs. Weasley as an enemy anymore.

From Bill and Fleur – mostly Fleur I suspected – I received a silver vanity set that I would send off to Gringotts immediately, because it was far too nice for tromping through the countryside. The Delacours had gotten Harry and I both a box of chocolates, and Fred and George had sent us both a joint gift of a huge amount of merchandise from their store.

"I'm going to go put these upstairs," I announced, the arrival of the Delacours making the kitchen uncomfortably cramped. "Thanks again, everyone."

"I'll pack yours for you Harry, I'm just going to grab the last of Ron's underpants to come out of the wash," Hermione offered while Ron sputtered. I sniggered as I scuttled up the stairs, spoils in my arms. Most of it was tucked away into my pouch. It still felt incredibly strange to be living out of the tiny thing instead of a trunk like I usually did, but it was undoubtedly far more convenient as I dug out a bit of parchment, quill, and ink and sat down cross-legged on my bed. I penned a quick note instructing the goblins of Gringotts to put Bill and Fleur's gift in my vault and then called commandingly, "Kreacher."

Despite however many dozens of spells had been set up warding the Burrow Kreacher was still able to appear before me a moment later, bowing deeply and scowling.

"Mistress," he greeted bitterly. "What can Kreacher do for the blood traitor Mistress, living in a house of filth…" He glared at the shoes tucked haphazardly under the edge of Ginny's bed.

"That's enough," I informed him shortly. "You're to take this to Gringotts and give it to one of the goblin tellers there." I passed him the note and the set. "Don't tamper with it, don't hurt it, just do as I say then go straight back to Hogwarts, understand?"

"Yes, yes, Kreacher understands," he grumbled petulantly, taking the offered items and vanishing with a crack. I sighed and made to rise, bracing my hands on the edge of my bed, and stopped when the side of my finger brushed something hard. I frowned and flipped back a wrinkle in the unmade bedsheets. Sitting there was a small, square black box with a ribbon tied around it. Frowning I reached down and picked it up, flipping open the lid. A piece of paper fell out and I snatched it before even really processing what was in the box, opening it up to read.

 _First of all I want you to appreciate how much Slytherin cunning went into making sure this order couldn't be traced back to me and neither could the payment. I even made sure it wouldn't appear until you were alone. Of course, knowing you that will only make it more meaningful. Another reason for me to want to tell you._

 _It occurred to me not long before the end of the year that this war will separate us and all you'll have of me is some flowers and some pretty glass. We'll be far apart no matter how physically close we are and I want something to remind you of me, to remind you that I'm with you even when I'm not. I hope you like this._

 _It's a little embarrassing, honestly, which is why I'm glad I'm giving this to you via mail and not in person. Don't worry, it's not an engagement ring-_

At that I choked, looking to the box. It had landed on its side but I could still see the silver band inside. I stared at it in disbelief, picking the box up in shaking hands and letting the letter fall down into my lap absently. It was beautiful, but simple. A square emerald set in silver with three diamonds running down the band on either side. I loved it at once and while Draco had said it wasn't an engagement ring I couldn't help but wish it was in some childish corner of my heart.

As a child I'd never dreamed of my wedding the way many girls did. What flowers I'd like, whether I wanted it to be indoor or outdoor, how many layers the cake should have. I'd assumed I'd get married, I supposed, in the same way I'd assumed I'd have a career in something I at least mildly enjoyed and a child or two somewhere down the line, but the specifics were never dwelt on.

The only time I'd ever imagined getting married had been with Draco. When we laid in the Room of Requirement together and dreamed of the future, he was there. Though it had never been explicitly stated that he was a husband, the assumption had been made. After the war was over… well, barring anything too horrific happening on either side, I fully intended for him to still be there and to always be there. As a husband.

Sweet Merlin, I wanted to marry Draco Malfoy.

The shock of the thought made me clutch a hand over my mouth to smother a gasp as I set the ring aside shakily and looked back to the letter.

 _Don't worry, it's not an engagement ring, it's just a promise that I'm waiting for you on the other side no matter what. If I do something you can't forgive, well, feel free to hunt me down, jinx me ten different ways, and shove it down my throat. You don't even have to wear it, just… just have it. Have something with you to remind you that I love you._

 _Happy birthday, phoenix_

I set the letter aside and picked the box up once more, lifting the ring out. I already wore my crest and the basilisk ring on the ring fingers of either hand. I shifted the crest over to right ring finger and my basilisk ring to my pointer finger. The emerald ring went on my left ring finger and I was delighted to see it there. It occurred to me that I was gaining quite the collection of adornments, and I was reminded of Sirius's somewhat piratical dress sense. Somehow I'd managed to incorporate part of him into my life and it couldn't have been more perfect or welcome.

"Is that from him?" I looked up sharply. Hermione was lingering in the doorway, a pile of underwear in her arms. She nodded to the ring on my finger. "Has he proposed?" She seemed shocked.

"No." I smiled down at the ring, admiring the way the emerald caught the light. "He's promised. There's a difference."

* * *

The birthday dinner was held out in the garden, as the already-stretched Burrow simply could accommodate all of the guests. Several tables were placed end-to-end to fit everyone. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Hermione draped purple and gold streamers over the trees and turned several bits of foliage gold and silver.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. I jerked as I realized it was our birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, "That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

"I didn't know you could make a cake that shape," I agreed, tilting my head to ponder the physics as they attached wings flapped lazily, obviously under some sort of spell.

"Oh, it's nothing, dears," she said fondly.

At seven o'clock we saw a small procession trooping down the lane with Fred and George at the helm. Hagrid's huge form was easy to pick out. He was celebrating with his best, horrible hair brown suit and a large sunflower in the buttonhole. Tonks was easily recognizable as well, her hair silver and gold to celebrate the pair of us. She was holding onto Remus's arm. There was one more couple with them that I couldn't quite make out, which didn't make much sense as I had thought it was just going to be Hagrid, Tonks, and Remus. It was when I realized that the man was clad in all black and the woman on his arm was walking slowly and carefully that I realized who it was.

"What is it, Rena?" Ginny asked, seeing my shocked expression. I didn't reply. I leaped to my feet and raced to the garden gate in disbelief. Sure enough, Severus Snape was coming down the lane with Amity on his arm, a brilliant smile on her face as she chatted with Tonks. Mentally I could process what I was seeing but it still seemed to impossible.

"Close your mouth, you're going to let flies in," Tonks teased as they approached, and I snapped my jaw shut, looking to Remus for an explanation, then between Snape and George, the gaping hole on the side of his head only the most obvious reason why what I was seeing should have been impossible.

"How-?"

"It occurred to me that it wasn't fair to you that you were celebrating your seventeenth birthday without your friends and family while Harry had his," Remus explained, a soft expression on his face. "I contacted Severus discreetly and he managed to get free and explained that there was someone else you'd probably like to be here."

"That'd be me," Amity chirped, beaming widely as she waved. "Also, I completely understand your issues with Apparation now, it's a god-awful form of travel and you people are mad for using it."

"Happy birthday, Potter," Snape greeted much more calmly, though even he seemed amused by my open-mouthed gaping. "It's good to see you.

"But… George…" I looked at him helplessly. "Are you okay with this?"

"I checked with George first," Remus added quickly.

"And I told him that today wasn't about me," George finished, and to his credit he seemed only slightly uncomfortable with having the man who'd taken his ear off not five feet away. "It helps that he apologized to me and explained that he was trying to take off some bloke named Selwyn's hand. Apparently he's got a fondness for Avada Kedavra, that one."

"This is… incredibly risky," I said slowly, looking at Snape in surprise. "Also illegal." I glanced at Amity, who winked in reply.

"Always more fun if it is," she grinned wickedly.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's mouths dropped open as they saw the additions to our party and the Weasleys fell silent.

"A-Amity?" Harry choked out when he saw her standing there on Snape's arm. It occurred to me that he wasn't aware they knew each other. "What're you-"

"Remus is the best uncle ever, that's how," I replied, my mouth pulling into a wide grin. I would never have said anything but I had wished that I could have my friends here as well. I loved Harry's portion of our little group, but I had my own friends, my own family, and to have them excluded was a little bit painful. Now, though, that had been mitigated.

"Molly," Snape greeted neutrally.

"Severus," she replied, equally bland. "Come and have a seat, we were about to get started."

"Dad's gonna go off his rocker when he finds out there's an honest-to-Merlin Muggle here," George muttered to me as he passed, and I snorted into my wine as Hagrid pulled Harry, Ron, and Hermione into conversation. Tonks and Remus walked around to get at the seats across from Harry and I, while Snape guided Amity towards a chair. I was surprised at how well he managed it without being patronizing and realized that spoke more than anything else for how much time they'd spent together. He walked her over to the table with her hand tucked in his elbow and pulled out a chair, taking her hand and placing it on the back. Amity thanked him with a smile and sat herself down while Snape took the chair between Amity and I.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," Amity grinned, offering me a box as she leaned over Snape, bracing her hand on his thigh. He seemed uncomfortable with the gesture, and by the smirk on Amity's face, she knew it, but he didn't protest, and again I was stunned as I took the box, realizing that they were far closer than even I'd realized. "Severus told me it's tradition to give you a watch when you turn seventeen. We picked this one out together."

"You've spoiled the surprise," Snape drawled, and Amity whacked his shoulder lightly.

"Oh, hush up, you, you said she'd be expecting one."

It was more than I'd ever dared hope as I lifted the lid and saw the watch and single albert chain nestled inside. It was silver, of course, and the lid was patterned in swooping filigree. The sides were scalloped and fit nicely in my palm when I clicked it and the lid popped open. The inside was plain, curling numbers and a ticking watch and it was too perfect for words.

I leaned over and shamelessly hugged Snape, getting horrified and fearful looks from those around the table that he'd taught. Snape pursed his lips and reached up, patting my arm calmly.

"Yes, it's all very sentimental. Kindly let go."

Amity tapped his shoulder pointedly. "Excuse you, I think that hug was partially for me and I'll de collecting my part later."

Snape was frowning at that request as Amity wiggled her eyebrows at him and Fred and George were spluttering helplessly into their drinks.

"Rena, I love your boss!" Fred chuckled, and Amity tossed him a grin.

"Thanks, Fred."

Fred gaped. "How in the _hell_ -"

"You may look alike, honey, but you don't sound the same. Not to me, at least."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Raincrow," Hermione called from down the table. "I'm Hermione Granger. Harry's mentioned you to us before, so it's nice to put a face to the name."

"It's say the same but I've got no earthly clue what you look like," Amity chirped in reply. Hermionee's face dropped in horror and I saw Ron give her an exasperated look as she floundered,

"I-I wasn't trying to… I didn't mean… Of course you can't…"

"She's mocking you, Miss Granger," Snape interrupted her fumbling. "Just ignore her, I've found it works best."

"Ooh, ruin my fun why don't you, sourpuss?" Amity scowled. "But he is right, don't worry about offending me at all, Hermione. To quote my mother, I'm made of hard and bony stuff." She grinned and Hermione relaxed a little.

"I-I see."

We all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley's voice.

 _"Minister of Magic coming with me."_

The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

"We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry – Lorena - I'm sorry - I'll explain some other time-"

He seized Tonks's wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight.

"We must go too," Snape urged, and stood, taking Amity's arm. She looked a little startled, but nevertheless let him pull her up, pausing by my chair long enough to bent down and kiss my cheek and wish me a happy birthday. They reached the fence and Amity, who couldn't climb over it with any kind of speed, yelped a little as Snape bent, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her over it. He stepped over after her and they were gone. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered at having suddenly lost four members of our party, but the Ministry finding out that any of them were here might be a problem. Tonks was an Auror, one who wasn't supposed to have any ties to us. Snape was a confirmed Death Eater, Amity was a Muggle, and Lupin was a werewolf. None of them were high on the Ministry's list of acceptable party guests.

Mrs. Weasley stammered, "The Minister - but why - I don't understand-"

A second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair. The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table where we all sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light, I saw that he looked much older than the last time that had met, scraggy and grim. War, it seemed, was wearing on the Minister.

"Sorry to intrude," greeted Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party." His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake, like he was looking for some sort of secret. Maybe he was "Many happy returns."

"Thanks," replied Harry dully while I just sat and sneered.

"I require a private word with you Potters," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger."

"Us?" asked Ron, sounding surprised. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," replied Scrimgeour. "Is there such a place?" he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, of course," answered Mr. Weasley nervously. "The, er, sitting room, why don't you use that?"

"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour ordered Ron. "There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur."

Mr. Weasley exchanged a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I stood up. As Ron led the way back to the house in silence, I wondered if Scrimgeour had somehow learned we planned to drop out of Hogwarts. He couldn't have, though, because no one who knew would have told him. Besides that, planning to become truant was about the least of my many secrets.

Scrimgeour did not speak as we all passed through the messy kitchen and into the Burrow's sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark in here. Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. I perched on the arm next to Harry, draping my arm across the back of the couch and crossing my ankles, trying to look as elegant and unconcerned as I possibly could for someone trying very hard to balance themselves. Once we had all settled, Scrimgeour spoke.

"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three-" he pointed at Harry, Hermione, and I, "-can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."

"Words can't even _begin_ to describe how unlikely that is," I informed him bluntly. "It's all of us or none, Minister."

Scrimgeour gave me a cold, appraising look. I had a feeling that he was one of the ones who thought I'd got away with murder – which was actually to his credit, because I technically had. But he had to decide whether or not he wanted to give into my bait and open hostilities this early in the conversation.

Apparently he didn't.

"Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another while I sat, stony-faced but whirling inside. Dumbledore's will? I wasn't entirely surprised that he'd left something to Harry – they had been mentor and mentee. Even leaving something to Hermione and Ron, given that they were Harry's best friends and would be helping him hunt horcruxes, wasn't terribly surprising. But me? Now that was unexpected.

Scrimgeour leaned forward. "A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"

"A-all of us?" stammered Ron, "Me and Hermione too?"

"Yes, all of-"

But Harry interrupted. "Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" she accused, and her voice trembled slightly.

"I had every right," Scrimgeour replied dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power the confiscate the contents of a will-"

"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," I countered, having come across it in my legal research over the years.

"And the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them!" Hermione picked up. "Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?"

"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.

"No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"

It took everything in mw not to snort and double over laughing at the look on Scrimgeour's face. Ron laughed outright. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke.

"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"

I scoffed. "They can't keep the objects longer than thirty-one days unless they can prove they're dangerous, and obviously they haven't managed that, so they've no choice but to release them."

"Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" asked Scrimgeour, ignoring me. Ron looked startled.

"Me? Not - not really... It was always Harry who..."

Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a _stop-talking-now!_ sort of look, but the damage was done. Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron's answer.

"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions - his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects - were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?"

"I… dunno," Ron floundered. "I... when I say we weren't close... I mean, I think he liked me..."

"You're being modest, Ron," Hermione jumped in, a little desperation in her eyes. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."

As far as I knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. _I_ was closer to Dumbledore than Ron was. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'... Yes, here we are... 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"

Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that I had seen before. It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.

"That is a valuable object," observed Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you and item so rare?"

Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.

"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour persevered. "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you four. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put to the Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"

"Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"

Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or two, he turned back to Dumbledore's will.

"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"

Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. The title was written in runes, obviously an older copy even if it weren't for the incredibly battered appearance. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.

"He... he knew I liked books," said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

"But why that _particular_ book?"

"I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."

"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"

"No, I didn't," said Hermione shortly, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will."

She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders. Scrimgeour turned back to the will.

"'To Harry James Potter,'" he read, and Harry tensed beside me interestedly, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"

As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry looked underwhelmed.

"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimgeour.

"No idea," answered Harry swiftly. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose... to remind me what you can get if you... persevere and whatever it was."

"You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"

"I suppose so," Harry agreed, straightening up and looking back at the Minister challengingly. "What else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa, and I scoffed. Dusk was really falling outside now. The marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge.

"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch," Scrimgeour noted. "Why is that?"

Hermione laughed derisively. "Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry and Lorena are both great Quidditch players, that's way too obvious," she mocked. "There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!"

"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," disagreed Scrimgeour, "but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"

"Snitches carry flesh memories," I answered for her. "It's an enchantment placed on it to solve disputed captures. Snitches aren't touched by bare hands until they are caught, and they remember who catches them."

"This Snitch" - Scrimgeour held up the tiny golden ball - "will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you."

Harry stayed quietly, probably trying to figure out how he could keep from taking the Snitch from Scrimgeur with his bare hand. It was probably why Scrimgeour had come personally, Minister of Magic himself, to deliver an inheritance. He was waiting for this moment.

"You don't say anything," Scrimgeour commented. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?"

"No," said Harry quietly.

"Take it," ordered Scrimgeour, equally quietly.

Harry met the Minister's yellow eyes and I tensed next to him, waiting for all hell to break loose as he held out his hand. Scrimgeour leaned forward again and place the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry's palm.

Nothing happened. As Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way. I released a breath. If it hadn't done it then, likely it wouldn't do anything. Then again, this hadn't been a normal Snitch catch. I remembered first year, watching the game and being terrified when I saw Harry retching, thinking he'd been badly hurt. He didn't catch the Snitch, he nearly swallowed it, and that had been the opposing captain's argument for why it shouldn't have counted.

"That was dramatic," said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed while I smirked.

"What did he leave Lorena, then?" asked Hermione.

"Not quite all, Miss Granger" said Scrimgeour, who looked bad tempered now. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."

"What is it?" asked Harry, visibly intrigued.

Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time. "The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.

"So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Unfortunately," replied Scrimgeour, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs-"

"It belongs to Harry!" protested Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat-"

"That means nothing," I interrupted her. "The sword has presented itself to more people that just Harry over the past ten centuries. I recall a particular period in the 1300s where it developed a bad habit of cropping up all over Scotland to random Gryffindors that then had to return it to the school. The sword belongs to Hogwarts, much the way the Sorting Hat does. It too was Gryffindor's property."

"That is correct, Miss Potter." Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. "Why do you think-?"

"-Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" finished Harry, visibly struggling to keep his temper. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."

"This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Interesting theory," Harry retorted. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this is what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying - I was nearly one of them - Voldemort chased me across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"

"You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, standing up. Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand. It singed a hole in Harry's t-shirt like a lit cigarette.

" _Enough!"_ I yelled, and stretched out my hand. Scrimgeour's wand leapt into my grip and I doused the tip. The room went silent, staring at me in shock.

"Threaten my brother, Minister," I snarled, "and I will have another murder charge to dodge." I sneered. "I've already done it once, and it was appallingly easy."

"You will return my wand this instant, Miss Potter!" Scrimgeour ordered, and strode towards me. I leaned back, my foot coming up. It caught the Minister in the chest and he paused, my extended limb keeping him outside of grabbing distance.

"I will return it the moment you give me what Dumbledore left. And before you ask, because I know you're just itching to know, I would imagine he bequeathed something to me specifically because he was tutoring me privately, at my own request, on wandless magic. Successfully, as I've just demonstrated. So tell me, Minister, what did Dumbledore leave me?"

"I could have you arrested!" Scrimgeour threatened. "For attacking the Minister of Magic!"

"You couldn't actually," I replied with a polite smile. "Because thanks to a particularly old law that was never repealed, twins are viewed, magically speaking, as two of the same person. In attacking my brother you attacked me as well, and Disarming you was the nicest of ways I could have responded." I smiled nastily. "Wonderful things, those backward little laws that were simply forgotten instead of actually being done away with. Wouldn't you agree?"

Scrimgeour scowled thunderously, but as expected he had no way of knowing whether I was being honest or talking out of my ass. As it happened I was being honest, but the reality was that he had no choice but to turn back to the bag he'd brought our items in. He didn't bother to consult the will this time as he brought out a thick, heavy book. It looked as old as Hermione's. The title was written in runes and it took me a moment to translate the runes – which resulted in Latin, which took me another moment to translate. _Et Magicae ex Animo. The Magic of the Soul._

"Any idea why Dumbledore might leave you a book on a largely theoretical branch of magic?" Scrimgeour challenged.

"Probably because he knew that I enjoyed learning magical skills far beyond many people twice my age," I replied with a mocking smile. I stretched out my other hand and Summoned the book to my hand. The reality was that Summoning, Banishing, and some random explosions and bursts of energy and wind were all I was capable of without a wand. I was vastly over selling my abilities with wandless magic, but the Minister needn't know that. "Tell me Minister, can you perform wandless spells?" I asked innocently.

"D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?" Harry demanded.

"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" asked Scrimgeour, breathing hard in my face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear your scars like badges of honor, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy or his arrogant sister to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"

It was times like this that I believed there might be something to the magical concept of twins as two of one, because Harry and I spoke exactly in sync, our voices equally dangerous.

 _"It's time you earned it."_

The floor trembled. There was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.

"We - we thought we heard-" began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Scrimgeour glaring at Harry and I while I twirled a wand that was very obviously not mine around my fingers.

"-raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.

Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from us, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.

"It - it was nothing," he growled. "I... regret your attitude," he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you - what Dumbledore - desired. We ought to work together."

"I don't like your methods, Minister," replied Harry. "Remember?"

For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scar that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies.

"I will side with the Ministry the moment hell freezes over," I agreed, frowning at the reminder of Umbridge. "And not a second before."

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. I flipped Scrimgeour's wand through the air. He caught it and took a deep breath, looking like he would like nothing more than to bring it to bear and blast me off my perch on the edge of the couch. Instead he turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him. I heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, "He's gone!"

"What did he want?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at us in turn as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," explained Harry. "They've only just released the content of his will."

The objects Scrimgeour had given us were passed around out in the garden. Many people laughed as they recalled their favorite stories from _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and combed over the Deluminator with interest, turning the lanterns off and on again. My book was much less warmly received, probably because it was written in Latin and no one wanted to bother with the headache of trying to translate it to read a bit, though Hagrid did pass on his gift of a mokeskin pouch. No one had any theories as to why Harry had been left an old Snitch aside from me, though they were all very regretful that the sword hadn't been passed on.

As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third of fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, "Harry, dear, everyone's awfully hungry we didn't like to start without you... Shall I serve dinner now?"

We all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of "Happy Birthday" and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field.

"Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione, while we helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

Hermione and I ventured upstairs and I crammed _Et Magicae ex Animo_ into my pouch, knowing that it was far too late to try and translate any of it right now. Ginny said nothing as she watched us go to meet the boys, but I knew that she was feeling left out and worried by the grim look on her face. I wished a little bit that Ginny could come along with us but I knew that Harry wouldn't have allowed it and she was more use at Hogwarts.

 _"Muffiato,"_ I whispered as Hermione and I stepped into the attic room, waving my wand in the direction of the stairs.

"Thought you were too good for wands now?" Ron asked snidely.

"I may have overestimated my skill," I replied shamelessly. "Now, show us that Deluminator."

Ron obliged. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.

"The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.

"Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively. "And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!"

"I know but, surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!"

"D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.

"Undoubtedly, he used to be on the Wizengamot, remember, and many of our laws were written by him," I reminded them. "It's just a little surprising he didn't tell us anything about this when he was alive. I don't think anyone was more surprised than I that Dumbledore left me something, considering."

"I agree," said Hermione, now flicking through _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think he'd have left us know why... unless he thought it was obvious?"

"Thought wrong, then, didn't he?" huffed Ron. "I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch - what the hell was that about?"

"I've no idea," admitted Hermione. "When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"

"Yeah, well," said Harry slowly, holding up the Snitch and rolling it a little in his fingers. "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour was I?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

I smirked. "So you worked that one out too, did you? Maybe we are related. Don't you remember?" I added to Hermione and Ron. "Harry didn't catch the first Snitch, he nearly choked to death on it!"

"Exactly," agreed Harry as Ron's eyes widened in recollection. He pressed his mouth to the Snitch.

It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment shoved on his face as he lowered the golden sphere, but then Hermione cried out.

"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"

Harry nearly dropped the Snitch as he fumbled to see. I leaned over and saw engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin, slanted handwriting that I recognized as Dumbledore's:

 _I open at the close._

I had barely read them when the words vanished again.

"I open at the close... What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked blankly, and I rolled my eyes as Hermione and Ron shook their heads helplessly.

"Leave it to the old man to leave you a riddle as an inheritance," I scoffed, and couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore took his role as, as Amity put it, 'resident Merlin' a little too seriously.

"I open at the close... at the close... I open at the close..."

But no matter how often we repeated the words, with many different inflections, we were unable to wring any more meaning from them.

"And the sword," said Ron finally, when we had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription. "Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"

"And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry asked quietly. "I was there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn't he just give it to me then?"

"Probably because the sword can destroy a horcrux," I observed calmly. "As for why he didn't give it to you then I've no idea, I- What?" I demanded as Ron and Harry looked at me incredulously and Hermione smacked herself in the forehead and exclaimed,

"Oh, of course!"

"Gryffindor's sword is goblin made. Goblin-made items repel mundane things like dirt and rust and absorb things that made them stronger. So if one, say, killed a basilisk, it would become impregnated with basilisk venom," I explained leadingly, "which is one of the few things that can destroy a horcrux. Dumbledore would have no way of knowing I'd fetched fangs from the Chamber. He…" I closed my eyes as understanding dawned. "He didn't pass it on because he still needed it to destroy the locket! He just never got the chance…"

"That's bloody brilliant," Ron muttered. "So it doesn't matter that we haven't got the sword then?" he asked eagerly.

"No, because I've got the fangs," I explained.

"And as for this book," Hermione continued, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard ... I've never even heard of them!"

"You've never heard of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"_ said Ron incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not," said Hermione in surprise. "Do you know them then?"

"Well, of course I do!" Ron, however, looked bemused by our surprise. "Oh come on! All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's aren't they? 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' ... 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot'... 'Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump'..."

"Excuse me?" said Hermione giggling. "What was the last one?"

"Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione to me. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty-"

"Ron, you know full well we were brought up by Muggles!" Hermione reminded him. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' and 'Cinderella'-"

"What's that, an illness?"

"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending against over the runes.

"Yeah," said Ron uncertainly. "I mean, just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they're like in the original versions, I've heard they're a little darker..."

"So they're like the Grimm versions," I concluded, and Hermione nodded in understanding while Ron looked confused.

"I suppose they're probably a little grimmer, maybe?"

"But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?" Hermione mused, ignoring him.

Something cracked downstairs.

"Probably just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair," whispered Ron nervously.

"All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione. "It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."

"No," agreed Ron. "A brutal quadruple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of damper on the wedding. I'll get the light."

And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione and I left the room.

* * *

 **A note on Lorena's legal excuse: in antiquity people had some weird ideas about twins. Many of them included ideas on twins being two halves of the same person or a representation of duality… probably all things you would have guessed. Considering how technologically and idealogically behind the wizarding world is in many ways, I don't think it at all a leap that some of these ideas may have made their way into laws, even if it was centuries ago.**

 **My mother is in law and as such I have a little interest in researching laws. You would be shocked to find how many laws are still technically valid despite never being enforced and many people – even people in a legal profession – no longer being aware of them at all. Some of my favorite examples include a woman's hair still being legally her husband's property in Michigan – implying she would need his permission to have it cut or dyed – and the fact that it is illegal to go a year without bathing in Kentucky. Blue laws are always a great example, mandating what you can and can't do on Sundays in certain places. Most of these laws are too ridiculous or too antiquated to bother with, but they're still technically on the books.**

 **So while yes it is a little bit silly, it's also completely possible that such a law might exist and considering how fabulously ineffective the legal system in the wizarding world is seen to be, I don't think it's at all out of place for Lorena to use it.**


	116. Wedding Bells

_Tom Riddle stood with several fellow Slytherins in the corridor, clustered around a torch. It was late, that much was obvious from the darkness outside the window. There was a bright, fervent light in the eyes of the boys. They were on one of the lower floors. I wondered if they'd just come from a meeting with Tom filling their head with ideas of grandeur and ruling over Muggles. He was older, probably late in their sixth year or early in their seventh. Not far from graduation._

 _Voices came from the other end of the hall. It was Elizabeth Rosings, coming down the hall with a crooked smile on her face, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist. Walking beside her was a blonde-haired boy wearing Ravenclaw robes that matched hers. Both of their chests held gleaming P badges. So Elizabeth was a prefect, and this was her counterpart._

 _They were chatting back and forth about nothing in particular it seemed as they moved down the hall, but I saw the eyes of one of Riddle's group lock on her and widen in cruel interest. He was clearly planning something, and even the fact that he was in front of three prefects didn't seem enough to stop him. Elizabeth didn't seem to notice as she approached, but I watched as Tom's eyes tracked her, though he never faltered once as he spoke softly to Abraxas Malfoy._

" _I would be very interested in speaking to the man. You know I've aspirations at the Ministry after graduation and any connections that can be made now..."_

" _Of course, my Lord."_

" _I'm telling you Edmund, those Gryffindors ought to know better as often as we catch them in that empty classroom."_

" _It's gotten to the point where it's odd not to find a couple snogging in there, I agree. You'd think they'd learn…."_

" _That Hufflepuff girl definitely did, I thought she was going to kiss us when we let her off with a warning."_

" _Out late, aren't you, Mudblood?"_

 _The hallway froze, Elizabeth and Edmund only a few feet past the group of Slytherins, who had all fallen completely silent. Abraxas looked exasperated, as did Nott's grandfather. Tom merely stood, face impassive, and watched as the boy with the glowing eyes stared intently at Elizabeth's back, giddy he'd scored a hit._

" _What did you say?" Edmund demanded, whirling to come to his friend's aid. "Mulciber, you'll watch your mouth-!"_

" _Edmund," Elizabeth said softly, turning and placing a hand on his arm to stop his tirade. He looked at her incredulously._

" _Lizzy, he can't say things like that-"_

" _And he won't," Elizabeth replied firmly. "But let me tend to myself, please." She smiled at him to soften her words and I saw Tom's eyes flash in distaste at the obvious affection between them. I wondered if Edmund and Elizabeth were more than just patrolling partners. It certainly wouldn't be uncommon for prefects to get together. Percy and Penelope Clearwater, Draco and I… it was almost cliché. Either way, Tom seemed angered by the gesture even if it was purely platonic._

 _Elizabeth took a step closer to the Slytherins, and her determined expression wouldn't have looked out of place on a Gryffindor as she raised her finger and pointed at Mulciber. "Detention." She pointed to Malfoy, whose mouth dropped loose. "Detention." Her finger switched over to Nott. "Detention." Finally to Crabbe and Goyle, who had thus far been watching in amused silence and now swelled with indignation as she pronounced for a fourth time, "Detention. Riddle's the only one of you who's a prefect and so the only one who should be out this late. I wasn't going to say anything," she explained to the rest of them. "You can thank Mulciber for that when you're scrubbing bedpans."_

 _Malfoy reached out, annoyed, and whacked Mulciber across the back of the head. "Idiot!" he hissed._

 _Mulciber swelled with rage. I was a Slytherin. I knew that Elizabeth Rosings had just single-handedly switched the positions in that group. Mulciber was now bottom of the pecking order for the next few days. He'd shot his mouth off and ended up getting all of them in trouble with him. By the satisfied look on her face, Elizabeth knew that too._

" _You just wait until we get out of Hogwarts and that badge on your chest doesn't mean anything," Mulciber sneered at her, but there was real anger in his eyes. "You better watch your back, Mudblood!"_

" _Is that a threat?" Edmund demanded, stepping forward, and again Elizabeth's hand dropped to grab his wrist and squeeze, pacifying. "No, Lizzy, I'm not going to let him talk to you that way. Detention for the next two months, Mulciber!" He glared. "For foul language and disrespecting and threatening a prefect."_

 _Mulciber scoffed. "Detention, I'm trembling. Face it, Parker, detention's all you've got and that doesn't bother me. You're outnumbered."_

" _Do it, then."_

 _All eyes turned to Elizabeth, who was striding calmly up to Mulciber. She planted herself an arm's-length away from him and raised her hands invitingly. "Do it," she ordered. "If I am so disgusting to you then strike me now and prove I'm nothing but scum."_

 _Mulciber faltered. Obviously he hadn't expected that and now he wasn't sure how to proceed. Elizabeth was, though, and her fists came up. One two there, hook, jab, jab, and she had landed three quick, powerful punches on Mulciber's face, sending him staggering back against the wall. My jaw dropped open. Those weren't random swings, Elizabeth Rosings was a bloody_ boxer.

" _Bitch!" Mulciber howled, clutching his nose and blinking tears from his eyes. "You'll pay for-!"_

" _Detention."_

 _Once again the hall went dead quiet. It wasn't Edmund of Elizabeth. This was Tom Riddle speaking, giving Mulciber a thoroughly unimpressed stare. Mulciber instantly quailed and Elizabeth looked between him and Riddle, a questioning expression on her face._

" _I'm apologize for not interfering sooner, Rosings, but you seemed to want to handle things yourself," Riddle continued. "And I'm truly appalled by Mulciber's language, directed at a prefect, no less."_

 _The look he sent Mulciber promised pain and it made Elizabeth falter and step back from him uncertainly, retreating to the relative safety of Edmund's side._

" _Y-Yes, thank you, Riddle," she said uncertainly, giving him one last, lingering look before turning back to Mulciber. "We're not children anymore, Mulciber. The time for name-calling is long gone. Please remember that shooting your mouth off is only good so long as the person isn't willing to shut your jaw for you. I am."_

 _And with an exit that would have made Snape proud, she turned on her heel, cloak turning in an elegant swoop behind her before flaring dramatically as she flounced off down the hall. Edmund watched her go fondly before turning and adding to Mulciber,_

" _Her_ Muggle _father owns a boxing gym, you know, and_ he _taught her that," he said smugly before hurrying after her._

 _The scene around me blurred and shifted and the figures faded into smoke and dissipated. The scene resolved into a random hallway in the castle, no details to really pick out where. Standing in front of me was my boy – my boys, they were both there._

" _I really admired that she was so brave," the younger one piped up, clutching his book tightly to his chest._

" _She was absolutely wonderful to watch in her fury," the older one agreed, a sharp, amused glint in his eye. "Mulciber suffered for his insults, certainly, but I was almost glad he said them for getting to see her like that."_

 _The younger one pouted a bit. "If only she hadn't run off with Parker. I dunno why she liked him, I am way better than him!"_

" _He was her friend," I explained to the younger one, reaching out and patting his head fondly. "It wasn't a matter of her liking him more, it's a matter of her liking him differently." I didn't add that she definitely liked Parker more than him anyway. It didn't seem appropriate._

" _But she did like him that way," the teenaged version scowled thunderously. "I caught them more than once when they were meant to be patrolling." He looked glum as he pronounced, "Lucky bastard.'_

 _It was so casual and so much like something any guy would have said in that situation, so very far removed from Lord Voldemort, whose name struck fear into the hearts of all, that I had to laugh a little._

" _I like her," I announced, and the younger one reached up, latching onto my hand and grinning up at me._

" _You do?" he asked hopefully._

" _I do," I agreed, and he smiled even wider._

" _Good! I'm glad my friend likes her," he proclaimed, and the older version rolled his eyes._

" _What does it matter?" he spat. "She never gave us the time of day anyway, even when we made sure Mulciber suffered for insulting her."_

" _She wouldn't have appreciated knowing you did that even if you'd told her," I informed the older one sternly. I didn't know much about Elizabeth Rosings, but I did know that much. This outburst of violence had seemed more like a culmination of several years of abuse instead of a random explosion. I knew the difference. One was hot ad blazing, the other cool and controlled._

 _The older one eyed me up and down calculatingly, and there was something in his eyes that made me flush and shift away as he commented, "You're like her in some ways, you know…."_

* * *

I was Abigail Weasley. Abigail Weasley had a longer nose than I did and plain brown eyes. Abigail Weasley was something like Arthur's second cousin once removed's mother's step-aunt's nephew's neighbor's pet goldfish, to my knowledge. I was at least doing better than Harry, scars and tattoos covered with spells and patches and my disguise magical instead of Polyjuice. I kept my shape, which meant that I fit nicely into the dark navy cocktail dress I was wearing. I cast a sympathetic look towards 'Cousin Barny' who was straining against the buttons of Harry's suit a little bit ushering near the front of the tent with Fred and George.

I reached up and adjusted the matching witch's hat I was wearing, tilted at a slight angle, and approached the entrance, sliding into place beside Harry.

"Hello Barny," I greeted teasingly. "Haven't seen you since two Christmas's ago."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Harry agreed drily as he pointed an older couple off towards their seats. I saw Fred bent over, smiling roguishly at some girls who had to be cousins of Fleur's and smirked as they tittered at whatever he'd said.

"Wotcher."

Tonks had apparently turned blonde for the wedding, likely trying not to draw too much attention to themselves. She winked at Harry and I, obviously aware of who we were under the disguises, and Remus nodded and smiled.

"Sorry about dashing off," Remus apologized quietly as I linked arms with Tonks and Harry guided the lot of us down the aisle towards their seats. "The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and I didn't think my presence would do you many favors…"

"I understand," Harry hastened to assure him.

"It's not a problem," I agreed as Remus pulled Tonks around, keeping a hold of her hand as she sat down on her seat. She crossed one leg over the other and positively glowed as she beamed up at Lupin. He smiled back, but his face fell into miserable lines again as soon as he was turned away to sat himself.

There was a crunching sound from the back that distracted me from asking Remus if he was alright.

Hagrid had apparently misunderstood his seating directions. He had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks. While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Harry and I hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck. Even before he introduced himself I had a pretty good idea of who he was.

"Xenophilius Lovegood," he said, extending a hand to Harry, "my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?" he added to Ron.

"Yes," he answered, "isn't she with you?"

"She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes - or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi!" He seemed weirdly passionate even to me, and I enjoyed magizoology.

"Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words," commented Ron, "but I think Fred and George taught them those." I didn't add that I had helped in that endeavor one Christmas, teaching them some curses I'd learned from Amity. There was one particular gnome who'd quite taken to them and now loudly

Luna rushed up and greeted us breathlessly, "Hello, Harry, Lorena!"

"Er - my name's Barny."

"Oh, have you changed that too?" she asked brightly.

"Hello Luna," I greeted with a smile, somehow not surprised that she'd seen through our disguises. For all the strangeness that was Luna Lovegood – and apparently Lovegoods in general – she did seem to always know what was going on with uncanny clarity.

Harry was bemused. "How did you know -?"

"Oh, just your expression," she replied absently.

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once I get over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears. Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry and I. Biding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, "Daddy, look - one of the gnomes actually bit me."

"How wonderful!" he said cheerfully. "Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial." He seized Luna's outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. "Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today ¨- perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaims in Mermish - do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!"

Ron, passing us in the opposite direction let out a loud snort.

"Ron can laugh," said Luna serenely as Harry and I led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, "but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic."

"Really?" asked Harry. "Are you sure you don't want to put anything on that bite, though?"

"Oh, it's fine," said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. "You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colors to a wedding, for luck, you know."

As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

"...and your hair's much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?" she barked at Harry.

"Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny and his sister Abby."

I glared. I'd discovered a loathing for being called _Abby_ from the moment Ron first did it and he'd cheerfully picked up the torch.

"Another Weasley?" the old woman scoffed. "You breed like gnomes. Isn't Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?"

"No - he couldn't come-"

"Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. But I suppose that saves us from his sister's company as well. Nasty girl, according to all the papers." Ron and Harry gave me nervous looks as the old harridan continued, "I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara. Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still - French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and Harry immediately turned to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked firmly, nodding in Muriel's direction.

"Well she's not wrong, I am nasty," I replied with a wink, honestly not that offended. I doubted the old woman would have said as much had she known I was standing right there – then again she might have. Either way, I was more amused by how disheartened Ron seemed to be to escort her around.

"Nightmare, Muriel is," said Ron when he finally reappeared, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. "She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at diner. Dad always says she'll have written them out of her will - like they care, they're going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they're going... Wow," he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward them. "You look great!"

"Always the tone of surprise," said Hermione, though she smiled. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"

"Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone," reassured Ron.

"Apparently I'm 'nasty,' all the paper's say so!" I chirped cheerfully.

"Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."

"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George.

"But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," said Fred nostalgically. "He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his -"

"Yes, he sounds a real charmer," interrupted Hermione tartly, while Harry roared with laughter. I smirked and suppressed my own laughter at the idea. Drunken wizards were deeply entertaining as a rule.

"Never married, for some reason," mused Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You amaze me."

We were all laughing so much that none of us noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said "I didn't know you were - goodness - it's lovely to see - how are you?"

I was more interested in the tall, lanky figure next to him. Iliya had filled out a little bit and his face had settled into adulthood, jaw strong and cheeks completely free of baby fat. I smiled a little and felt the old desire to flirt with him rear its head, but that was all it was. I enjoyed our somewhat coquettish friendship, but I felt far and away more for Draco than I ever had for him.

Ron's ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum's invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he demanded, much too loudly, "How come you're here?"

"Fleur invited me," replied Krum, eyebrows raised. "I brought Iliya as my… plus one?" He looked to Hermione, who nodded that he'd got it right. "Are ze Potterz here? I vould like to see them again."

"Unfortunately it's a bit dangerous for the Potters to be out and about these days," I replied before Ron could say anything. "All you've got are 'Cousin Barny and Cousin Abigail.'" I winked at Iliya meaningfully and his face split into a wide grin as he realized I was right in front of him.

"I would like to speak with Cousin Abigail some before the evening is out," Iliya said smoothly, stepping forward and picking up my hand, bending to kiss the knuckles softly. Hermione's eyes widened meaningfully at about the same time as Harry's narrowed darkly and I rolled my own eyes at the pair of them.

"It's good to see you again, Iliya," I greeted him warmly. "Find me after the ceremony. Cousin Abigail would like to catch up with you as well."

"You're flirting!" Hermione accused as Harry hustled the Bulgarians off before Ron could explode on them.

"Yes, and?" I asked blankly. "Iliya's fun, but he's just a friend and he knows it. It doesn't mean anything."

Hermione's eyes darted to the ring on my left hand pointedly. "Does _he_ know that? Remember the Yule Ball?"

I scoffed. "Hermione, he doesn't own me. If I want to catch up with an old friend I will. Honestly I doubt he'd be thrilled about it, but considering I don't have any plans to jump Iliya by the punch there's really no reason he could have to be upset."

It was time to settle in before Fleur came down the aisle, and Hermione and I went to join Harry and Ron in the second row behind Fred and George. Hermione looked rather pink and Ron's ears were still scarlet. After a few moments he muttered to Harry, "Did you see he's grown a stupid little beard?"

I saw Hermione's hands clench in her lap and reached over, patting her fists calmly while not looking over.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst colored robes with a matching hat. A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

"Ooooh!" said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrit Greyback.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly singsong voice, and a same small, tufty-hired wizard began the ceremony. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls..."

"Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely," said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut."

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. I smirked a little and my right hand fell over my left, tracing the ring there. A promise, Draco had said, not a proposal, but one day it might really be a proposal. I tried to imagine it – Gryffindors and Slytherins, both sides of the war sitting together. Draco had a flare for the dramatic and the money to support it. I could imagine a much grander affair, probably with ridiculously expensive wine and more flowers than a hothouse. The very idea made me smile.

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione took my hand and squeezed, and her eyes were shining with happy tears as she watched the ceremony process.

"...then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!"

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished. We stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

"Smooth," said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhiskey, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" urged Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

"We'll have time later," shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. "Hermione, cop hold, let's grab a table... Not there! Nowhere near Muriel-"

Ron led the way across the dance floor with Hermione holding his arm tightly. I caught Harry's hand and Hermione's and we made a chain to keep together as we made our way through the crowd. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied. The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

"All right if we join you?" asked Ron as I dropped Hermione's hand and snatched a firewhiskey and a tart.

"Oh yes," she welcomed us happily. "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present."

"What is it, a lifetime's supply of Gurdyroots?" asked Ron as I hooked a chair with my ankle and pulled it out, collapsing into it and taking a careful bite of tart, wearing of crumbs on my dress or sticking to my lipstick. _Raspberry, delicious._

The band had begun to play, Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause. After a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mr. Weasley and Fleur's father.

"I like this song," said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

"She's great isn't she?" observed Ron admiringly. "Always good value."

But the smile vanished from his face at once. Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna's vacant seat while Iliya followed after him and looked pained, lingering behind my chair. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, "Who is that man in the yellow?"

"That's Xenophilius Lovegood, he's the father of a friend of ours," replied Ron. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. "Come and dance," he added abruptly to Hermione.

She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor.

"Ah, they are together now?" asked Krum, momentarily distracted.

"Er - sort of," answered Harry uncertainly. I rolled my eyes.

"You know this man Lovegood well?" Krum asked.

"No, I only met him today. Why?"

Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.

"Because," spat Krum, "If he vus not a guest of Fleur's I vould dud him, here and now, for veering that filthy sign upon his chest."

"Sign?" said Harry, looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald's sign."

"Grindelwald... the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?"

"Exactly."

Krum's jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, "Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore - and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But this-" he pointed a finger at Xenophilius "-this is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes thinking to shock, make themselves impressive - until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better."

Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius.

Looking uncomfortable, Harry asked, "Are you - er - quite sure it's Grindelwald's-?"

"Would you or I recognize the Dark Mark in a heartbeat?" I asked Harry somewhat pointedly, and Harry's expression cleared in understanding.

"Well, there's a chance," he continued, trying to defend him, "that Xenophilius doesn't actually know what the symbol means, the Lovegoods are quite... unusual."

"Understatement," I scoffed, and Iliya laid a hand on my shoulder. I heard him huff a laugh from behind me.

"He could have easily picked it up somewhere and think it's a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something," Harry pressed on.

"The cross section of a vot?" Iliya asked, bemused.

"Well, I don't know what they are, but apparently he and his daughter go on holiday looking for them... That's her," he said, pointing at Luna, who was still dancing alone, waving her arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges.

"Vy is she doing that?" asked Krum blankly.

"Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt," said Harry and I almost perfectly in sync.

"Just don't question it," I advised Krum, and reached up, patting Iliya's hand. "Can I steal you for a dance?"

"For you, my dear, you may steal me for two," Iliya accepted graciously, and shifted so that he was holding my hand and guiding me to my feet. I strode to the dance floor with him and he put his hand on my hip while I rested mine on his shoulder. Swaying in time to the music, Iliya looked down at me and smiled fondly.

"It's good to see you. Well…" He looked me up and down pointedly. "In a way."

"Times are hard," I replied breezily. "It's easier for everyone if I'm like this."

"I can understand. Were my notes helpful to you?" Iliya asked me hopefully. I nodded and grinned.

"Oh yes! I brewed several batches of everything up and distributed them among _friends_ in case of emergency. It's made everyone feel a bit better, from what I understand."

"I'm glad." Iliya steered us around a couple of Fleur's cousins and their dance partners to a less-crowded portion of the floor. "I know it's not much but I feel as though I've helped in some small way. And this… Voldemort?" I nodded. "He is Britain's version of Grindelvald, it seems."

"In a manner," I agreed.

"Perhaps one day we shall both work in the medical field?" Iliya asked hopefully, and I laughed but shook my head.

"Oh no, I don't think so. Don't get me wrong, I've been working with Madam Pomfrey to learn what I ca, but it's more in mind with patching people up enough to get out of a situation, not really fixing them. No, I don't think I'll ever become a Healer." I paused contemplatively. "No idea what I'll do when this is all over, honestly. There's a lot of things I want to do, but… Hm." I shook my head. "Too early to think on any of it."

Iliya looked at me meaningfully. "You will figure it out eventually."

"Your faith in me gives me strength," I replied drily, and squeezed his hand fondly. Iliya smiled back and raised an eyebrow.

"Have we discussed small talk long enough for me to ask?"

I looked at him blankly. "Ask what?"

Iliya's eyes lingered pointedly on Draco's ring. "Your fiancé?"

I shook my head. "No, no, it's not like that. This is more… an engagement to an engagement. Once the war is over and the obstacles are gone."

"Mr. Malfoy is a very lucky man."

I blinked and then carefully blanked my face. It seemed even easier, with features that weren't mine. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Iliya said knowingly. "You forget, I predicted this. I should have made a bet with you," he mused. "I could be making Galleons on this."

I scoffed and couldn't find it in me to be mad at him. After all, he was in Bulgaria, far from the fighting, and I doubted he'd be in a position to sell me out even if he wanted to. "Damn you, Iliya. You're too clever by half."

"Takes one to know one," he said with a roguish wink.

We danced our two songs and a third for good measure, chatting about spellwork in mediwizardry and potions and how to administer them. Iliya gave me some good advice on dosage guidelines and when to trade medicines out for other things and I replied in kind with some basic information on Fred and George's line of shield products and how very useful they were. Iliya was very interested in it and mentioned perhaps talking to the twins about having some things shipped to him once they returned from wherever they'd vanished to with some of Fleur's cousins.

"Can I cut in?" Harry asked, appearing at Iliya's shoulder, and it took me a moment to recognize him and remember quite what he'd been made to look like. Iliya looked to me for confirmation and I nodded. HE smiled and passed my hand off to Harry. Harry took it and pulled me in to a somewhat sloppy hold, his face alight with eagerness.

"Gregorovitch," he said, and I frowned. Harry had told him all about the dream he'd had about Voldemort torturing Ollivander for information on this Gregorovitch fellow, and like him I thought the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it and had no idea where to start looking with nothing but a name to go on. For all I knew Gregorovitch could have been a publishing company that closed in the 17th centurywhose mark I'd seen stamped on the inside of a book in the Hogwarts library.

"Did you find something out?" I asked him eagerly.

"Krum, Krum reminded me." Harry nodded. "The Weighing of the Wands, don't you remember? It was Ollivander who recognized his wand as being-"

"-as being one of Gregorovitch's," I recalled in a rush. Most of that day was forcibly blocked from my mind owing to the presence of Rita Skeeter fouling it, and what I did remember focused mostly on my meeting of Silas. "He's a wandmaker!"

"Exactly," Harry beamed. "But Voldemort's already got Ollivander, so what's he need Gregorovitch for? The way I figure it, he has questions about what my wand did the night we left Privet Drive, and he thinks Gregorovitch might have answers Ollivander doesn't."

"I suppose that's possible, most wandmakers are notoriously stingy with their knowledge, don't just hand out information on what goes into their wands." I bit my lip thoughtfully. "Though why Gregorovitch? If he was looking for someone with that sort of knowledge, the Balkans wouldn't be my first shot."

Harry looked at me blankly. "What?"

"Well, the Balkans have some fascinating magic – the Romani alone are a fascinating topic – but some of the oldest continuous lines of wandmakers date from the Mediterranean. There's a man in Athens, Patroclus Papas, whose family have been making wands since around the time of the Druids, and the Egyptians had staffs more than wands in the beginning, but there's a woman in Memphis named Zahra who studied under some old master who never had kids. People like that would be my choice if I was looking for information on very obscure wandlore."

"Mine too, if I had any idea they existed," Harry agreed.

"There's something special about Gregorovitch specifically then, that makes Voldemort want him. Otherwise he'd have asked Ollivander who might know the answers he's looking for. If that is indeed what he's after. Still, I don't like that he's looking into wands." I frowned. "That spells trouble…"

Fred was back, appearing at Harry's shoulder, and Harry passed me off to him with a meaningful look that said we'd be talking about this more in the morning. Where Fred went, George wasn't far behind, both proudly sporting lipstick stains on their cheeks with seemingly no inclination to wipe them off as they passed me back and forth between them for the better part of half and hour, spinning and dipping me relentlessly while I begged to be let go to sit down.

It was Hermione who came to my rescue as my feet cried out in protest, appearing at my side. She seized my hand and dragged me away from Fred and George, escaping towards the buffet table.

"This isn't over!" George cried teasingly, shaking his fist at Hermione. "I shall reclaim yon fair maiden!"

"Yon fair maiden needs a drink!" I retorted as Hermione and I limped to the table and seized glasses of iced pumpkin juice. I saw several people who looked a bit sweaty doing the same. Apparently the dancing was starting to hit some people and we weren't the only ones who'd had the idea of cooling off. I was convinced the refilling charm on the bowl was the only reason it wasn't already bone dry.

"Bless you for that," I told Hermione gratefully as I sipped my pumpkin juice.

"You're welcome. Ron's been running me ragged. He's trying to keep me away from Viktor." Hermione shook her head. "He thinks I haven't noticed."

"Well, Ron likes to think he's sneaky," I replied with a careless shrug, and swiped some of the cool condensation from the glass and streaked it across the back of my neck, using some of the moisture to pat a few stray loose hairs back into place. Hermione eyes me approvingly and mimicked me, cooling the back of her neck.

"Let's go and rejoin Harry," I said, pointing to where he was sitting with Muriel and on older man with a tuft of hair under a fez. After a second I placed him. Elphias Doge, who'd written Dumbledore's obituary. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course Harry would seek him out. He'd been reading the thing since it came in the paper and I'd seen him sneak it into his rucksack to take with him.

"Yes, I saw him earlier and he looked upset," Hermione recalled as we slipped through the edges of the crowd towards the table where the trio sat.

"From what I understand that's par for the course when sitting with Muriel," I replied with a cheeky wink.

Hermione's answering laugh abruptly stopped as something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers, a few women shrieked and men cursing softly as they backpedaled out of its way instinctively. The Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

 _"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

I felt something curl and clot deep in my stomach, some sense of certainty that this was it. Twenty years from now, the history books would call this the day the war officially started, and the guests here would tell their children and grandchildren that they'd been some of the first to know thanks to a silver lynx.

Hermione's hand slid into mine as she called out to Harry, who was frozen half on his feet and staring at the lynx with his jaw loose. Without conscious thought, my jaw opened and words slid free, a damning certainty.

" _So it begins."_


	117. Azkaban Delivery

**Please give me some feedback on this chapter, guys. This is the first time I'm starting to fiddle a little with the events of the war, and I want to know how you guys are liking the changes so far. I don't want to go too far into left field yet, but come Christmas this story's gonna take a hard left turn away from canon where Rena's concerned.**

* * *

"Harry!" I yelled at about the same time Hermione screamed, "Ron!" Wedding guests were still staring in horror at the spot where the lynx used to be, some already Disapparating. The pops proved that the defensive spells over the Burrow had gone down for whatever reason, which meant that we were completely exposed. Figures in masks began to appear. Guests began to push and shove and I saw Remus and Tonks moving to the edge of the tent, raising their wands. Part of me wanted to grab them and run, but then I saw Harry pushing his way through the crowd. He squeezed from between a fat older couple, sending both of them staggering, and lurched towards me. I grabbed his hand as Hermione reached out for Ron, tall and gangling, fighting through the crowd. He reached around a pair of startled Frenchwomen and grabbed Hermione's hand. She yanked and the lot of us staggered towards the buffet, getting a little bit of room.

"Who's Apparating us?" I demanded. I had no desire for all four of us to try and head for different destinations and end up a trail of body parts across three counties.

"I am!" Hermione replied, and she turned. I tightened my grip on Harry and yanked him close. I felt us all bumping shoulders as we were sucked into the horrible pressing feeling of Disapparation.

"Where are we?" asked Ron blankly.

I stared around and hastily side-stepped a group of giggling girls paying more attention to their conversation than their surroundings, pressing close to Hermione and glaring at them. I recognized the signs, we were in the Muggle world.

"Tottenham Court Road," panted Hermione. "Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for us to change."

We half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above us. Our hands stayed linked, keeping us together in a chain so that no one was sucked into another group. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled us as we passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes and my witch's hat definitely stuck out.

"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron told her, ears going red, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

"Why didn't I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?" said Harry irritably "All last year I kept it on me and-"

"It's okay, I've got the Cloak, I've got clothes for both of you," insisted Hermione, "Just try and act naturally until - this will do."

She tugged us down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

"When you say you've got the Cloak, and clothes..." said Harry slowly, frowning at Hermione, who was rummaging in her small beaded bag.

"Yes, they're here," confirmed Hermione, and to Harry and Ron's utter astonishment, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak.

"How the ruddy hell-?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm, same thing as is on my pouch," I explained. "I loaned Hermione my notes and, of course, she's mastered it."

Hermione smiled modestly. "Tricky, but I think I've done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here." She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. "Oh, damn, that'll be the books," she said, peering into it, "and I had them all stacked by subject... Oh well... Harry, you'd better take the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, hurry up and change..."

I scowled as I reached into the neckline of my dress, pulling my pouch out from where it was concealed in what little cleavage I had. Harry gaped at me but I just gave him a withering look as I crammed my hat inside and raised my wand. Directing the tip into the mouth of the pouch, I Summoned out some high-waisted jeans, a button-front shirt, socks, and trainers. With a flick of my wand my clothes switched out and I slipped the dress and heels back into the pouch, satisfied.

"When did you do all this?" Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

"I told you at the Burrow, I've had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here... I just had a feeling..."

"You're amazing, you are," praised Ron, handing her his bundled-up robes.

"Thank you." Hermione blushed, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. "Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!"

Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight. I reached up to pat my nose, making sure the spells holding my features as Abigail Weasley were still in place.

Harry's voice said, "The others - everybody at the wedding-"

"We can't worry about that now," whispered Hermione, though her expression was somber. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."

Sadly there were very few people at the wedding I gave any kind of damn about. The Delacours and Weasleys, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks… So long as they were okay, I was satisfied. I could only hope that the masked intruders weren't there to massacre, they were there to get information. Those were really their only options at this point. If they tortured or let others go, then they would tell the world what happened and I doubted Voldemort wanted to stir up that sort of controversy so soon after taking the Ministry. I let that give me some comfort – there was no practical reason they would hurt any of the guests.

"Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone," Ron said bracingly.

Harry's answering, "Yeah," still seemed somewhat disheartened and I wished I knew where he was exactly so that I could reach out and pat his shoulder comfortingly, maybe sling an arm around him. As four witches and wizards barely of majority in the middle of the Muggle world with only the contents of mine and Hermione's bags and a nearly impossible mission, the prospect of horcrux hunting suddenly seemed far more daunting.

"Come on, I think we ought to keep moving," urged Hermione, and I nodded.

"Grab hold of my belt loop," I urged Harry, and felt a faint tug as he did so. We moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.

"Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I've no idea, it just popped into my head, but I'm sure we're safer out in the Muggle world, it's not where they'll expect us to be," Hermione reasoned.

"True," agreed Ron, looking around, "but don't you feel a bit - exposed?"

"You're not used to the Muggle world," I countered. "The rest of us are. It would be odd if you weren't a little off-put."

Hermione cringed as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her. I scowled and made a rude gesture at them and Hermione yanked my hand back to my side, giving me a scolding look.

"We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we? I suppose we could try my parents' home, though I think there's a chance they might check there... Oh, I wish they'd shut up!"

"All right, darling?" the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. "Fancy a drink? Ditch the gingers and come and have a pint!"

"She's not interested, mate!" I yelled back to him, reaching around and pinching Hermione's rear. She squealed and the man looked deeply startled, but Hermione somewhat nervously pressed closer to me. I heard Harry sniggering in my ear.

"Malfoy'll be disappointed," he whispered, and I resisted the urge to whipped around and smack in his general direction as Ron urged Hermione and I further down the street.

"Let's sit down somewhere," Hermione said hastily, rubbing her rear. "That hurt, Rena. Look, this will do, in here!"

It was a small and shabby all-night cafe. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Harry slipped into a booth first and Ron sat next to him opposite Hermione, who had her back to the entrance and hated it as much as I did. She glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. I liked it as little as she did, but I at least tried to refrain from looking like I was having an epileptic fit. With a subtle twitch of my wand I cleaned the smudges off the edge of the metal napkin holder resting against the wall amongst packets and bottles and shakers. A quick adjustment and it was as good as a mirror aimed at the door. I smiled in satisfaction.

Ron spoke up, "You know, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron here, it's only in Charing Cross-"

"Ron, we can't!" Hermione insisted.

"Not to stay there, but to find out what's going on!"

"We know what's going on! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"

"Okay, okay, it was just an idea!"

They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered three cappuccinos: As Harry was invisible, it would have looked odd to order him one.

A bell over the door chimed, announcing an incoming customer. I glanced into the napkin holder. A pair of burly workmen stepped inside. Iexamined their faces and my stomach dropped as I recognized them. How? Rowle, he was there the night Dumbledore died. And Dolohov, I recognized him from the Department of Mysteries. They slid into the booth next to us and Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper, obviously none the wiser.

"I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we're there, we could send a message to the Order."

"Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?" asked Ron.

"Brother dear," I said softly, under their conversation. "I'm going to need you to duck."

"I've been practicing and I think so," hedged Hermione.

"What?" Harry's voice whispered back.

"Well, as long as it doesn't get them into trouble, though they might've been arrested already. God, that's revolting," Ron added after one sip of the foamy, grayish coffee. The waitress had heard. He shot Ron a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the new customers' orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blond and quite huge, now that Harry came to look at him, waved her away. She stared, affronted.

"Duck now please," I continued quietly. This time Hermione heard and glanced at me. "What are you-?"

"I'm down."

I rose, my spell nonverbal. It smacked into the back of the blonde's head and he slumped forwards, Stunned. The waitress staggered back, screaming, as Dolohov shot to his feet, rearing his hand back to fire a spell.

" _Stupe-"_

" _Silencio!"_

He went silent, eyes bulging in rage as his free hand came up to clutch his throat. My wand slashed and spun and twirled in my fingers, spells falling from my lips without thought.

" _Stupefy Silencio Incarcerus Incarcerus Accio wands Stupefy Molliare Colloportus!"_

The resulting silence seemed horribly loud. Dolohov and Rowle were Stunned and bound in ropes, their wands falling onto the table in front of me. The waitress was silenced and Stunned as well, falling into a Cushioning Charm. The door was sealed shut and with several more flicks I shut the blinds in the front windows and licked my lips, feeling incredibly jittery yet completely calm as Harry slowly rose up from under the table, his Invisibility Cloak sliding off of him as he gaped at me.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered.

I cleared my throat. "Ronald, the lights, if you would."

"Lights- Right!"

Ron pulled the Deluminator from his pocket and clicked it. The lights were sucked into the device as Hermione blew out a shaky breath.

"Wh-What did you do?" she breathed.

"Rowle and Dolohov," I spat, urging her to rise so that I could move out. Hermione did so, stumbling a little bit as she rose. Ron and Harry scrambled up, all of us lighting wands so that we could see. I bent forward and pressed a hand to the waitress's throat. Her pulse pounded, strong and steady. She was unharmed. Another spell picked her up and floated her over to rest easily across the bench of another booth, conjuring her a pillow to make her slightly more comfortable. I could have preferred not to have to take her down, but her screaming would have attracted attention and she needed to be Obliviated after what she'd seen.

"She's right," Ron called from where he was bending over the two Death Eaters. "I recognize them from the old wanted posters."

"Rowle was there the night Dumbledore died," Harry recalled quietly. "I should have recognized him…"

"Never mind what they're called!" said Hermione a little hysterically, but her eyes were resting on Dolohov. I remembered suddenly – he was the one who'd downed her with that spell in the Department of Mysteries. "How did they find us? What are we going to do?"

I could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance.

"We're going to ask them how they found us," I said slowly, approaching the waitress. A blanket wipe of the past ten minutes would leave her a little befuddled, but it was safer than trying to alter our faces, our words.

"I'm sure they'll be eager for a chat," Ron said doubtfully.

"We're not going to give them an option," I continued, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my pouch. I poked my wand inside. "Accio Veritaserum."

"That's illegal!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide. "Why do you even have-?"

"Somehow I doubt the Ministry will be terribly fond of us right now no matter what we do," I reminded her. "I brewed up quite a few batches for the Order, and of course I kept some for personal use. There's no way they should have been able to track us from the wedding," I mused, frowning at the pair of them. "Even if they had they would have come to our Apparition point. It would have been easier for them to jump us when we were changing down the alleyway instead of waiting until we got here. No, they must have tracked us to this spot…"

I popped the cork on the bottle of Veritaserum with my teeth, spitting the stopper onto the table.

"Do you know what you're doing with that?" Ron asked edgily, eyeing the bottle, to which I gave him a dirty look.

"She knows, mate," Harry said confidently, but even he seemed skittish.

"Someone keep a wand on Dolohov for me," I ordered, and Hermione jumped to comply as I used magic to twist Rowle around so that he was leaning against the wall, his head slumping onto his chest, the ropes digging into him tightly. I knelt on the bench and thrust my wand between my teeth, using a grip on Rowle's jaw to force his mouth open and tilt his head back. A steady stream of the Veritaserum poured past his lips, enough for about fifteen minutes of truthfulness. I didn't want to linger here longer than necessary, and there were only a few questions that needed answering now.

I stowed the Veritaserum again and leaned back, plucking my wand from my mouth and pointing it at Rowle. _"Rennervate."_

Rowle came awake with a start and thrashed when he realized he was trapped. The ropes did nothing but dig in more painfully and he ceased his struggles, glaring up at me.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

I smirked. "Oh, Rowle, you forgot already? Last time we met was on the Astronomy Tower and you were trying to tell me I didn't have the bollocks to do Dumbledore?"

His face curled into a snarl. _"Potter."_

"Precisely," I smiled. "Now, we need to chat. I want to know how you managed to track us down."

Rowle's eyes flashed with triumph and he savored every word as he spoke it. "That's easy. You said his _name_. You said _Volde-"_

" _Silencio!"_ I shrieked, and just managed to smother the last syllable that would keep us save. Rowle's face morphed in fury – he'd been so sure he'd be able to summon more of his friends here to free him and catch us. He lunged in his restraints, surging towards me. I planted a palm on his forehead and flung him back to crash against the wall. He jostled a generic print hanging on the wall, but it didn't fall.

"Nice try," I said coldly. "But no."

"The name's been made Taboo," Ron whispered. "You say it, and they can find you, no matter how well you're hidden. Bloody hell."

"At least we know how they did it," Harry said, his eyes fixed angrily on Rowle. "We know not to say it."

'It's brilliant, really," Hermione murmured. "The only people who ever said it were the ones who really wanted to stop him…"

"At least we know they didn't find us on their own merit or through anyone," I said in satisfaction, leaning back from the table. I bit my lip, considering. There were other questions to be asked, other things I wanted to know, but time was a factor. The longer we lingered the more likely it was that another Death Eater would come looking for them to see wat they'd found or what was taking so long. Or at least, that was the theory. I had no idea how well these Taboo-triggered searches were coordinated. It had to be a fairly new system, otherwise the Death Eaters would have been down on the Order ages ago, safe houses be damned. A new system meant kinks to be ironed out, that meant more time, but still, we'd already been here closing in on ten minutes – _was that all_? – and I wasn't comfortable with staying here much longer.

I plucked my pocket watch from my jeans and palmed it, pressing the knob. It popped open and revealed that we'd been here approximately seven minutes since the Death Eaters walked in.

"We need to move," I said decisively, pressing the knob again and shutting the lit to keep the steel catch from carving into the gold. I tucked it back into my pocket and looked around to the other three. "I don't want to stay here too much longer. And we can't leave them here, not with her," I gestured to the Muggle waitress, "and dumping her anywhere leaves her in just as much danger, state she's in."

"What are we going to do with them?" Ron whispered, before suggesting darkly, "Kill them? They'd kill us. They had a good go just now."

Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head.

"We just need to wipe their memories," said Harry. "It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it'd be obvious we were here."

"No it wouldn't, actually, everyone knows you don't kill and I doubt they're expecting Ron or Hermione to start," I replied slowly. "And it'll be easy for him to guess you would stop me. Besides, we turn them loose, even with memories wiped, and they're back on the streets targeting people. We need to remove them from the board permanently. Death is the easiest way," I said, and directed my wand to Rowle's face. For the first time his expression showed fear, pure and unadulterated. He knew I'd do it. He'd seen me do it before.

A hand clamped over my wrist and Rowle visibly slumped in relief as Harry yanked my hand down to my side.

"Rena, don't stoop to their level!" he insisted, green eyes burning into me with desperation. "So…" He swallowed thickly. "So you killed Dumbledore, fine, but you do this and you're… you're no better than them."

"We're at war, Harry!" I snapped at him angrily, a headache starting up in my temples. Why couldn't he just see the logic in it? Was it cold and calculating? Yes. Did I savor the idea of ending Rowle and Dolohov? Not particularly. "Better they die than ours!"

"No, I won't let you!" Harry insisted, and stepped between Rowle and me, planting his feet firmly, I faltered, finding the tip of my wand now aimed at my brother, but I recognized that stance. That was the stance that meant he wasn't backing down and no clever metaphors or logical reasons would move him from the moral high ground. I blew out a breath harshly between my teeth as Hermione looked between us fearfully. Ron looked vaguely ill, but also vaguely determined. It occurred to me that he had been the first to suggest murder, and perhaps he wasn't quite so useless as he seemed if he was willing to offer up the hard choices.

But I was still facing down my brother, and if we were going to all work together then there were battles to be fought and battles to be conceded. Opening hostilities now, pitting us against each other, making us all judge the others, it wasn't a good opening move. I snarled silently and lowered my wand, clenching my jaw and narrowing my eyes at my brother.

"We can't leave them on the streets," I informed him shortly, and Harry slumped a little, sensing he'd won the battle. Harry offered me a small, encouraging smile, like a reward for taking his side, and I scowled and looked away, stalking towards the opposite side of the diner to get some space to clear my head under the guise of checking the waitress. Of course her pulse was still strong and she was still out, resting in a booth under a stereotypical seascape.

"I-If we aren't… aren't going to kill them," Hermione piped up uncertainly. "Then what do we do with them?"

 _Seascape_ … An idea began to form at the back of my mind, but it was completely mad and I was the only one of us who could pull it off without getting caught and trapped in a hell worse than death. I glared at the seascape for giving me the idea, but practically it was seeming more and more like the best option. The only option, in many ways.

"Shite," I whispered.

"We could give them to the Order," Ron offered.

"What do you think they'll do to them?" I countered as I turned away from the painting. "Torture and killing them. They aren't afraid of it. At least, most of them aren't. If we're trying to be _noble_ about this," I sneered, "then that's tantamount to killing them ourselves."

"Go on then!" Ron snapped, voice starting to rise as the stress of the situation got to him. "I don't hear you coming up with a plan."

"I have an idea, actually," I said softly. "But you're not going to like it. I'm the only one who can pull it off. You'll have to trust me to take them away alone and not kill them."

"That's… that's a big thing to ask," Hermione admitted, looking at me warily. "Considering you were just about to kill them and now you want to take them off on your own."

"I'll tell you what I did when I get back," I bargained.

"Why not now?" Harry protested.

"Because if I tell you where I'm taking them you won't let me go," I replied bluntly. "Now come on, do we have an agreement or not?"

There was silence in response. Hermione and Ron exchanged wary looks, clearly torn between the fact that it was me making the suggestion to go off alone and the fact that I was the only one who had a handle on the situation when the Death Eaters showed up. They didn't realize that when I trained my Basilisks I hadn't just been teaching them spells and skills, I had been teaching them things like situational awareness that I learned from years of living under the Dursleys' shadow, problem-solving skills, quick thinking. You could train your brain how to think in a crisis, something I had always had a knack for and had tried to pass on.

"You're the boss, mate," Ron finally said, looking to Harry, who was staring wordlessly at me with an oddly blank expression on his face, like he didn't know how to feel about what I was asking of him.

"We don't have time to debate this anymore Harry," I informed him bluntly.

Harry scowled and lookd reluctant, but he nodded. "I'm trusting you, Rena," he stressed. "You tell us what you did when you get back, alright?"

"Of course," I nodded. "Go and wait in the shop across the street. I shouldn't be gone more than ten minutes. If I'm not back by then, you get yourselves to my house."

"Your house?" Ron asked blankly. "Oh, you mean-"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, and nodding pointedly to Rowle, who was sitting in silence with a tenseness to him that seemed to have drawn every muscle taught to the point of shaking, eyeing us like a wary animal.

"Right," Ron said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Good," I nodded in satisfaction, and walked to the table still holding the remains of our cappuccinos and the Death Eaters' wands. Rowle's lingered on his longingly and looked almost despairing as he watched the wands vanish into the depths of my pouch.

I recast the Silencing and Stunning spells to make sure they were solid and snatched a random spoon off the table, tucking it up my sleeve for later. That done I grabbed Rowle and Dolohov by the backs of their collars and heaved them off the benches so that they slumped by my feet.

"Ten minutes," I reminded them. "Go."

"Rena? Be safe."

I smiled at Harry with much more confidence than I felt.

"Always am, brother dear," I replied, and turned and stepped into nothingness.

This plan was completely and totally mad, but it was also the best I had if I wasn't allowed to kill them. The place was made for this purpose, after all, and both of them should be in there anyway if not for the jail breaks and the corruption in the Ministry…

I shivered as salty sea air buffeted me and looked up at the towering stone behemoth that was Azkaban. My gut churned from the layer of despair and depression that hung in the air like a physical presence bearing down on me, the result of centuries guarded by dementors who were now swooping towards me and my cargo. I could see them coming from across the beach, from the sky, from inside the building, and I knew I had only seconds before they were on me and I was fighting for my soul.

It was hard to manage with the dementors sucking any trace of joy from the place, but I thought of Sirius trapped in here for almost a decade and a half unjustly and the hell it had wrought upon him and knew that if anyone deserved this place it was the scum resting beside my feet and the ones like them. Closing my eyes, I focused my power, and shifted.

The dementors began to falter and pause as they felt me shift. A phoenix was not a Patronus, but it was a creature of inherently Light magic. It was, in many ways, the exact antithesis of the dementors. I wasn't a real phoenix, but the sudden shift in my thoughts had surprised them and my presence made them falter, floating several feet away, their horrible, rattling breaths filling the air, so many of them that the volume hurt my ears. It occurred to me that this was the place where dementors were first spawned, and looking up at Azkaban, I almost pitied them. The building itself seemed to sap the soul from a person. Perhaps they were just trying to reclaim what Ekrizdis had taken from them.

The time for contemplation was later, though. Confusion and my form held the dementors at bay but they would likely not stay that way long. I beat my wings and lunged into the air, grabbing Rowle and Dolohov by the collars of their shirts and lifted them aloft, flying as fast as I dared for the door. It was perhaps a little cruel, but I swung the Death Eaters like human battering rams to knock them open, given that I had no hands, and took off up the hallway.

I knew from reading that the prisoner holding cells were above the first few floors, so I streaked for the stairs as fast as I dared to fly without fear of ending up a feathery pancake against the wall, with Rowle and Dolohov swaying below me. I was forced to half drag them because of the height of the ceilings, very aware as I progressed through the halls of the dementors still following a few feet behind me. I got a horrible feeling they knew I was bringing them fresh prey and that's why I was being allowed to pass. Their rattling breaths seemed to be coming faster, like they were excited.

I hit the cells and nearly fell to the ground in horror. They were like the dungeons of Hogwarts, but those had never held actual people to my eyes. Four stone walls and a barred door. They were spaces so that a person inside couldn't see another cell on the opposite wall. They would have to approach the door to peer down the hallway, come closer to the dementors, and I knew with sickening certainty that this was on purpose.

The first cell I passed I thought at first was empty, but then the pile of rags in the corner twitched, a grubby foot appearing, the ankle painfully emaciated. My wings faltered, but I kept going stubbornly, heading for a cell with an open door. Now came the tricky part. I would have to shift back, and the moment I did, the dementors would likely rush me. I had only a second to get a Patronus up before they got to me and I was a goner, and I took a moment to fix the image of Harry smiling at me – Harry trusting me to do this on my own – in my mind before shifting back. The moment I had hands, had my wand reappearing in my sleeve, it was out and coming up.

"Expecto Patronum!" I roared before the sucking, gripping cold depression of the dementors could fully wash over me. The phoenix burst into being, flapping its wings furiously and surging for the dementors. They fell back, repulsed, but lingered at the edge of its growing protection.

Time, time was against me, I thought as I grabbed Rowle and heaved him into the first cell. There were things to be done, things for my safety and for my own vengeance. First I Obliviated him, washing away his memory of he and Dolohov finding us and anything he had overheard. I Transfigured his clothes into prisoners robes, drawing on my memories of Sirius in the Shrieking Shack for the details. Anything from his pockets I took and tucked into my pouch before reaching for his arm. I peeled back the sleeve and saw the Dark Mark there, a dark tattoo writhing against his skin.

"Waking you up and telling you this would defeat the purpose of Obliviating you," I whispered. "But I'm certain there are some still in here, left behind on purpose, who are still calling out for him to come and save them. So calling his name won't save you. But a Marked member of the inner circle crying for help? Now that might summon interest."

It was brutal, Madam Pomfrey would have lectured me about surgical spells for neatly excising flesh, but that wasn't the point. The point was to obliterate the tattoo entirely. It may have been tied into Rowle's very magic, but the Mark itself was the trigger. I'd essentially welded the safety in place on the gun.

The skin bearing the Dark Mark fell to the floor with a dull, wet smack. Ignoring the churning in my stomach I Vanished it, my only mercy being to clean the area and heal it with a few phoenix tears. Death by infection would spare Rowle the punishment of Azkaban, and deprive the dementors of their new victim.

That done I stepped out of the cell and slit Rowle's bonds with a spell before shutting the cell door and locking it with a click that seemed oddly final. I would let him wake naturally, wake and be disoriented for a moment before realizing with dawning horror where he was, and how very trapped he was. The Death Eaters might come if he said Voldemort, but if they did he would have to explain he had no idea how he'd ended up there. I doubted Voldemort would be very forgiving of that damning of a mistake. Part of it, like changing his clothes, was also a psychological torment, as if the dementors weren't enough.

Some of the dementors lingered by Rowle's cell, but more followed me as I marched Dolohov, levitating in front of me, up the stairs with my patronus trailing behind, a guard keeping them at bay. I didn't want Dolohov and Rowle able to communicate with each other, didn't want them filling in the other's blanks if maybe my mind wipe wasn't a thorough as it should have been.

"Shouldn't… shouldn't be here…"

Inside the first cell on the next floor up a man sat on the floor in the corner of his cell, slowly rocking and staring at the opposite wall with wide, shell-shocked eyes. His gaze slowly flicked to me and he smiled tiredly. "You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. But I am. You're probably not though."

I paused, staring at him in horror as he turned his attention back to his wall and his muttering, clearly down to only a tenuous grasp on reality. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, and reminded myself why I was here, the dementors rattling breaths providing more incentive as I moved to the first open cell I could find.

The process went faster this time now that I was familiar with it, now that I was no longer talking myself through every step and getting up the courage to do it. It felt almost mechanical as I did the same to Dolohov as I had done to Rowle. His memories and the Dark Mark were stripped away, his clothes changed, and his bonds cut before the door shut and the lock clicked.

My work, grim and gruesome as it was, was finally done and I felt an almost frantic urge to leave this place. I turned to look at the dementors. I had no idea what sort of thinking they possessed, if they understood human speech, if they even had higher brain function, but it didn't matter as I said to them, "I brought you fresh victims. I may bring you more. I'm leaving now, and you're not going to stop me."

I turned into a phoenix, my Patronus flickering and shaking as my wand vanished. It was gone the moment my transformation finished I took to the air, streaking for the higher levels. Up staircase after staircase, and the bastards were still following me, keeping the same distance of a few feet behind me, almost like they were mocking me, cats playing with a mouse.

I came to a window, one of the first I'd seen, and the only one thus far without bars. Probably because this far up there were no cells and anyone who managed to get this high without the dementors noticing would only be making a long drop and a sudden stop if they wiggled out.

I hit the salty sea air and dove for the rocky shore, where I could shift back and immediately Disapparate. I didn't know how long I'd been in there. It felt like hours, but I knew that my ten minute time limit must have been faltering. I didn't bother to reach the ground entirely before I changed back into myself, human body dropping about a foot to the ground and landing in a crouch before turning and stepping into nothingness, those damned dementors still following me, and disappearing.

Muggle London was almost horrifyingly bright after Azakaban, all lights and colors outside of the dim alley just across from the diner where I'd appeared. I bit my lip and jammed my hands into my pockets, panting heavily as I willed my heart to slow. The thought of the high-stakes game of tag I'd just played with the dementors of Azkaban made me give a slightly manic laugh as I stepped out of the alleyway and ducked into the boutique store across the road from the diner. I saw Hermione near the back, pretending to examined a rack of skirts on sale while Ron stood awkwardly, hands stuffed in his pockets, Harry apparently back under his Invisibility Cloak.

I must have looked like death warmed over, because Hermione started to smile when she saw me approaching but faltered and frowned in concern.

"Rena? Are… are you alright? Is it done?"

"It's… It's done, I did it," I jabbered randomly, and said to hell with secrecy as I grabbed her and Ron's hands and dragged them into a corner of the store half-hidden by the changing rooms. The one store attendant working this late was busy paging through a magazine she had open on the counter and glancing at the clock every few minutes, no doubt waiting for when she could close out and leave. There wwere no security cameras, so the moment I felt Harry's fingers catch my belt loop and I turned and Disapparated, taking us from the brightly-lit store to the gloomy and dusty front hallway of Grimmauld place. It was almost a relief, the light and colors still playing havoc on my nerves. My heart hadn't slowed and I realized what a horror it must have been for Sirius to leave Azkaban and come here. From a generalized hell to a personal one imposed on him by people who were supposed to care about him.

"Somebody's been here," Hermione murmured, eyes lingering on the knocked-over troll umbrella stand.

"Might've happened when the Order left," Ron reasoned, but he didn't sound anywhere close to certain.

"In that case I'm going to have a word with them about leaving my house a shambles," I muttered, and took a step forwards, then sagged against the wall and slid down. Adrenaline was a beautiful thing, I myself enjoyed it. But adrenaline crashes, the knee-stealing weariness that came later and the pounding realization of I just did that beating in your brain, it was a nasty thing.

"Severus Snape?" Moody's voice growled.

"We're not Snape!" Harry croaked, and took a step closer to me. "Rena, are you-?"

A figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible; Hermione screamed and so did Mrs. Black, her curtains flying open; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets: Horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Harry.

"Oh f _uck off_ , the lot of you!" I shrieked, and clambered to my feet unsteadily. My spell shot through the figure of Dumbledore, dissipating him into dust, and slammed the curtains shut over Mrs. Black's portrait. I rubbed my temple wearily, my headache getting worse. "If Moddy wasn't already dead I'd do him in myself for having the audacity to set up security measures against Snape in my house. I told them they could meet here, not start spelling the place willy nilly!"

"She's finally snapped," Ron muttered, and I gave him a dirty look.

"Shut up…"

"C'mon, let's find a place to sit and you can tell us what you did," Harry urged, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to stand upright. I nodded and the four of us made out way through the house, up the stairs to the parlor. I walked in first, sweeping my wand left and right, vanishing dust and clearing cobwebs from the corners. I still remembered many of the spells we'd used during the summer we'd waged war on Grimmauld Place.

When I collapsed onto the couch, Harry sat next to me while Ron and Hermione sat in the chairs across from us. I sighed and slumped over, laying on Harry's lap. I smiled when he instantly began to card his hand through my hair like nothing had changed. The familiar gesture was soothing and relaxing, and the chill of Azkaban finally began to leave my bones.

"So they're not dead, right?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"No, but they'll probably wish they were," I replied honestly. "I dumed them off at Azkaban."

"You what?" Harry's fingers tightened, tugging a bit of my hair. I winced and swatted his thigh in rebuke and he loosened his grip. "Rena, what do you mean? That's mad! You can't've-"

"That's why only you could do it," Hermione realized, her jaw dropping open. "Think about it, how did Sirius get out? He was an Animagus! And so is Lorena. As a phoenix, she could carry Rowle and… and Dolohov in easily!"

"Merlin," Ron breathed, looking at me in disbelief. "What… What was it like? Sirius never really talked about it…"

"it's a miracle he was as sane as he was," I admitted, recalling the man curled up in the corner, confident I wasn't there. "The dementors, they followed me into the prison, but I kept them back with a Patronus and they didn't both me as a phoenix. I think they… I think they knew I was bringing them… well, fresh meat."

"But they'll be able to get right back out, won't they?" Harry asked. "I mean, can't they just say… _You-Know-What_ and their friends will come for them?"

"Can't," I replied dully. "None of the Death Eaters except Snape and Draco can make a Patronus. They wouldn't be able to fend them off long enough to get them out. And besides, I don't doubt _he_ has some supporters in there who either tried to run or weren't worth freeing who say his name. Probably they ignore Azkaban. There's no reason to think anyone there is anyone other than a legitimate prisoner. Which, technically, they were. The pair of them broke out ages ago."

"But if they pressed their mark," Hermione considered. "Then the Death Eaters would know something was afoot, at least."

"They don't have Dark Marks anymore," I corrected darkly. "I sliced them off. Technically the magic is still there, the right spell would probably bring it back, but for now the trigger's gone. They can't call for help. I expect they've probably realized that by now."

" _Merlin_ ," Ron breathed again. "You… you cut their arms up?"

"You'd rather they were out in five minutes terrorizing Muggleborns?" I snapped. "At least this way they're off the board for now and we don't need to worry about them."

"That was too risky, Rena, running off to Azkaban on your own," Harry scolded me. "What would have happened if the dementors got you?"

"They wouldn't have," I said with confident, though I could still hear their rattling breaths echoing in my ears if I focused. A few minutes of the sound and I was certain I was going to dream about it for weeks, I couldn't imagine what a full sentence there was like. It was a comfort though, to know that even if I didn't have a wand, I could escape Azkaban if I ever was imprisoned there. It was just a matter of transforming and flying away. "Remus and Sirius taught me well."

"You look absolutely exhausted," Hermione noted as my eyelids began to falter.

"Yes, well, dementors will take it out of you, patronus or no."

"Let's bed down for the night," Harry suggested. "This place is the best spot we've got for hiding out. Tomorrow we can start making a plan about where to go from there, once we're all thinking straight again."

Rather than risk anything in the linen cupboard – I still remembered a pillowcase that tried to smother me – we conjured up blankets and pillows and mattresses on the floor. The chairs were banished to rest against the wall as Ron and Hermione stretched out across the floor. Harry and I were used to close quarters. The pair of us merely kicked off our shoes and laid back on the couch, squished together to keep one of us from falling off onto the floor. I fell asleep with Harry's arms tangled in mine and his breath stirring the top of my hair, and sure enough, the dementors were there waiting for me in my nightmares.

* * *

 **Okay so I wasn't sure how I felt about this chapter logistically. Because of the presence of dementors, there can't be any actual wizard guards on the island or they'd be driven mad too. As far as barriers - it's Unplottable and you can't Disapparate from inside Azkaban, but you have to be able to come and go some way to drop off and retrieve prisoners, hence why she appears on the outside. Because of her patronus and Animagus forms, I don't think the dementors would bother her. Or at the very least, they'd be more likely to go for the easy prey - the Death Eaters. Any other wards I feel like would have been broken when the Death Eaters broke people out the last time.**

 **As far as Rena's musings on the dementors, that comes from my own personal musings. Checking the wiki page for Azkaban, it was built by a Dark wizard who had a habit of kidnapping and torturing Muggle sailors. He dies, the island's defenses go down, the Ministry comes in, find a ton of Dark stuff plus also dementors. Azkaban is the only place dementors are mentioned to be native to anywhere. My personal little headcanon is that the dementors are those Muggle sailors after months to decades of Dark magic experimentation. Hence, they still have basic human intelligence. Sirius mentions things in the books that show they're clearly not stupid. I don't know, that's just my two cents on the topic.**


	118. Find the Thief

Narcissa Malfoy had never been much for the outdoors. She enjoyed the elegant gardens around Malfoy Manor in that they provided a good view from the house and a nice place for afternoon tea on days when the weather was nice. The odd walk through the hedges and flower beds. However, since the Dark Lord had arrived in her home, taking the place over as if it were his ancestral home and not her husband's, she found herself wandering the paths more and more simply to get out of the house and away from his oppressive presence.

Away from Lucius.

As a young girl she had adored him. He was handsome, wealthy, from a good family, powerfully magical – everything she had ever been taught to want in a husband. And he was kind to her, in his way. When she found out that she was going to be his wife it had been a dream come true. She was wife to the man she'd always wanted and she loved his dearly.

She still loved him, but she didn't like him very much. It was he who had dragged her family kicking and screaming into this war. He who had brought the Dark Lord into such close quarters as them. He who had failed so badly in the Ministry. He whose punishment as offering up their son, their only son. Narcissa hadn't realized until she was forced to watch, feelings concealed behind a mask of cool disinterest she'd learned under her mother's stern tutelage, that such a thing was possible.

Yet she did still love him, that was never in question. It shattered her to see what her husband had become after his time in Azkaban. Once he had been so well-kept, now stubble constantly covered his cheeks and random strands of hair stuck out where they pleased. It was only the most visible sign of how his time in Azkaban, his fear of the Dark Lord, had affected him. In the safety of their bed, he had once stretched and sprawled all over the mattress. She'd always scolded him for it while secretly adoring the way she'd wake with an arm or a leg or a wave of hair over her. Now he stayed curled into a ball and shuddered and moaned and screamed in his sleep.

After seeing her once proud Lucius brought so low, Narcissa couldn't hate him. She did take some small satisfaction in the fact that he had clearly come to see the error of is ways, though she would never wish him harm.

Narcissa was surprised when she turned around a box hedge and found her son sitting on a stone bench half-concealed by the trailing branches of a weeping willow. He sat with his head bowed, focused on something silver and shining in his hands. There was an expression of deep longing on his face, something she hadn't seen there in ages. She remembered when he was young, standing outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies and staring in awe at the racing brooms he was far too young for. Even then he hadn't looked so enraptured.

He didn't even notice her approach until she settled herself down next to him. He jumped and whatever was in his hand snapped shut with a click and was crammed into his pocket without an ounce of subtlety. Narcissa's lips thinned but she didn't ask. She didn't want to pry.

"Mother," he greeted, the warmth in his voice outweighed by weariness. "Out for a walk?"

"Yes, I thought he fresh air might do me some good," she replied. "And you?"

"Peace and quiet," Draco admitted, glancing up at the house bitterly. "Some space."

"The house does seem crowded these days," Narcissa agreed softly. Not even just the Dark Lord but the other Death Eaters coming and going at all hours, sometimes announcing their intention to stay for meals with no warning. Filth like Fenrir Greyback – _a beast who devoured children_ – was sitting at her dining room table which had once boasted the highest of wizarding society as if they belonged there and she could say nothing.

"Everyone was so happy to hear about the fall of the Ministry last night," Draco observed.

"Yes, it is a large step for him," she agreed.

There was an air of politeness in the air. Everything they said was technically agreeable and right according to the Dark Lord's views, yet there was a wordless understanding between them that neither of them supported the cause Lucius had introduced them to, no matter what marks or rings they bore tying them to the Death Eaters. But they couldn't say these things openly, not when anyone could be listening. _There was some sort of special feeling of violation_ , Narcissa mused, _in not being able to speak freely in one's own home for fear of repercussions._

"Mind the roses," Narcissa advised calmly as she stood from the bench. "They're getting a bit out of hand and their thorns are sharp. I'll have to tell the elf to cut them back."

Draco looked at her, eyes so like her husband's, and she knew that he understood that he was warning her about more than a few thorns. With a polite nod, Narcissa moved off, thinking hard. Before Draco could hide it she could see the picture that was tucked inside of the mirror, for that's what it had been. She would have been suspicious on the grounds of the fact that, vain though her son admittedly was, he'd never carried one with him before. But before she lid had snapped shut, Narcissa had gotten a look at a smiling face, vividly red hair, and a scar etched on a cheek.

The Lorena Potter in the picture couldn't have been much older than twelve or thirteen, and the way Draco had been looking at her picture… Narcissa's jaw tightened. She swore that her boys went out of their way to make their lives more difficult. But she still loved them and would stick by them until the bitterest of ends. She had no way of knowing if the Potter girl felt the same or even knew of her son's interest, but even she was not immune to the star-crossed romance of it all.

Narcissa glanced back towards the manor house. In one of the upstairs windows she could see Lucius standing and staring out over the grounds. He didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, just standing and gazing. He was a ghost haunting his own home, and the idea that soon that may be more literal than metaphorical terrified her.

* * *

The rattling breath of the dementors was still loud in my ears, left over from my dreams, when my eyes sprang open. The drawing room was still dark, the only light filtering through the small gap in the curtains coming from the streetlamps. I groaned a little and shifted, beginning the task of sliding free of Harry's grip without waking him. I scooted back slowly and carefully, conjuring a pillow and sliding it into my place. He traded his grip to it with a sleepy sigh and burrowed his head into it before falling more deeply asleep again.

Even I was not immune to the sweetness of the fact that Ron and Hermione's hands were only inches from each other on the carpet, as if they'd fallen asleep holding hands. I wished I had a camera so that I could take a picture of them for later use, likely blackmail. It made my stomach knot up though, thinking of Draco. I hadn't heard from him since leaving Privet Drive and I was worried for him.

Grabbing my pouch, I took myself to the bathroom I'd used in the past, the one that was relatively clean. A thin layer of dust had settled, but a quick spell took care of that. I washed the sticky, clinging depression of Azkaban from my skin before stepping out and drying myself. I pulled my hair back into a braid and dressed for the day. A pair of high-waisted jeans and trainers, a vest, then a button-front shirt. After so many years of wearing the Hogwarts uniform it actually felt odd to be running about in Muggle clothes.

I walked down the stairs to the kitchen. There was almost no food in the kitchen when I checked the cupboards, and what still remained had gone off. Scowling heartily I vanished all of it and instead turned my wand on myself. A handful of spells altering my coloring, the shape of my features, and a few patches applied to my cheeks and I was ready – I stepped out the front door and vanished in a crack, reappearing in an alleyway down the road just outside of a small 24-hour shop.

It felt odd to go from a place so blatantly magical as Grimmauld Place and then step into an intensely Muggle store where nobody so much as gave me a second glance. There was no fear here, so uncertainty that the man debating between brands of toilet paper might be secretly gathering intelligence or that the woman with the two kids clinging to her legs was going to sell you out.

I bought the essentials and quite a bit of canned food that would last us a while. I wanted to be out and about as little as possible and grocery shopping was fairly low on my list of favored chores anyway. Purchases slung over my arms, I trooped back into the alleyway and reappeared in the front hallway of Grimmauld Place.

It was getting lighter outside and I took my spoils to the kitchen, using spells to send everything to organize itself in the cupboards and ice box. I put on bacon to cook and set a bowl of pancake mix to stir itself, feeling rather like Mrs. Weasley. Breakfast was making itself, the coffee percolating, and with nothing else to do I sat and stared at the clock, watching it tick down minutes.

It occurred to me that Amity would be up and getting ready for the day and I found myself reaching into my pocket, pulling out the compact and opening it.

"Amity Raincrow," I said aloud, and wasn't all that surprised when it took only seconds for the mirror to open and Amity's face to appear set in a tired but cheerful smile. She was wrapped in a robe and sitting at her kitchen table, it seemed, a cup of coffee pressed to her lips.

"Hello, honey," Amity greeted. "What's got you calling so early?"

"We're officially on the run," I informed her, because there was really no better way to say it. Amity's expression faltered slightly. "Night before last the Ministry fell. Death Eaters came to the Weasley wedding. We had to run." Her mouth continued to drop in the corners, her brows furrowing together. "Two of them found us – turns out you can't say the v word without summoning them, the name's been made Taboo."

"They can do that?" Amity croaked hoarsely. "That's… that's _horrifying."_

I tried to imagine how it must seem to Amity, to not even be able to speak as you wished or say certain words because it would bring down certain death on her head. Amity couldn't defend herself against Death Eaters. She had no wand, no way to even see them coming. Snape's defenses were the only thing that stood between her and a messy end at this point, of that I was confident. Voldemort would know about her by now, know that she could be targeted for leverage over me.

"It is, isn't it?"

"But you got away?" Amity pressed. "And no one got hurt? You're safe?"

"We're holed up at Grimmauld Place, the house I inherited from Sirius," I explained. "The Order was using it for a safe house and the place is heavily warded to begin with. It's a fortress. No one can get in unless one of us brings them in. Nobody got hurt except the Death Eaters. I recognized them and got them down before they could get to us."

"Good girl," Amity praised, but her voice faltered a little. "What happened to them?"

I faltered this time. "I… I handled them."

The silence echoed on both ends. I watched as Amity closed her eyes and then opened them again, heaving a deep sigh. "Are they alive?" she asked bluntly.

"Yes," I answered hoarsely. "But they're off the board. I… I took them to Azkaban, to the wizard prison. They were both escapees anyway. I was going to kill them but… but Harry wouldn't left me. They need to be taken off the board permanently, not just sidelined!" I said irritably. "They could be hauled out of Azkaban if they decide to jailbreak a few more recruits, and then where will we be? Two more enemies that might end up taking out someone we love! I understand Harry respecting life, all life is sacred and all that, but this is… this is war and there's no place for that sort of mercy when they sure won't show it to us! I don't-"

"Lorena!" Amity barked. Her face was strained, she looked pale. "Honey, I _know_ , I know, you don't need to tell me. I'm picking up what you're putting down. I think you did the best you could. But you have to understand that making your brother break his own rule… that might do more harm to him than you think. We've all gotta have some ideals to cling to."

"I know but-"

"You're a soldier," Amity continued, undaunted. "I hate that it's true of you so young, but it is. You're willing to make the tough decisions for the good of the many. But Harry's still… he's _young,_ you _both_ are, _so_ young, and he's not able to put himself in that mindset of kill or be killed so easily. You need to be understanding of him if you expect any of them to understand you."

I sighed and slumped forwards on the table, knowing Amity couldn't see me anyway. Chin resting on my forearm, mirror open on the table in front of me, I groaned, "When do you get old enough to spout off wisdom like that? Is there an age I need to reach before I can sound all sagely?"

"Get a grey hair, then we'll talk," Amity said, cracking a smile for the first time since she'd first answered the call.

"I'll probably have a few before this is over, just dealing with Ron." I looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the kitchen and paused, glancing back at the mirror. "Sounds like people are waking up. I made breakfast."

Amity nodded approvingly. "Good girl. You feed those kids. And stay safe," she stressed.

"I'll do as well as I can. You stay safe as well."

Amity waved a hand dismissively. "Please, that's' my middle name." With a crooked smile that seemed slightly forced, she shut the mirror. I got the feeling that it was staring to hit Amity as it never had before that I was soldier in a war despite only just having turned seventeen. To her I wasn't even an adult yet. It was a hard concept for people to get their heads around, children fighting, but we had beliefs to defend the same as adults and we had the same right to defend them. I didn't think of myself as a child, not really. I hadn't for a few years now. Perhaps because I'd never had much of a childhood.

Harry pushed open the door as I slipped the mirror back into my pocket. He was holding some parchment in his hand and I looked at him questioningly as he walked over to me at the table, his expression soft in a way I only really associated with our parents. Wordlessly, he handed me the parchment and a bit of a torn photograph. I smiled when I saw legs that probably belonged to James Potter chasing after two chubby babies floating on brooms a few feet off the ground. One baby was dark-haired, the other with brilliant red, and I realized that it was Harry and I. My hand pressed over my mouth as ears clouded my vision. Baby-me dangled from underneath my broom as baby-Harry flew a circle around me. Apparently even as a kid I'd had a fondness for broomstick acrobatics.

I stared at the photograph for a moment longer before looking at the piece of parchment.

 _Dear Padfoot,_

 _Thank you, thank you, for Harry and Lorena's birthday presents! It was their favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick. They've been racing up and down the hall. I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground but Harry nearly killed the cat and Lorena smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course James thought it was so funny, says they're going to be professional Quidditch players, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off them when they gets going._

 _We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on the twins. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry and Lorena aren't old enough to know it's their birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell - also Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard._

 _Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore-_

There must have been a second sheet to the letter that had been lost over the years. I knew Harry would have looked and the fact that it wasn't here meant that he hadn't found it. Still, it was amazing to see. Sirius, he'd bought Harry and I our first brooms and suddenly my Firebolt meant so much more to me and I regretted that Harry had lost his amongst the flight from Privet Drive. Somehow it didn't surprise me that Harry and I were absolute terrors on a broom, even at only a year old. Both of us had been star players on our respective teams every year we'd played.

The McKinnons had to be the same McKinnons who'd been in the Order. I remembered Sirius had mentioned it in passing once, how they'd died in the last war. He must have known them for a while because he'd seemed sad when it was brought up. Probably they'd all gone to school together, considering how much it apparently affected mum.

"Who's this Bathilda?" I asked.

"Bathilda Bagshot. She wrote-"

" _History of Magic,"_ I recalled, tilting my head. "I had no idea she was from Godric's Hollow as well."

"So was Dumbledore." Harry's voice was tight and I looked up. My mouth dropped open slightly. I knew that had to mean something to Harry, and the fact that he had clearly only recently found this out obviously threw him for a loop and had him questioning some things.

"Where did you find this?" I asked Harry, holding the picture and letter up.

"Sirius's room," he replied. "Come on, I'll show you."

I stopped the pots and pans form working while I was away and set the food under warming and stay-fresh charms before following Harry out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

Somehow Sirius's room was exactly as I'd expected it. The furniture was obviously expensive and very ornate, likely Black heirlooms, and not at all what I would expect from Sirius. Which was fine, because he'd expressed his taste by plastering the walls with so many posters and pictures that little of the wall's silvery-gray silk was visible. I guessed he'd used Permanent Sticking Charms, otherwise his parents would have redone the room instead of seemingly just shutting it up. There were several large Gryffindor banners, faded scarlet and gold just to underline his difference from all the rest of the Slytherin family. There were many pictures of Muggle motorcycles, and also several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls. They remained stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper. This was in contrast the only Wizarding photograph on the walls which was a picture of four Hogwarts students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.

It was the Marauders in all their glory. James Potter, his untidy black hair stuck up at the back like Harry's, and he too wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than I had ever seen it alive. To Sirius's right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James's left was Lupin, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included.

It spoke volumes about Sirius's life. This wasn't the room of a man who was nearly forty years old. This was the room of a teenager. It drove home the spike in my heart that Sirius had actually lived very little of his life. More than a quarter of it had been spent in Azkaban. When he got out he was either on the run of here, and I could easily imagine him wanting to cling to the good times Hogwarts and the Marauders had provided him with, not changing a thing.

"I tried to take that picture down, but I think he spelled it to the wall," Harry spoke up, seeing me staring at the picture of the Marauders. As I watched Sirius winked at me and dad waved cheerfully.

"That can be gotten around," I muttered, and approached the wall with my wand raised. A quick slicing charm and I had cut the picture and the wall behind it out from the rest. A spell repaired the hole and a third sliced the remaining piece of wall from the back of the picture. I vanished the bits from the floor and was left with the picture with wallpaper clinging to it. Smiling in success, I copied the picture magically and passed one to Harry, staring down at the one in my hand. Sirius was looking mightily impressed at me for having gotten the picture down and Remus gave me a thumb's up while dad laughed.

"Thanks Rena," Harry said hoarsely. "That's… that's great. I can add this to the album from Hagrid."

I nodded in agreement.

"Harry? Lorena? Harry!"

"We're here!" Harry called, "What's happened?"

There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Hermione burst inside. "We woke up and didn't know where you were!" she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Ron! I've found them!"

Ron's annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below. "Good! Tell 'em from me that they're gits!"

"Don't just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here anyway?" She gazed around the ransacked room. "What have you been doing?"

"Look what I've just found." He held out his mother's letter. Hermione took it out and read it while Harry watched her. When she reached the end of the page she looked up at him.

"Oh Harry..."

"And there's this too." He handed her the torn photograph, and Hermione smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.

"I've been looking for the rest of the letter," Harry said, "but it's not here."

Hermione glanced around. "Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?"

"Someone had searched before me," admitted Harry.

"I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?"

"Who knows?" I shrugged. "maybe the Order taking anything useful with them when they cleared out? Looking for any random pieces of information that might have made their way around the house? Nobody else could have gotten in." I shook my head. "I've run to the shop already and there's breakfast waiting downstairs, by the way," I added to Hermione. "I'm going to go fetch Ron. We can talk more once we've all got something more in our stomachs than terrible cappuccino."

I headed from the room and heard Harry telling Hermione about Bathilda Bagshot. I knew he'd want to go to Godric's Hollow. I did too. It spoke volumes of the relationship between the Dursleys and Potters that Harry and I had never once been to our parents' graves. We hadn't even gone to their funerals, to the best of my knowledge. I tried to imagine what must have been done. Had Remus attended, a sad figure while the rest of the wizarding world celebrated? Had Sirius? It had been a few days after the death of James and Lily Potter that he had tracked Peter Pettigrew down. Had that scum been there, pretending to mourn while actually missing the loss of his master?

My eyes scanned absently across the walls, subconsciously making notes of what needed to be done to the house to make it habitable, and my eyes caught and held on a sign.

 _Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black_

Regulus had always been an afterthought. He was Sirius's brother, but he wasn't Sirius. He was just the silly little boy who'd joined the Death Eaters, gotten in over his head, and gotten himself killed. Sirius loved him, that was easy to see, but he was less Sirius's brother than James had been was my understanding. They were family, but that was as far as it had ever gone. No one had ever mentioned his middle name.

 _Regulus. Arcturus. Black._

 _R.A.B._

"Merlin's bollocks," I said, dumb-founded, as I stared at the door, then raised my voice and yelled, "Oi, everybody get to me! I found something!"

Hermione and Harry came rushing out of Sirius's room and I heard Ron making his way up the stairs. I pointed wordlessly to the sign and saw Harry stare at it blankly for a second before comprehension washed over his face. Hermione gasped, clinging to Harry's arm so hard I saw him wince.

"Sirius's brother?" she breathed.

"He was sixteen when he joined up," I recalled quietly. What was it Amity called them? He had been a magical racist, but he wasn't a killer. "He tried to leave but…"

"You don't get to leave," Harry said hollowly. "He was killed."

Ron appeared, panting, his wand ready in his hand. "What's up? If it's massive spiders again I want breakfast before I-"

He frowned at the sign on Regulus's door, in which Hermione was silently pointing.

"What? That was Sirius's brother, wasn't it? Regulus Arcturus ... Regulus ... R.A.B.! The locket ¨C you don't reckon-?"

"That's the general theory right now," I replied, and raised my wand, pointing it at the door. A silent unlocking spell made the door swing open on hinges that likely hadn't seen oil in decades. We'd never been in this room during our cleaning, it was never even mentioned. I wonder if Sirius had restrained Mrs. Weasley, leaving his brother's room untouched as a sort of silent memorial. At least in the end Regulus Black had come to the right side.

We moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus's bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his diffidence from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, _toujours pur_. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.

"They're all about Voldemort," she said. "Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters..."

A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Harry, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph: a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. I followed as he moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row. He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.

"He played Seeker," said Harry.

"What?" said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemort's press clippings.

"He's sitting in the middle of the front row, that's where the Seeker... Never mind," said Harry, realizing that nobody was listening. Ron was on his hands and knees, searching under the wardrobe.

"I remember Sirius saying he played, but never what position," I murmured, before moving off to check the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there. old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the random parchments that littered the bottom of the drawer. Curiously I cast a spell to pull the ink from the page, a trick that always made the rounds at Hogwarts where a stray elbow could ruin an essay that had taken hours.

Regulus Black was apparently very artistic. I imagined him spending hours slaving over the Black crest on the wall. The parchments I'd cleaned were covered in pencil drawings of some faces I recognized, some I didn't. There were two stern faces who looked enough like them that I knew they had to be Sirius's parents. Sirius himself stared out from one of the pages, and I set that one aside for myself. Some of the faces had names scrawled across the bottom. I didn't know the given names but I recognized enough of the surnames to realize Regulus used to draw his housemates. I turned to one page and recognized a young Severus Snape, all overlarge nose and scowling mouth. That one I set aside as well, mouth quirking up when I imagined showing it to the man himself.

"There's an easier way," said Hermione suddenly. She raised her wand and said, _"Accio Locket!"_

Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.

"Is that it, then? It's not here?"

"Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments," reasoned Hermione. "Charms to prevent it from being summoned magically, you know."

"Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave," Harry recalled.

"How are we supposed to find it then?" asked Ron.

I rolled my eyes. "We search manually."

"That's a good idea." Ron rolled his eyes right back and resumed his examination of the curtains.

We combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there. The sun had risen now; its light dazzled us even through the grimy landing windows.

"It could be somewhere else in the house, though," said Hermione in a rallying tone as we walked back downstairs. As Harry and Ron had become more discouraged, she seemed to have become more determined. "Whether he'd manage to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realize it at ... at ..."

She was standing with one foot in midair, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated. Her eyes had even drifted out of focus.

"... at the time," she finished in a whisper.

"Something wrong?" asked Ron.

"There was a locket."

"What?" Harry and Ron chorused. I closed my eyes in horror as I remembered what she was talking about. The locket, we'd passed it around when we were cleaning. I'd been more interested in smuggling things for Fred and George and I hadn't bothered to try opening it. The problem it presented had offered a distraction while I nicked stuff back for them.

Hermione swallowed. "In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we ... we ..."

"Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us," Harry said hoarsely. "He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon."

We thundered down the stairs two at a time like a herd of elephants. It was loud enough to wake the portrait of Sirius's mother as we passed through the hall.

"Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!" she screamed after us as we dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind us. Harry ran the length of the room, skidded to a halt at the door of Kreacher's cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was the nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were not longer glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing there was an old copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy._ In desperation, Harry snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. Ron groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair. Hermione closed her eyes.

"Kreacher!" I barked, knowing that the house elf himself was our last chance. I could already guess where Kreacher's treasures had gone, but I needed confirmation. The locket might not have been among the things he'd salvaged that Mundungus had apparently stolen.

Kreacher appeared in front of the fireplace. He was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and the contemptuous look he bent upon me showed that his attitude to his change of ownership had altered no more than his outfit.

"Mistress," croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice, and he bowed low; muttering to his knees, "back in my Mistress's old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood-"

"I forbid you to call anyone 'blood traitor' or 'Mudblood,'" I snapped. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them honestly, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," said Kreacher, bowing low again. I saw his lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter.

"Two years ago," I said slowly, heart picking up, "there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out while cleaning. Did you steal it back?"

There was a moment's silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look me full in the face. Then he answered, "Yes."

"Where is it now?" asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful. I closed my eyes in horror and Kreacher did the same as he croaked,

"Gone."

"Gone?" echoed Harry, elation floating out of him, "What do you mean, it's gone?"

The elf shivered. He swayed.

"Mundungus Fletcher," I reminded Harry. "He took the goblets, I'd imagine he took everything he could fomr the house. He may have been the one who tossed the place for all we know, it's make sense."

"Mundungus Fletcher," echoed the elf, his eyes still tight shut. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella's and Miss Cissy's pictures, my Mistress's gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and- and-"

Kreacher was gulping for air. His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.

"-and the locket, Master Regulus's locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Kreacher's lunge for the fireplace poker stopped mid-reach and he toppled to the ground, smashing his long nose into the ground. Kreacher whimpered as it began to bleed and Hermione shrieked,

"Rena, what did you do?"

"Kreacher, I order you not to punish yourself for this!" I said, giving Hermione a pointed look as I moved forwards and picked the elf up, setting him on his feet again. A spell fixed his nose and another cleared the blood from his dirty rag and the puddle on the floor. Finally I released him from the spell and Kreacher sagged miserably, tears streaming from his eyes.

How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?" Harry asked a little more gently.

"Kreacher saw him!" gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth. "Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher's cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher's treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran..."

"But that's good, isn't it?" Ron asked hopefully, looking at me. "You took Mundungus's briefcase off of him and it had those goblets in it. So we've got it!"

I shook my head. "He must have already gotten rid of it. There were the goblets which I ordered Kreacher to bring back, some random fake jewelry that I chucked, and a couple of more expensive potions ingredients that I kept for myself." I looked back to Kreacher and noted, "You called the locket 'Master Regulus's.' I want you to tell me everything you know about Master Regulus and that locket."

The elf curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.

"Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress's heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper order; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns... and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve...

"And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said... he said..."

The old elf rocked faster than ever.

"... he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."

"An elf?" I repeated, and the others looked just as puzzled as he did.

"Oh yes," moaned Kreacher. "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do... and then to c-come home."

Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake..."

"Oh sweet Merlin," I breathed. So this was how Voldemort had gotten his horcrux into that basin. I had wondered then if he had brought random sacrifices with him, but I had just assumed that it would be people. But a house elf would be mean nothing to him and it served the same purpose. I remembered what that potion had done to Dumbledore as I forced it down his throat and felt a twist of pity for Kreacher.

"... There was a boat... There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it..." The elf quaked from head to foot. "Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible thing... Kreacher's insides burned... Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed... He made Kreacher drink all the potion... He dropped a locket into the empty basin... He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island...

"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake... and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface..."

"How did you get away?" Harry asked, and he was not surprised to hear himself whispering.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he replied mournfully.

"I know - but how did you escape the Inferi?"

Kreacher did not seem to understand. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.

"I know, but-"

"Kreacher was ordered to return by his master so he did," I clarified. "He's a house elf, he could Disapparate from the cave even if a wizard couldn't. He came back."

There was a silence as Harry digested this. How could Voldemort have made such a mistake? But even as he thought this, Hermione spoke, and her voice was icy.

"Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice... It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn't."

"It doesn't occur to most wizards," I recalled. I remembered chasing after Harry, after Dobby and Mr. Malfoy. I remembered how shocked Lucius had been when Dobby had raised his hand and flung him halfway down a hallway. Wizards never stopped to realize that house elves were, in many ways, more powerful than they.

"The house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding," intoned Kreacher. "Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home ..."

"Well, then, you did what you were told, didn't you?" said Hermione kindly. "You didn't disobey orders at all!"

Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.

"So what happened when you got back?" Harry pressed. "What did Regulus say when you told him what happened?"

"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house." Of course, Voldemort couldn't know his sacrifice had survived. "And then... it was a little while later... Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell... and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord..."

"And he made you drink the poison?" said Harry, disgusted.

But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermione's hands leapt to her mouth. She seemed to have understood something. Likely what I'd just realized as well. I sank down, crouching on my heels, my hand pressed over my mouth as I realized what had happened to poor young Regulus Black.

"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," sobbed Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. "And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets..."

Kreacher's sobs came in great rasps now. It was becoming hard to understand him.

"And he ordered - Kreacher to leave - without him. And he told Kreacher - to go home - and never to tell my Mistress - what he had done - but to destroy - the first locket. And he drank - all the potion - and Kreacher swapped the lockets - and watched... as Master Regulus... was dragged beneath the water... and..."

"Oh, Kreacher!" wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed.

"The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?"

"Lorena told you not to call her 'Mudblood'!" snarled Harry, but the elf was already punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.

"Kreacher stop!" I yelled.

Hermione cried, "Oh, don't you see now how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"

I did. House elves wanted to serve, that was what Hermione had never understood. But the way most were forced to serve, punishing themselves for any failure or mistake or oversight. Dobby, in many ways, had the best, most ideal situation of any house elf I'd ever come across. He served Hogwarts but he didn't need to punish himself if he made a mistake.

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snot, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. I waved my wand and healed the bruise. Kreacher seemed surprised.

"So you brought the locket home," Harry pressed relentlessly. "And you tried to destroy it?"

"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work... So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open... Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave..."

Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Hermione's cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch him again. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreacher's, looked troubled. Harry sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it. I sighed and lowered my face into my hands, trying to process the horrible end of Regulus Black. I didn't like Kreacher, but even I felt sorry for him. It was plain to see that he'd adored Regulus, but he had been made to watch him die and hadn't even been able to carry out his master's last request

"I don't understand you, Kreacher," he said finally. "Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them..."

"Harry, Kreacher doesn't think like that," said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "He's a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn't that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He's loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you're going to say," she went on as Harry began to protest, "that Regulus changed his mind... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all."

"Sirius-"

"Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it's no good looking like that, you know it's true. Kreacher had been alone for such a long time when Sirius came to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. I'm sure 'Miss Cissy' and 'Miss Bella' were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and told them everything they wanted to know. I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did... and so did Sirius."

Harry had no retort, and I honestly didn't either. I wanted to defend Sirius but the fact was that I could understand Kreacher. Hadn't I been cruel to the Dursleys for all they'd done to Harry and I?

"Kreacher," I sighed. "If you're ready, please sit up."

It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.

"Kreacher, I want you to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket where Master Regulus's locket it. We're going to help you follow his final order and make sure that he didn't die in vain."

Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at me. "Find Mundungus Fletcher?" he croaked.

"And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place," I added.

Kreacher nodded and got to his feet. Harry pulled out Hagrid's purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort.

"Kreacher, I'd, er, like you to have this," he said, pressing the locket into the elf's hand. "This belonged to Regulus and I'm sure he'd want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you-"

"Overkill, mate," said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.

"Oh good god," I muttered and rubbed my forehead, because a thought had been running through my mind ever since Kreacher had explained it to us. Regulus Black rotting away under the water surrounded by the undead minions of Voldemort. I had no idea what spells had been laid on the place. He himself might be one of the Inferi. Either way I tried to imagine Harry and I at our most distant and the idea of him being the one in that position was really, really intolerable to me. I knew with confidence that had Sirius known the whole story, of how his brother tried to not only leave the Death Eaters but strike a crippling blow against Voldemort in the same stroke, not even Dumbledore himself would have been able to prevent him from rushing off to collect his brother.

"Kreacher, look at me," I ordered, and Hermione gave me a stern look.

"Lorena, leave him be for a moment…"

Instead I reached out and put my hands on Kreacher's shoulders. I looked him squarely in the eye and informed him, "We're going to go and get Master Regulus."

Silence reigned. Hermione and Ron stared at me in disbelief and Kreacher was clutching the locket so tightly that he seemed to be trying to absorb it, but his expression was entirely stunned.

"Rena, you can't be serious!" Harry protested.

"G-Get… Master Regulus?" Kreacher repeated blankly. "Get Master Regulus back?"

"Yes." I nodded firmly and gave Harry a look that dared him to argue with me. "We're going to go and fetch Master Regulus's body and we're going to give him a proper resting place away from all that."

Again, silence for a moment. Ron broke it, shaking his head and beginning, "You're mad-"

Kreacher howled and flung himself onto the floor, kissing my feet. "Mistress Potter is a good Mistress!" he wailed. "Mistress Potter wants to honor Master Regulus! Master Regulus was a good master, a good master to Kreacher! Mistress Potter is too good, too good!"

"Kreacher, you don't need to do that," I said uncomfortably, wincing at the elf snot running all over my shoes and knowing that my face was flaming red.

"Rena, it's too dangerous to go back there," Harry tried to argue. "You know what happens when we disturb the water!"

"And you know that fire will hold them back!" I retorted sharply. "Fire from four wands will be enough to keep them at bay to get him out. If Sirius had known what Kreacher just told us, would he have left Regulus there? Would you leave me if our situations were the same?" I challenged.

Harry's face dropped and he sighed, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. "No, no I wouldn't, but… but it's very dangerous."

"What in our lives isn't?"

It took us nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own and that we were getting Master Regulus's body back that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps we all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that we would make its protection their first priority while he was away. I promised that when we were going to get Regulus's body I would call him and he would join us. Kreacher then bowed so deeply to me that his nose brushed the floor. He made two shallower bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione's direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.


	119. Remus's Offer

Kreacher tracking down Mundungus Fletcher took quite a few days. This I had almost expected. Mundungus had made a career of dodging and evading and without a solid start to tracking him Kreacher would have to resort to checking random places and hoping to pick up a thread. It left us at loose ends for a few days and it left Harry haunting the place like a ghost, pacing up and down the halls, settling down in random rooms for a while before getting back up and wandering some more.

Meanwhile, I had picked up the efforts of cleaning up Grimmauld Place where they had left off for most of the day. There was little else to do. The house was mine now, and my discussions with Draco, who remained unnervingly quiet, lingered in my mind. The pair of us living together. Grimmauld Place, with some spit and polish, would allow that to happen, and so I set about turning the house into my home.

The first thing to go, which was done with extreme relish, was the portrait of Sirius's mother. My ears blocked with earmuffs charmed against mandrakes, I repeated the same tactic on the portrait I'd used on the pictures of the Marauders. With my wand I carved the wall behind the picture frame away while Mrs. Black hurled epithets and aspersions on my parenthood. It was with great delight that she finally fell from the wall in a rush of dust and slammed face-down onto the floor of the entryway. Smirking triumphantly, I repaired the wall, carved the backing away from the portraits, and Vanished the whole thing with relish, sending it into nothingness. The same was done to the house elf heads.

After that was done I waged a war on the first floor. For the first time I felt compelled to crack the book on housekeeping charms that Molly Weasley gave me for Christmas one year, and I was glad that I had. Otherwise I would never have known that there were spells that could remove rings from bathtubs or refresh wallpaper or polish fixtures. Armed with this knowledge, I walked through the rooms with abandon, sticking down the peeling edges of wallpaper, removing dust, polishing fixtures and wood, and storing things that didn't suit my taste.

I was starting to realize as well that part of the reason so much of the house cleaning had been done manually during that summer and not with magic was only in part because most of us weren't able to use magic outside of school. With the aid of the right spells, refurbishing a house wasn't all that difficult, especially considering that the worst of a lot of it had already been taken care of, the strangling pajamas and grandfather clock that attacked passer's-by only the most memorable of battles.

It was when I was busy clearing out the drawing room on the third day since Kreacher had left that I saw them – two men in cloaks standing in the square opposite the house. They weren't even trying to hide, facing the houses and obviously hoping for someone to appear there.

"Definitely Death Eaters," Hermione concluded when I called everyone in to look.

"But what're they doing here?" Ron asked nervously. "How'd they know?"

"The Ministry reviews wills, they'd know Sirius left the place to me. They'd know it would be an ideal hideout. On top of that," I admitted with a wince. "We've been saying Voldemort with abandon. The Fidelius Charm makes it impossible for them to know specifically where we are without the knowledge from Sirius's will. But it would be a good idea to go ahead and break the habit now. We say it when we're not here and we'll have Death Eaters crawling out of the woodwork."

"That's true," Hermione admitted. "We can't let it slip or it would end badly."

"D'you think we should do something about them?" Harry asked uncertainly. "Rather than just leave them standing?"

I arched an eyebrow and said calmly, "Killing them would be expedient…"

Harry gave me a stern look. " _No,_ Rena, we're not killing any of them unless we have to!"

"I don't know how many trips I can manage to Azkaban before it starts to mess with me!" I snapped right back. "It's a hellish place, Harry, I… I can't describe it, but I don't know how many more trips I can handle!"

"They're not doing anything, why do we have to bother with them?" Ron demanded, shifting closer to Harry in support. "Let's just let them stand out there and shiver!"

"Because if we do that, then we're losing an opportunity to take out two of Vol – of his men when we've a prime opportunity!" I retorted sharply, and gave Harry a disparaging look. "Your respect for life is sweet, but naïve, brother dear, and it's best you get over it sooner rather than later, before-"

I stiffened slightly. I'd placed a ward on the front door. Without Mrs. Black's screaming to let us know when someone arrived, we needed a way to know when we had company.

"Lorena?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Someone's downstairs," I muttered, and drew my wand, casting a Silencing spell on my feet to muffle my footsteps as I rushed down the hall to the stairs and down towards the ground floor. It proved completely useless when the other three thundered after me like a herd of bloody elephant. I rolled my eyes despairingly – the things they failed to consider were really staggering – and ended my spell. Any sort of surprise had been lost already.

As it turned out, it didn't matter anyway. Standing in the entry way, looking in confusion at the place where the patch of dust Moody had enchanted used to be, was Remus Lupin.

"Lupin!" Harry greeted eagerly, starting down the stairs towards him. I threw up an arm, stopping him with the limb and a withering look as I directed my wand at Remus.

"My last Christmas gift to you?" I asked him warily, and Remus smiled at me and nodded approvingly.

"A calendar with a different wolf for each month," he replied drily. "Tonks finds it hilarious, by the way."

Harry gave me an incredulous look and I stared at him defensively. "What? I had to check!"

"No, I'm thinking about your Christmas gift, a little on the nose, Rena?"

"A bit," Remus agreed. "And speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn't be so quick to lower your defenses."

Remus war wrapped in a thick travelling cloak and looked like he hadn't seen so much as a pillow in three days, but he smiled as we made our way down the last of the stairs towards him.

"What happened to Mrs. Black?" Lupin asked, nodding to the wall where she used to be. I smiled triumphantly.

"Finally evicted, thank god."

Lupin smiled and amusement brought a little more life to his eyes as he looked around at all of us. "Good."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yes," said Lupin slowly, "but we're all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside-"

I huffed and gave Harry a dirty look. "We know."

"I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can't know you're in here or I'm sure they'd have more people out there; they're staking out everywhere that's got any connection with you Potters. Let's go downstairs, there's a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow."

We descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and we sat down.

"I'd have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me," explained Lupin. "So, you came straight here after the wedding?"

"No," admitted Harry, "only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a cafe on Tottenham Court Road."

Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front. _"What?"_

"Two Death Eaters caught up to us in a café," I began to explain. "It was Rowle and Dolohov. They were in disguise, but I recognized them from the Department of Mysteries and the Astronomy Tower. I got the drop on them and subdued them before they realized they'd been recognized."

Remus looked at me, visibly impressed, and nodded in approval. "Good job, Lorena. I'm glad you're paying attention to your surroundings."

"Yeah, well, then we had a bit of a disagreement," Harry interrupted, giving me a look. "It's still going on, actually."

"A disagreement?" Remus's eyebrows drew together and he looked between Harry and I in concern. "About what?"

I opened my mouth. "About how Rena wants to kill every Death Eater she sees," Harry cut me off.

I scowled. "Actually if you recall if was Ron who brought up killing them first. Despite not being nearly as brilliant as Hermione and I he sees strategies." Ron looked like he was trying to decide whether to be offended or flattered. "And he realized that the more of You-Know-Who's men we can take off the board the better chance we have."

Remus looked at me like he was bracing for the worst. "Did you… do it? Kill them?"

I frowned. "No. Harry wouldn't let me. I did interrogate them, though, and I know how the Death Eaters tracked us. They've made the name Voldemort Taboo." Remus's eyes widened. "Now we're safe in here because a Fidelius charm trumps a Taboo but you need to start getting the word out that saying the name just to be rebellious will get you killed."

"That's brilliant," Remus whispered. "The only people who ever said the name were close to Dumbledore…"

"Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione quoted, and he nodded in agreement. He turned his attention back to me, eyeing me up and down.

"And how did you get this information?" Remus asked warily. "Did you…?" He didn't say it but the look on his face spoke volumes. I arched an eyebrow. I should have been offended that he thought I'd torture information out of the Death Eaters but the fact was that I highly doubted I was above it.

"No, I have Veritaserum," I replied bluntly. "They didn't want to talk, but they did."

"And what did you do with them afterwards?" Remus asked, looking relieved. "Leaving them in a Muggle area could have been dangerous."

"Rena actually came up with something," Hermione interjected. "It's really brilliant, but it's… a bit tricky." She looked between Harry and I uncertainly. "And she'd rather not do it too often, but she still wants to take out as many Death Eaters as possible. It's… causing a bit of trouble, actually."

I watched Remus's horrified expression as I explained what I'd done, starting from reaching the Apparition point and ending with flying out of the prison. I left out the details like the dementors stalking me through the halls and the way their rattling breaths echoed or the man sitting in the cell who had seen me. I think if I had, he might have passed out onto the table. As it was Remus was nearly breathless with concern by the time I fell silent.

Lupin licked his lips and hesitated before speaking. "I can see why the idea would work, Lorena," he began. "But it's wildly dangerous…"

"You taught me how to cast a Patronus," I challenged. "Do you not have faith in me? Or is it Professor McGonagall's tutoring you think failed me somehow."

Remus gave me a knowing look and shook his head. "No, you're not going to turn this into some sort of assault on your abilities. You've proven you're capable, but what I'm questioning is you risking your life – more than that, your soul! – to take some pieces off the board. I…" Whiskey eyes lingered on Harry and I knew that his presence was at least partially affecting Remus's response to the situation. "I can't tell you I'd prefer it if you killed them," he said softly. "But perhaps… leave them somewhere for others to deal with instead of taking care of it on your own?"

My lips pinched together. Like Amity, Remus knew that approving the killing of the Death Eaters would do damage to Harry. Remus also seemed able to tell that Azkaban had affected me more than I let on. He was left trying to find a middle ground that didn't really exist.

"Fine," I replied dully, effectively ending the topic of conversation. Silence reigned, awkward and heavy, until Harry spoke up.

"Tell us what happened after we left."

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Remus replied. "Well, Kingsley saved us. Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived."

"Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?" interjected Hermione.

"A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they're the same thing now." Lupin scowled. "There were about a dozen of them, but they didn't know you Potters were there. Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it's true, he didn't give you away."

I blinked. Harry looked oddly touched and even Ron and Hermione fairly glowed with surprised gratitude. They seemed to be taking it as some sort of heroic last act of defiance on Scrimgeour's defense. I doubted the man gave a damn whether or not Harry and I died for any other reason than what our deaths would mean to this war. He saved us not because he actually cared what happened to us, but because it was strategically unwise to let us die.

"The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom," Lupin went on. "They found the ghoul, but didn't want to get too close - and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.

"At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths," he added quickly, forestalling the question, "but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle's house, but as you know he wasn't there, and they used the Cruciarus Curse on Tonks's family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They're all right - shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay."

"The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"With the Ministry as backup they don't need to worry about being identified or incarcerated at all," I explained. "There's no reason for them not to be as brutal as they want. Even the toughest of defensive spells won't hold long when the Death Eaters can take their time and be confident that no one's coming to run them off. It's open season on anyone connected with the resistance," I finished grimly.

"And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry and Lorena's whereabouts out of people?" asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

"Well," Lupin began. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. "Here," he said, pushing it across the table to Harry and I, "you'll know sooner or later anyway. That's their pretext for going after you."

Harry smoothed out the paper. Our faces, blown up and right next to each other, filled the front page. Harry's portrait looked confused and vaguely hurt, not at all malicious. My own seemed to have adopted an expression of boredly patronizing distaste. The headline over it blared: _WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE._

Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, Harry said nothing. He looked vaguely ill as he pushed the newspaper away. I smirked and nodded approvingly.

"It's clever. My testimony proved we were both up there, as did Rita Skeeter saying you were spotted running from the tower," I mused. "And of course my story is full of holes to most people. It's not much of a stretch for many to believe that I'm some psychopath and my poor, dear, good-hearted brother is trying to protect me from Azkaban."

"That's exactly how they're playing it." Remus added, "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry would be taking this harder than I. I had actually done what they were accusing me of so really, it wasn't that much of a surprise to me. It's what I would have done if I'd been trying to track myself down. I had very little loyalty to Dumbledore to begin with, but Harry had been all but totally devoted to him. He'd told me what Aunt Muriel had told him at the wedding. Already Harry's posthumous relationship with his mentor was getting rocky, this would only add to the pile.

"So Death Eaters have taken over the _Daily Prophet_ too?" demanded Hermione furiously.

Lupin nodded as I rolled my eyes. "Of course they have. They have the Ministry, so they have the _Prophet."_

"But surely people realize what's going on?" she asked, looking around like she expected random witches and wizards to crawl out of the woodwork and denounce the article.

"The coup has been smooth and virtually silent," Lupin explained. "The official version of Scrimgeour's murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse."

"Why didn't Vol- sorry, why didn't _he_ just declare himself Minister of Magic?" asked Ron.

Lupin laughed and I snorted. "Why bother? Why should he sit behind a desk and attend meetings for all those trivial day-to-day things when he can have a puppet handle it all for him? It leaves his time free to expand his power further, keeps most people in the dark as to exactly what has happened. And besides, effectively, he is the Minister no matter who has the actual title."

Remus nodded in agreement. "Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren't confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear."

"And this dramatic change in Ministry policy," echoed Harry, "involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?"

"That's certainly a part of it," said Lupin with a wince, "and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you - the Boy Who Lived - were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hat's death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.

"Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggleborns." Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet. "Look at page two."

Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had when handling _Secrets of the Darkest Art._

"Muggle-born Register!" she read aloud, voice growing more and more offended with each other. "'The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called 'Muggleborns' to better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets. Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.

"'The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.'"

I wrinkled my nose and my lips curled up. What a load of crap. Everyone knew that magic wasn't magic in the hands of a Muggle. Incidents had occurred when a Muggle got their hands on a real wand. A few random bangs and flashes that were more the wand's own protests occurred, but no real magic. Muggle occultists had found recipes for real potions and brewed them during surges in interest in magic, such as during the Victorian times. They ended up with so much slop… if they were lucky. Muggles simply weren't magical, even if magical instruments were literally handed to them.

"People won't let this happen," Ron protested.

"It _is_ happening, Ron," Lupin stressed. "Muggleborns are being rounded up as we speak."

"But how are they supposed to have 'stolen' magic?" he countered. "It's mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn't be any Squibs, would there?"

"I know," Remus sighed. "Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment."

Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, "What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a Muggleborn's part of their family? I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin-"

Hermione covered Ron's hand with hers and squeezed it.

"Thank you, Ron, but I couldn't let you-"

"You won't have a choice," said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. "I'll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it."

Hermione gave a shaky laugh. "Ron, as we're on the run with Harry and Lorena Potter, the most wanted people in the country, I don't think it matters."

I licked my lips and sat forwards, chuckling softly. Ron looked at my belligerently.

"Something about this funny to you?"

"More ironic," I corrected, failing to smother a sneer. "I'm simply pondering on the fact that a boy who grew up during the Second World War and the London Blitz has become a man who believes in a master race. The irony would almost be hilarious if it wasn't so horrifying."

Hermione paled ad Harry looked uncomfortable at the insinuation. Ron just seemed vaguely confused. As a pureblood, what he knew of that time was Gellert Grindelwald and his goals, not Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust.

"What's he planning for Hogwarts?" Hermione asked Lupin softly.

"Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard," he replied. "That was announced yesterday. It's a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it's also another way of weeding out Muggleborns, because students must be given Blood Status - meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent - before they are allowed to attend."

Again I couldn't help but thing of students showing up to the halls of Hogwarts only to be greeted by Aurors enforcing laws that likely many of them didn't believe in, with no idea that they needed papers or no way to get them, their lack of a metaphorical Star of David on their shirts. The parallels abounded.

"It's... it's..." Harry floundered, and Lupin said quietly,

"I know." He hesitated. "I'll understand if you can't confirm this, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission."

"He did," Harry replied, "and they're all in on it and they're coming with me."

"Can you confide in me what the mission is?"

Harry paused, giving Remus a searching look. Physically he had never looked very impressive, though I knew that magically he was on the more powerful end of the spectrum. "I can't, Remus, I'm sorry. If Dumbledore didn't tell you I don't think I can."

"I thought you'd say that," admitted Lupin wryly, looking disappointed. "But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."

Harry hesitated. Hermione, however, looked puzzled.

"But what about Tonks?" she asked.

Lupin's face tightened and he shifted in his chair. "What about her?" he asked with faux casualness.

"Well," said Hermione, frowning, "you're married! How does she feel about you going away with us?"

"Tonks will be perfectly safe," Lupin brushed her off, "She'll be at her parents' house."

This did not fit into place at all. Tonks was madly in love with Remus Lupin and had fought until she got a hold of him. Relinquishing him now, when things were getting nasty, didn't sound like her at all. In fact, staying hidden away with her parents didn't match her either. She was an Auror. She was quite literally trained for this. Added to it, Remus's voice was oddly cold. I was a master of feigning carelessness, though, and I knew when people were faking, especially when they weren't used to doing it.

"Remus," asked Hermione tentatively, "is everything all right... you know... between you and-"

"Everything is fine, thank you," Lupin replied pointedly.

Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, "Tonks is going to have a baby."

"Oh, how wonderful!" squealed Hermione. I smiled, trying to imagine a little baby with Remus's eyes and Tonks's... well, whatever her original hair color was. Or maybe the child would be a Metamorphmagus like its mother. Those things did tend to be passed down. I pictured Remus trying to rock to sleep a baby with a shifting kaleidoscope of hair and the image was too sweet for words.

"Excellent!" said Ron enthusiastically.

"Congratulations," Harry beamed.

"You must be thrilled," I said, but my enthusiasm was somewhat smothered by the fact that Remus's admission seemed to cause him actual physical pain.

He gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then asked, brushing aside the cheers, "So... do you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."

Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry questioningly. He was frowning, having clearly gotten to the same realization that I had.

"Just - just to be clear," he said slowly. "You want to leave Tonks at her parents' house and come away with us?"

"She'll be perfectly safe there, they'll look after her," Remus reminded him. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference: "Harry, I'm sure James would have wanted me to stick with you."

"Well," began Harry slowly, "I'm not. I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren't sticking with your own kid, actually."

Lupin's face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it, while Hermione's eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin. I was on Harry's side one hundred percent. Remus had always been so certain that anyone who knew he was a werewolf would be disgusted by him, but even after I found out I had never felt any sort of distaste towards him… until now. On top of that, he had quite blatantly tried to manipulate Harry into accepting him with the mention of our father.

"You don't understand," croaked Lupin.

"Explain, then," barked Harry coolly.

Lupin swallowed. "I - I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and have regretted it very much every since."

"I see," said Harry, "so you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?"

Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them so fiercely that I saw, for the first time ever, she shadow of the wolf upon his human face.

"Don't you understand what I've _done_ to my wife and my unborn child? I should _never_ have married her, I've made her an outcast!" Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned. "You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore's protection at Hogwarts! You don't _know_ how most of the Wizarding world sees _creatures_ like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely _talk_ to me! Don't you see what I've _done?_

"Even her own _family_ is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a _werewolf?_ And the child - the _child_ -"

Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.

"My kind don't usually breed! It will be like _me_ , I am _convinced_ of it - how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an _innocent child?_ And if, by some _miracle,_ it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be _ashamed!"_

Harry tensed next to me but I laid a steadying hand on his wrist. I knew that the moment the words he wanted to say left his mouth he would regret them. I, meanwhile, would not, not if it got Remus to pull his head out of his arse and stop feeling so pathetically sorry for himself.

"Your martyr complex is really becoming tiresome, Lupin," I drawled coldly, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in my chair, resting my hands on the arms of my chair. I specifically used his last name, as though we were strangers, where he had been Uncle Moony for so long. "I'm certain it will be a great comfort to Tonks to know that you have realized the error of your ways in marrying her – which she will of course not take at all personally – when you abandon her with your unborn child. Your heroic selflessness will of course set a wonderful example for the child."

Remus looked like I was slowly slicing him to pieces, which was, of course, the goal.

"This is of course ignoring the fact that you just attempted to weaponize one of your best friends against his orphaned children. I'm sure James would be immensely proud of you for that, as well as for abandoning your wife and child when he gave his life to protect him. Sirius would be glad you're trying to play the daredevil like he was." I sneered. "James and Sirius would be _horrified,_ Remus. Though…" I inclined my head, resting it on the palm of my head thoughtfully, "I suppose that Pettigrew would be very proud of you running away from your problems to try and spare yourself any potential discomfort… so perhaps that's some consolation."

The impact of every single word was written on the stunned horror on Remus's face. He was actually trembling from the onslaught, and I wasn't entirely surprised. I was fully aware that my particular brand of well-crafted, eloquent disdain was very effective – I'd honed it to be so. He had witnessed it directed at others before, but never focused on himself before. Then again, Remus had never done anything so horrifying as attempt to ditch his family and use our mission from Dumbledore as an excuse.

He bolted, as I knew he would, and I sat in my chair and watched the tail of Lupin's cloak disappearing around the door.

"Remus, Remus, come back!" Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later we heard the front door slam. "Lorena!" wailed Hermione. "How could you?"

"I'd imagine it was easy," Harry growled, all the wrath I was keeping carefully from my face plain on his.

"You shouldn't have said that stuff to Lupin!" Ron snapped at me, brown eyes flashing in distaste and anger.

"He was being a coward," I replied coldly. "And if a swift and brutal reality check is what it takes for him to stop throwing himself pity parties and go back to Tonks and his baby, then I'll have done what I set out to do."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You were trying to manipulate him?" she breathed. I arched an eyebrow and scowled.

"He tried to use my father against me? Fine. I can do the same."

"Parents," Harry interjected, "shouldn't leave their kids unless - unless they've got to."

* * *

I wasn't sleeping a lot lately, and I knew that it probably wasn't the best plan, considering everything we were up against. But the cleaning of the house seemed to have taken over from something I felt compelled to do to fill time to something that needed to be done as quickly as possible. It was actually rather nice now after three days of nothing but cleaning, and even Ron had remarked that I was as good at household charms as his mum was.

The paranoia of the Death Eaters down the square made me take up a position in the window of the drawing room, staring down at them huddled just outside of the street light and looking grim in their cloaks. I glanced between them and the books spread around me on the window seat, along with sheets of parchment and a pen. Quill and ink were something I had no desire to deal with while translating.

 _Et Magicae ex Animo_ was one of the most obnoxiously tedious tasks that I had ever undertaken. Like the title it was written in runes that translated, not into English, but into Latin. Then that had to be shifted to English. It took several long minutes to get through a single sentence and had been taking up my nights before going to bed. Trying to wrangle it into something I could understand tired my brain out like few things.

I had just barely finished the introduction and I set the book aside for a moment to examine the sheets of neatly-scrawled lines that were the result of several days' worth of work. The author was unknown – which was good, because at this point I might have stolen a time turner and smacked him for making the book so difficult – and I had no idea when it was written beyond being at least two centuries old going by some of the sentence structure and word choices.

 _Of the many branches of magic available to the witch or wizard few are as shrouded in mystery or as deeply complex as the study of the soul. A physically intangible subject, the soul is often overlooked by most and so many are unaware of its influences on their magical power, yet the soul touches many critical branches of magic. In fact, the soul is one of the most powerful single magical objects in this world._

 _To those who are capable of producing a Patronus or transforming themselves into an Animagus, they may have a passing knowledge that the forms of those spells are determined by an internal force. This force is the soul. Those who study herbology or magizoology cite sources such as green thumbs or a caring disposition without realizing they owe their success to a nurturing soul. It has been theorized, though never proven, that magic itself comes from the soul._

 _Unfortunately, the soul also comes into play very often in the Dark Arts, where, oddly enough, the pure force is more often discussed, studied, and, usually, perverted in the end. Those with a knowledge in such things are aware that the act of murder splits the soul into pieces, for it is a crime against nature. To those who study Muggle theology, the Christians consider murder to be one of the greatest and oldest sins a person can commit, tracing this belief all that way back to Cain's murder of his brother Abel._

 _The study of the soul itself is unfortunately rarified, and it is a shame that so many witches and wizards remain ignorant to it. Within these pages is a compilation of every aspect of soul magic I have studied over almost a century, travelling from country to country and speaking with both wizards and Muggles to collect interpretations and theories. It is my hope that, after my death, more will take up the cause of knowledge and continue my work._

 _Of the place of the soul in magic there are many, and it is the aim of this volume to provide knowledge for the specialist in the soul's role in their fields, to provide a basic understanding of the soul to the casual consumer, and to expand the scholar's views on the myriad applications of the soul in magic. In the end, it will reach magic which channels the power of the soul itself, both Dark and Light._

 _Be warned: the study of the soul is not for the faint of heart, for it is power in its true incarnation and has uses both terrible and great. You will find within these pages detailed instructions but do not undertake these spells lightly, for the average witch or wizard has not the strength to stand the strain._

I sighed and set the translated pages aside. A glance at the window showed that the Death Eaters were still there. I tipped my head back wearily and rubbed at my eyes. The introduction was informative, but predictable. In a book about the magic of the soul, the author would discuss both the soul and magic, who would have thought? I didn't doubt that there would be more information to be found on Horcruxes in here, which may have been the reason Dumbledore gave it to me, but that seemed… too easy.

I jolted slightly as the sudden rush of heat on the mirror in my pocket and pulled it out, flipping open the lid. I expected to see Amity, or perhaps Ginny or Daphne, but I was not even remotely disappointed when instead of them it was Draco, sitting in the relative darkness of his room in silk pajamas and staring into the mirror with and tired but affectionate smile that I echoed.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice slightly rougher than usual, but I chalked that up to lack of sleep. He was sporting dark circles to challenge mine, and without the excuse of translating a centuries-old book.

"Hey," I replied softly, flicking my wand at the door twice to lock it and muffle my voice. "How are you?"

"I'm alive," he replied with a wry smile, and the corners of my mouth picked up a little.

"I count that as a success."

"Me too. And I see you're still alive and well. Which is good." Draco seemed relieved.

"Alive, yes. Wellness will be achieved once I've slept more than a few hours a night a couple of days in a row."

"What's been keeping you up?" Draco asked, brows furrowing in concern. "Is it Death Eaters?"

I smirked a bit. "Well they're outside now, but there's no way they can get in and frankly I don't think they realize we're actually here, they're just hoping we might be."

Realization crossed his face. "You're at Grimmauld Place?"

I nodded. "I've been trying to make it more livable and it's been going well. A few more rooms to clear and… well." I paused and licked my lips. "It's an awfully big house to live in alone."

Draco seemed startled. "What, you mean…? You mean you'd really let me move in?"

I raised an eyebrow, suddenly uncertain. "I… Well, we discussed it, but if you're not amenable, you certainly don't have to-"

"No, no!" Draco quickly cut me off, and he was smiling. "It's just… So many of the conversations we had… well, it's hard not to feel like they were pipe dreams. I was never sure how much of it was actual planning and how much was just wishful thinking. I don't…" Draco's eyes darted around and I guessed he was looking around the inside of his room. "I think it would be good to get out of the manor for a while after it's all over. It… doesn't feel the same."

He seemed haunted, and I didn't blame him. It was hard to imagine living in a place where Voldemort and his men came and went at their leisure, not yours, even if it was your house. I didn't doubt that it was alarming and it stole a lot of the safety and warmth from a place. In his shoes I probably would have wanted to get out of the place for a while too, until the memories weren't so fresh.

"You're welcome here," I said firmly. "That's a plan, sweetheart, not a dream. If you could just keep that whole 'being alive' thing going for a bit longer, until the war's over."

Draco smiled, and it was the most genuine and hopeful one I'd seen on him in a while. "I'll see what I can do. So is that it, then? Why you can't sleep? You're cleaning the place up?" He gave me a stern look, clearly not finding that to be a good enough reason.

I shook my head. "No, it's not, but… that doesn't matter." I tilted my head. "Is there a reason you called, has something happened? Or just…?" I trailed off, not wanting to presume in case I was wrong.

I could just barely see the faint flush on his face in the dim light as he shrugged awkwardly. "I just wanted to see your face. The picture isn't cutting it lately."

I frowned. "Picture?" I groaned aloud and chuckled drily. "Please tell me you haven't got one of those pictures that have run in the _Prophet_ over the years _,_ they're all wretched. Also, I'll tease you mercilessly if you've been keeping my press clippings."

Draco winced. "No, that… the little Gryffindor who used to follow you and your brother around."

I pressed a hand to my forehead. "Colin Creevey. You got a picture of me from him?"

Draco shrugged sheepishly. "I keep it in the lid of the mirror. I charmed the thing so only I can open it, so don't worry. It, ah… it helps."

I smiled fondly. "Would you like to know a secret?" I asked him softly, and he nodded. I raised my hand so that he could see the ring glittering on my finger as well.

"This helps too."


	120. Dissension

It was pure luck that I was in the kitchen the next morning, overseeing the breakfast dishes cleaning themselves, when the loud crack echoed. I whipped around, wand coming up, and saw a mass of struggling limbs. As I watched, Kreacher extracted himself and bowed low.

"Kreacher has returned with the thief, Mundungus Fletcher, Mistress," he croaked.

Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand. I already had mine out and it was an easy flick to Summon his wand into my hand and send off a Patronus through the house to fetch the others. Within seconds, footsteps pounded on the stairs and the other three came stampeding in, looking around for Mundungus. He was cowering by the table while I stood over him, a wand in both hands, and Kreacher glaring at him from beside my feet.

"Well done, Kreacher," I said with a smirk, staring down maliciously at Mundungus. Wild-eyed, he dove for the stairs. Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch.

"What?" he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron's grip. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' 'house-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha've I done, lemme go, lemme go, of-"

"It's adorable how you think you're in any sort of control here," I cooed as I watched the thrashing. Ron looked back at me over his shoulder and I nodded. He rolled off Mundungus, who was immediately scrambling for the stairs once more. I hit him with an Incarcerus, tying him in ropes. My wand directed his thrashing form across the kitchen to one of the chairs and another spell had the ropes lashing him to the furniture.

"Like I said," I repeated as Mundungus's thrashing faltered and he looked up at me warily. "Adorable."

The reality was that he was anything but adorable. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.

"Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Master," croaked the elf. "Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end."

"You've done really well, Kreacher," said Harry, and the elf bowed low.

"As you may or may not have worked out, we've got some questions we'd like you to answer," I told Mundungus, who shouted at once.

"I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an' that was bleedin' You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there. I said all along I didn't wanna do it-"

"For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated," said Hermione tartly, glaring at him.

Mundungus rolled his eyes. "Well, you're a bunch of bleedin' 'eroes then, aren't you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself-"

"We're not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye," said Harry coldly, joining me and pointing his wand at Mundungus's baggy, bloodshot eyes. "We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum."

"Well then, why the 'ell am I being 'unted down by 'ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain't got none of 'em left, or you could 'ave 'em-"

"It's not about the goblets either, although you're getting warmer." Harry scowled, obviously remembering the encounter in the alley at Hogsmeade.

"Stop talking and listen, I don't want you in my house longer than I have to tolerate you," I said bluntly, seizing and chair and spinning it around so that it faced Mundungus before planting myself firmly in it, wand never faltering.

"When you played the magpie and stripped the house down-" I began, but Mundungus interrupted me again.

"Sirius never cared about any of the junk-"

There was the sound of pattering fee, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. I blinked. I'd been about to cast a _Silencio,_ just so I could get in a word around his excuses, but a house elf with a sauce pan… that was priceless.

"Call 'im off, call 'im off, 'e should be locked up!" screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

"Kreacher, no!" shouted Harry.

Kreacher's thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. He looked at me hopefully. I was technically his master, though as my brother Harry had some sway.

"Perhaps just one more, Mistress Potter, for luck?" he asked. Ron laughed.

"We need him conscious for the moment, Kreacher, but as soon as he's told us what we need to know you're welcome to give him another whack," I assured the elf.

"Thank you very much, Master," said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

"Rena!" Harry protested, and I gave him a firm look.

"Come on, you have to admit that was great." I glanced at Mundungus darkly. "Besides, some of what he took was from Kreacher. I think Kreacher has a right to exact a little revenge." I smiled at Mundungus saccharinely. "You're lucky he picked up a pan and not a skewer."

Harry grabbed my arm and pulled me up, hauling me a short distance away. Ron and Hermione scuttled after us to the corner by the sink. Kreacher stood guard, sauce pan ready and waiting in case Mundungus tried to make a break for it.

"What are you doing?" I asked my brother tartly, jerking my arm form his grasp.

"Keeping you from actually doing him damage," Harry said sternly. "I know he's garbage but he'd still a person and you're letting Kreacher beat him up with a pan!"

"In her defense," Ron looked vaguely nauseated by the words, "it was pretty funny."

"I don't like the idea of actually hurting him either," Hermione admitted. "I mean, maybe if he refuses to answer us, but… And I don't like you using Kreacher as a weapon!" She gave me a firm look.

I raised an eyebrow at her coolly. "Kreacher is my house elf, Hermione, and if you'll recall, going after Mundungus was his move, not mine, so your sanctimonies aren't really relevant on this occasion."

"Don't start in on her!" Ron snapped.

"Mundngus is a member of the Order-" Harry began, but I cut him off.

"- Because it suited his goals and kept him connected to powerful people who would keep him out of trouble for the sake of his usefulness. Are you telling me you don't see it?" I demanded. "Gods, Harry, he's quite a bit like Pettigrew! I have absolutely no sympathy for him. Of course, I would prefer not to torture him, and it won't be necessary given that I have Veritaserum. All you've done by dragging me off is show him that we're not a united front. Now if you'll excuse me, and of course, if it's amenable to all of you, I'd very much like to find out where the locket is. Problems?" I challenged, spreading my palms wide and invitingly. Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous looks and Harry was watching me warily, but none of them made a move to stop me.

I nodded firmly. "Good." I spun on my heel and returned to the chair across from Mundungus. I could practically feel the uncertain looks they were giving each other behind my back, but I couldn't be bothered to care. I was too annoyed at this point. Someone had to make the hard decisions to get this done, and apparently, as usual, it was going to be me. "As I was saying, the locket. Where is it?"

"Why?" asked Mundungus suspiciously. "Is it valuable?"

"You've still got it!" cried Hermione hopefully.

"No, he hasn't," said Ron shrewdly. "He's wondering whether he should have asked more money for it."

"More?" scoffed Mundungus. "That wouldn't have been effing difficult... bleedin' gave it away, di'n' I? No choice."

I leaned forwards in my chair. I'd never known Mundungus to pass up a chance to make a buck. "What do you mean?"

"I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I've got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin' snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an' told me she'd take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky."

"Who was this woman?" demanded Harry.

"I dunno, some Ministry hag."

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you, how wonderfully descriptive. _Details. Now."_

Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. "Little woman. Bow on top of 'er head." He frowned and then added, "Looked like a toad."

My lips curled back in a wordless snarl as I realized who had the locket. Delores Umbridge, who I had taken great pleasure in inflicting suffering on for what she'd done to Harry back in fifth year. And now that monstrous pink hairball of a witch was in possession of a horcrux. I could only imagine what sort of horrors that would wreak on her already horrid personality, let alone how much more difficult that would make getting a hold of the locket.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, resting my fingers across my brow. "Bloody brilliant."

 _Clang!_

" _Ow!"_

I smirked. "Thank you Kreacher, that was just what I needed."

* * *

I sat at the kitchen table in a kitchen that was now almost unrecognizable. With Kreacher back and willing to work, Grimmauld Place was officially habitable again. His magic and mine meant that within two days every scrap of metal in the place gleamed, every surface was free of dust, every linen was fresh and clean, and everything stayed that way.

"Rena?"

I looked around from the book that was connected to my Basilisks. I'd been using it to keep an eye on their progress on their personal projects and see who was still researching. From what I gathered, someone had gotten a copy to Quinlan and he and Maeve were now supplementing with Maeve's occasional readings while a small enclave of those students decent in Divination tried to interpret them. Nearly every reading came out bad.

On top of that, Daphne and Nott had apparently started a group on brewing potions. As much as they could of as many healing potions they could find recipes for. There were things for normal incidents like colds and sore throats, but the main focus was potions for healing curse damage and physical wounds. The news that the Carrows would be teaching and Snape would be taking over as headmaster hadn't broken to the public yet but those who knew people were already well aware and my dear lieutenants were taking steps to make sure that no matter what happened, they were prepared for the fallout.

Molly, Chastity, and Emilia, as some of the youngest, were planning to reach out to some of the other houses when the school year started back, specifically anyone whose blood status might make them a target. They couldn't stop the Muggleborns from being turned away at the door but they could help coax those who were younger and less indoctrinated into the idea of Slytherins as inherently evil into the relative safety of our protection.

Frankly I was stunned by the level of inter-house cooperation they were trying for, even without my guidance.

I set the book aside and looked back to see Hermione, Harry, and Ron all lingering in the doorway. I raised an eyebrow, feeling like I had just had an intervention walk in on me instead of the other way around.

"Yes?" I asked slowly.

"There's something we… want to talk to you about," Harry said, stepping forward, and I saw Ron nod to him encouragingly. So they'd all been talking behind my back, eh? And they were sending in my brother to soften me up.

"And what might that be?" I asked somewhat warily, turning my chair around to fully face them.

Harry was visibly hesitant, eyeing me like he was bracing for the inevitable backlash, which didn't bode well. I tended to be a little less sharp with Harry on most things, though I was comparatively far harsher on him when I did let him have it. Still, he cleared his throat, winced, and said,

"It's about this… this plan to go and… collect Regulus."

I blinked, somehow both surprised and not. With Kreacher in the house and finally being wonderfully useful, this wasn't the conversation to have where he could here. Currently he was busy upstairs, but I didn't trust him to stay there for too much longer. I flicked my wrist and the kitchen door shut firmly behind them, making Hermione and Ron jump. I raised a hand wordlessly and beckoned them over to the table. The came and sat. I turned back to face them, Harry across from me, Hermione to my right, Ron next to Harry.

"What about the plan to collect Regulus?" I asked tightly, the smile on my face as I looked at Harry painfully fake.

"We don't want to do it," Ron said bluntly, and I saw Hermione glance heavenward and Harry wince a little.

"We're not saying _never,_ just not _yet,"_ Harry interceded quickly when he saw my mouth starting to draw back. "With Umbridge to deal with, we've got to figure out how to get into the Ministry. This just isn't the time to be taking risks for… for someone we can't save."

I licked my lips and tried not to just throw up my hands in exasperation and walk out. Of all the times I tried to do the Gryffindor thing, to be brave and noble, and this was what it got me. The thing they weren't realizing was that we had the perfect setup to go and grab Regulus. With four people, plus Kreacher, we could draw lines of fire and completely surround ourselves in the stuff so that the Inferi couldn't touch us. That left one person to Summon Regulus from the depths, be he Inferi or corpse, and Kreacher to Apparate us out. Altogether, from the moment we stepped into the cave, it should barely take five minutes if we did it right.

"And you all feel this way?" I asked archly, peering at Ron and Hermione. I lingered on Hermione pointedly. "After we promised Kreacher?"

To her credit, Hermione looked slightly guilty. "You never gave him a time frame," she replied, and I huffed a laugh.

"You're correct, I didn't. I didn't think I needed one. I thought you all would jump at the chance to right a wrong and honor someone who gave their lives to try and bring You-Know-Who down." I fingered the edge of the open page of my book and flipped it shut with a snap. "Apparently, I was wrong."

"We want to!" Harry insisted. "And I'm glad you're the one that suggested it!" He really shouldn't read so deeply into that. "But it's just… is now really the best time?"

"Before he realizes the locket is missing?" I asked. "Yes, I would say so."

"Why would he even find out?" Ron protested.

"I doubt you can destroy part of a person's _soul_ and they won't know about it," I replied patronizingly. I shook my head. "That's not even the debate here. You're afraid," I said in amusement. It was funny to me, that sitting at a table as the only Slytherin among Gryffindors, I was the bravest one there.

"Of course we are!" Hermione insisted. "We're talking about a lake full of Inferi!"

"Who are very easily defeated by fire," I replied pointedly. "I've told you my plan for how to deal with them. There's no way they'd be able to reach us and with Kreacher we'd be gone in a flash."

Harry sighed and looked at me. "Rena, I know you've got a plan in everything, but I don't think you understand how dangerous what you're asking us to do is…"

I felt my expression fall into a blank slate and Harry winced as he saw it. "Did you forget that I was there with you, Harry? The Inferi may have grabbed you, but I went in the water, or did you miss that part? They dragged me down and they were coming from every direction! I was the one who had to get them off of you, I was the one who had to force the goblet down Dumbledore's throat! Don't you dare act like I don't know what we're walking in to!"

It was almost inaudible as Ron muttered, "Right, and I'm sure you loved that last bit."

Hermione stiffened up next to me and looked like she was praying I hadn't heard him. I had though, and my head snapped around to glare at Ron. "What did you say?" I growled.

"Rena," Harry said warningly.

"We all know you hated Dumbledore, so you should stop trying to pretend the cave was all doom and gloom for you!" Ron replied angrily, standing up. "Not all of us have forgotten that you're a murderer!"

The entire kitchen froze. My jaw was loose, my eyebrows raised. I clenched my jaw, tongue trailing across my lips, and rose as well. My expression was placid, but my eyes spat daggers as I calmly informed Ron, "If you call me that again, you will be my next victim." I swept my book from the table top, tucked it under my arms, and walked from the kitchen, rage humming under my skin.

()()()())()()(()()

As the door slammed shut behind Lorena, Hermione groaned and gave Ron and exasperated look. "Ronald…"

"Don't you Ronald me," he huffed, sinking back into his chair. "She was asking for it, always acting like she's the only one around here with a brain and we're all idiots for not blindly following her!"

"Rena can be bossy," Hermione admitted, "but you had to know how she'd react to that!"

"Bloody right I did, and that's my point!" Ron exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "She's a psychopath, and we don't need her with us!"

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my sister like that."

Ron blinked in surprise and turned to look at Harry, who was sitting with his fingers clenched on the arms of his chair. His eyes were closed, but they opened and turned at Ron. Behind his glasses his eye burned with rage and it was, for once, easy to tell that he was related to Lorena.

"Of course she's gonna blow up if you keep provoking her like that!" Harry continued angrily. "You're not helping the situation any more than she is! No wonder she threatened you and stormed off!"

"You're right, she threatened me!" Ron defended himself. "Whether you forgive her or not mate, she's killed, and I don't trust her to keep our safety in mind!"

Harry's eyes widened. "She'd never-"

"Not you!" Ron cut him off. "She'd never hurt you, but the rest of us? Can you really say for certain that she'll always look out for me and Hermione as well? That's dangerous, having a loose team member like that!"

"I wouldn't blame her, the way you've been treating her!" Harry protested.

"I trust her not to hurt us."

Both boys paused, looking at Hermione, who had thus far remained silent. She fidgeted uncomfortably under their stares but continued gamely. "Well, I do!"

"You're got to be mad," Ron said, looking awed. "You remember when she threw us out of her little secret clubhouse, how nasty she was to you? Now you're defending her?"

"That was a while ago, and she's apologized," Hermione explained. "What I don't think you realize Ron – and you too, Harry, to some extent – is that Lorena cares so much that she has to keep people at arm's length or losing them would break her."

"You're barmy-"

"It's basic psychology!" Hermione continued, undaunted. "Her parents died, Sirius died, her only remaining relatives were abusive… It's a perfect storm of trust and abandonment issues. Does it really surprise you, knowing that, that she's so cold to people even if she does care? I've seen her talk to Greengrass and Nott and she's no kinder to them than she is to anyone else and they're some of the Slytherins she trusts most."

Harry remembered Rena when they were kids, when it was them against the Dursleys. When Dudley punching them was a foregone conclusion for their day and it could easily go either way whether they'd get a meal or not. The fact was that a large portion of the punishments Lorena had taken had been meant for him until she stepped up and lashed out, redirected the anger to her. He'd forgotten how guilty that use to make him feel. He was older, he should have been taking care of her this whole time, but she'd just never seemed like she needed it.

Perhaps that was where so much of their relationship went wrong. He'd always assumed that his sister was happy, that she could handle herself and whatever life threw at her. He'd never stopped to consider that what if she couldn't? He wasn't there during the school year, so was it any surprise that she'd clung so tightly to the other Slytherins and that identity? They were all she had to support herself with if she needed to. Harry remembered how Lorena had explained to him that it was only after Malfoy played chess with her after the Triwizard Tournament that she had even considered having anything to do with him. What changed? The simple fact was that he'd taken care of her, and that was a rarity.

Harry could see where Ron was coming from, though. He'd admit that Lorena terrified him sometimes. She was so powerful and she had so few qualms about using that power to get what she wanted that sometimes he wondered just how successful she'd be as a Dark Lady. But Lorena never wanted anything bad for anyone who hadn't deserved it – Parkinson sprang to mind there. The worst things she'd done – up to and including murdering Dumbledore – had been to protect people she cared about. Thinking that way, Hermione's comments fit.

"Rena would never hurt us," Harry said firmly, giving Ron a stern look. "Any of us."

* * *

I knew it was a foolish idea to call him instead of letting him call me, but as I sought shelter in my room upstairs, the door spelled shut behind me, and flopped onto my bed a little more violently than was strictly necessary, the only thought in my infuriated head was that I needed to talk to someone and it needed to be him.

"Severus Snape," I ordered the mirror, and the moment I said it I winced, realizing I couldn't do this every time I had my feelings hurt. But with Snape set to be the next headmaster and it being relatively early in the morning I doubted there were any Death Eaters around.

Sure enough I recognized the headmaster's office behind Snape's head when he answered the call. I was half-surprised to see that nothing had changed, but after a moment I realized with exasperation that I shouldn't have been. Snape would never dare try and usurp Dumbledore. He wouldn't think himself worthy.

"What do I owe the pleasure of this call?" he asked coolly, setting the mirror to hang in the air in front of his face with a quick spell. His head hung and I realized as the tip of a quill danced along the bottom of the mirror that he was writing something out.

"How did you do it?" I demanded. "How did you spend time helping people you know hate you and wish you'd drop dead without wanted to strangle them?"

Snape paused in his writing and I saw him blink slowly before his hand moved to set the quill back in his inkpot. "You do it," he began slowly, "knowing that you are in the right no matter what they think. You do it because you have to. You do it because no one else can fill the roll you do. You do it because… the alternative is unthinkable."

"But what if they won't listen, even if what you're doing is the right thing?" I pressed. "And I mean morally right, not simply the most advantageous move."

Snape's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Then you take no prisoners and you make them hate you even more when you manipulate them into doing exactly what you want. This is a war, Potter, and you seem to have grasped it while the others haven't. This doesn't surprise me. You've been exposed to it far more than Granger or Weasley. I assume one of them is the source of this sudden and intense lien of questioning?"

"Weasley," I replied with a grimace. "Something's come up and I'm trying to do the right thing by Sirius, keep a promise I made, and they were all set to follow me, but now that the time has come they're faltering because it's apparently unduly dangerous."

"Is it unduly dangerous?"

"To an extent."

"Hm. Godric Gryffindor would be ashamed." I smirked and Snape continued, "But you must also consider exactly what I just told you – we're at war. I cannot fault you for bringing emotions into this fight, but you must ask yourself is this thing you're doing worth the possible loss you may face?"

I bit my lip. I had complete confidence in my plan. I'd seen the Inferi react to Dumbledore's firestorm spell. It was stronger than a normal fire spell, but the fire itself was what mattered and we'd all been able to cast that spell since we were twelve. With Kreacher along, who could Apparate us into and out of the cave in a flash, the errand shouldn't take more than five minutes. I knew that things could fall apart in less time than that but I really didn't think they would. I wasn't even sure the Inferi would try and stop us from taking Regulus's body. It wasn't what they were set to guard. If everything did fall apart, Kreacher would have us out of that cave before the Inferi could reach us with their slow, shambling walks.

What I couldn't get out of my head was Sirius's face the time he'd sat with me on my bed in Grimmauld Place and said that despite whatever Regulus had done, they were still brothers. The sadness in his eyes had shown how disappointed he was in his brother's actions but it didn't seem to have in any way marred the affection between them. Every time I tried to imagine what Sirius would do if he had known the truth about what happened to Regulus, all I could picture was him brushing past Dumbledore and his orders without fear and going to reclaim his brother. Most of the appallingly short life of Sirius Black had been spent in one prison or another. How could I not try and make up for some of that?

"Yes," I replied confidently. "It's worth it."

Snape nodded. "Then you have your answer. You will do what you will do and you will make Potter, and Granger, and Weasley go along with you. You have the strength and cunning to make it happen and you will do so to great effect, of that I have no doubt."

I smiled faintly. "Thank you sir, I needed to hear that." I hesitated to ask the question that sprung to my mind, but it was hardly a secret anymore that Amity and he were friendly. "How's Amity, sir? Last I spoke to her she seemed rattled."

If I hadn't been watching so closely, I wouldn't have noticed Snape's expression fall ever so slightly. "I don't believe Raincrow had realized until your last conversation that we were at war. Or at least, it hadn't quite sunk in. She worries about you."

I found myself correcting him, "About both of us, sir."

Snape smirked humorlessly. "Yes. Both of us. Ridiculous woman."

Somehow, the epithet sounded almost like an endearment.

* * *

 **Bit shorter, more of a team dynamics chapter than anything else. Ron's still wary of Rena and Hermione's at least understanding. Harry's acting like a brother, which is great. Next chapter we should be getting into the retrieval of Regulus and then planning to get the locket from the Ministry.**


	121. Retrieval

**I've had some people complaining that the last few chapters feel fillery, and to some they might. I've also had people tell me tat the last few chapters are some of their favorites. I think the problem is that the past few chapters have been focused on relationships and interactions between out merry band of campers instead of action. This will happen on occasion from here on out as tensions rise and the war starts to stress people. But I want to stress that this isn't true for every chapter the rest of the way out. There will be a lot more fighting and a lot more action, so even if it gets fillery to you, please hang in there. We'll get back to the Grand Camping Trip soon.**

* * *

I enjoyed power plays. This should come as no surprise, considering how much of my young life I'd had absolutely no power over even the smallest of things in my life. When to sleep, what to eat, what to wear, all were out of my hands thanks to the meager resources the Dursleys provided. And there was some little giddy part of me that felt like I was shoving it back in their faces whenever I made someone aware that I did have power and they did have to sit up and pay attention to what I had to say.

The next morning I was fully decided on following Snape's advice. Whether or not Ron, Harry, and Hermione had faith in their own magic and my ability to plan, I would make them go along with my idea. We needed this, I felt, after so much in-fighting. They wouldn't appreciate me forcing them to go along, but after it was done. After Regulus was reclaimed and put to proper rest, freed finally and completely from Voldemort's influence, it would be one of the biggest wins for morale we'd had in a while.

With that in mind I rose from my bed and dressed in high-waisted jeans, trainers, a button-front shirt, and my basilisk vest. While I doubted the Inferi would get close enough to be a problem, nor did they even have magic to attack me with, it made me feel better. Much in the way, I imagined, having armor made a knight feel far more confident even if they weren't going into battle. As a final touch I added one of Fred and George's Shield cloaks that would hopefully at least make it harder for the Inferi to get a decent grip on me if they did get close enough. It was for that same reason that my hair was pulled back and pinned up in a bun – no need to give them any trailing handles to grab.

I was, as usual, the first one up, but instead of me making breakfast for the others now Kreacher was bustling away in the kitchen preparing bacon, eggs, toast, and tea. I stepped inside and Kreacher was immediately at my side, offering a cup of tea. I took it gratefully and was pleased but not surprised to see that it was exactly how I liked it. These were things that house elves noticed.

I settled myself at the kitchen table and plucked my wand from my sleeve, tapping it absently on the tabletop as I walked back through my memories of the cave. The swim could be bypassed, thanks to Kreacher's ability to get us in and out, as could the blood paid to the gateway, which was once inconvenience out of the way. It would have been painful but not a problem, considering the potions I had. Still, I was glad I didn't have to bother.

The only potential problem I foresaw was if a Summoning charm wasn't enough to bring Regulus up. The locket was unable to be Summoned, but it was the cave's treasure, so that made sense. There was no reason for Voldemort to have applied a similar charm to the lake. He might have applied a counterspell to his Inferi to prevent them from simply being tossed away or yanked into a fire by any potential intruders, but that would have had to be done individually, and Voldemort clearly hadn't been back to the cave since Regulus went in, otherwise the locket switch would have been discovered. The only thing to stop us as if a blanket shield had been applied to the lake itself, which seemed completely overkill. Then again, there was no accounting for paranoia.

"Mistress is dressed to fight," Kreacher noted as he approached with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast with jam, and bacon. He set the plate on the table in front of me with magic and lingered by my chair, fidgeting slightly. "Why is Mistress dressed to fight?"

"Mistress intends to fetch Regulus today," I replied calmly, leaning forwards and picking up a piece of bacon. Perfectly crunchy and delicious. "Wonderful, Kreacher, thank you."

Kreacher beamed, though it wasn't the most attractive look on his wrinkled face. "Thank you Mistress, thank you!" he said, bowing so low that his nose brushed the kitchen floor. I smirked and began to eat.

"You're welcome, Kreacher."

The others staggered in not long afterwards. Ron made a beeline for the table and sat down, looking at Kreacher expectantly and a touch demandingly. I narrowed my eyes, recalling our fight last night. I didn't appreciate him expecting Kreacher to tend to him. I wondered whether Ron had ever in his life had to feed himself, between Mrs. Weasley and Hogwarts, and doubted it highly.

"Thank you Kreacher," Hermione said sweetly as she took a cup of tea from the house elf. To his credit, Kreacher didn't reply, but he did give a strange sort of head bob that might have been a nod of acknowledgement.

"So I've been thinking about how we're going to get a hold of the locket from Umbridge," Harry began as Kreacher's magic sent plates of food and cups of tea over to settle on the table. He sat down next to Ron while Hermione joined me. I saw her cast a glance at my dueling vest nervously and she met my eye, but she didn't seem keen to ask, at least not yet. Likely she didn't need to and she had already guessed my intentions.

"We'll need to watch the Ministry and figure out how people come and go," Ron mused around bites of toast. "I don't suppose this place would be a good way in." He nodded to the fireplace.

"Likely the Ministry will have blocked the connection by now," I agreed. "And I'm not eager to test to see if they have or not."

"We'll need to watch the entrances into the Ministry and find out what sort of security measures there are," Hermione continued. "That way we can figure out a way around them."

"It'll be a stakeout, then," Harry said decisively.

"Alternatively," I countered. "We could just ask your dad." I looked at Ron pointedly.

"But how would we get a message to him?" Ron retorted, a little bit more aggressively than was really warranted. "There are Death Eater's watching the house and you've just said that the Floo's probably cut off."

I blinked and resisted the urge to call Ron an idiot. In his defense, he had no idea about the mirrors I had made that had been distributed among the Order. "The same way I keep in touch with the entire Order, my Basilisks, Amity, and Ginny," I replied calmly, and reached into my pocket, plucking out the mirror. I flipped it open and announced, "Arthur Weasley." It was still early, he should be at home now, having breakfast like we were before he went into the office. Of course, I had no way of knowing if Mr. Weasley carried the mirror as religiously as I did.

It appeared he did, because after only a few seconds the image of my face in the mirror swam and reformed into the balding head of Mr. Weasley.

"Lorena!" he cried, and seemed surprised it was me. "I'd assumed it was Kingsley. Is Ron with you? Are you alright?"

"We're fine, Mr. Weasley," I replied as Ron shot up out of his chair and rounded the table, leaning over my shoulder to look at his dad. An expression of relief showed. Hermione's parents had been sent off to safety and Harry and I had none, so Ron was the only one left with a family to worry about, especially since they'd so openly declared for Dumbledore.

"Hey dad!" he greeted as Hermione leaned over curiously and gave the mirror and interested look. She was probably trying to figure out what sort of spells I'd used. Harry got up from his chair and joined Ron behind me, looking over my other shoulder.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley cried, and came into view, doing the same to her husband, head appearing over his shoulder. Mr. Weasley held the mirror out further so that we could clearly see them both. "Oh thank Merlin, you're all alive and safe! Remus said that he'd seen you but it's nothing quite like actually laying eyes on you four-"

"Molly," her husband chided gently.

"Don't 'Molly' me, Arthur, I want them back home now!" Mrs. Weasley insisted. "What were you four thinking, running off like that? You should all be here where we can keep you safe, not out… out gallivanting across the country! What about your education? What about your futures?"

"I don't expect we'll have much of one if he's running the world," I replied pointedly. "None of us are coming back, Mrs. Weasley, we have a job to do that's far too important to give up."

"Well then let the Order help!" she pressed. "We'd all be happy to do whatever it is that you need done, it's not as if you're alone-"

"The job was given to us for a reason, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied gently. "Dumbledore wanted it to be us."

Mrs. Weasley's face crumpled. "I don't see why you have to listen to him. Dumbledore is gone, and… and… and you four need to be protected."

"We're capable of taking care of ourselves, mum," Ron muttered, ears going red. "We're all adults…"

"Barely!" she shrieked. "Barely adults, and that's hardly old enough to be out running around playing hero!"

"We're not playing at anything, we're doing what needs to be done," I said somewhat irritably. We needed information, not a lecture. I had other things that I needed to do today and listening to Mrs. Weasley try and convince us to come back to the Burrow like it was in any way safer than Grimmauld Place wasn't something I had any interest in spending my time on.

"Yes, dear, I know you're very capable," Mrs. Weasley said dismissively. "But this is a bit different from anything you've ever done-"

"I'm sorry, I must have missed you dueling against Death Eaters and facing down Voldemort while I was… dueling Death Eaters… and facing down Voldemort," I said bluntly, and Mrs. Weasley blinked.

"Now that's hardly fair," Mr. Weasley said sharply.

"We called for information, not lectures, not insinuations that we're children who don't know what we're doing," I replied calmly.

Mrs. Weasley frowned heartily while her husband sighed and looked at us tiredly. "What do you need?"

"Arthur!" she protested.

"They're going to do it no matter what we say, and I'd rather they know what they're about to walk into if I can help," he explained.

Before another fight could break out, Harry announced, "We need to know how to get into the Ministry."

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened and Mrs. Weasley's mouth dropped open. "And why would you need to know that?" he demanded. "Tell me you're not going to break in again?"

"I could, but I'd be lying," I replied lightly. "There's something in the Ministry we need."

"Tell me what it is, I can get it. Or Tonks, or Kingsley," he offered.

"Tonks is already in hot water for marrying a werewolf and we don't want there to be a chance of any suspicion coming down on Kingsley," Hermione countered. "And, no offense Mr. Weasley, but you're not in a good place to get a hold of what we need."

"We need to know how to get into the Ministry. Security measures, identity checks, that sort of thing," I clarified. "For example, I'd assume you can't just Floo in?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Only highly-ranked members of the Ministry have their homes connected to the Floo. For everyone else, we have to use these special coins to get into a public bathroom. You… climb in a loo bowl and flush yourself in." Mr. Weasley wrinkled his nose. I didn't blame him. No doubt before the Ministry overtook the bathroom it had been in use, and I didn't have faith in the cleanliness of the place.

"So we just need these coins, then?" Ron asked. "How d'you get them?"

"There are bowls of them inside of all the departments that are kept full," Mr. Weasley replied. "I could grab some extras and get them to you."

"The distribution isn't more tightly controlled than that?" I frowned in confusion. He shook his head.

"The concern is that people, interns especially, would use not having a coin as an excuse not to come to work, so they're easily available and you can grab them by the handful."

"Looks like being taken over hasn't made the Ministry any more effective," Hermione noted with slight disdain.

I bit my lip, considering. It wasn't likely that Umbridge kept the locket in her office, but if she'd taken a fancy to it like Mundungus said, she may routinely wear it. In that case, it would be far easier to get a hold of it in the Ministry, when we could grab it and vanish into the pools of employees. If it was in her house, I doubted she had defenses set up on her fireplace for people coming from the Ministry for practicality's sake, which would mean the Ministry fireplace was our best in to get inside her house and search it.

"We'll need those coins, as many of them as you can get us without raising suspicion," I explained to Mr. Weasley. "Don't take them all out of your department's bowl, they'll notice if it's suddenly half empty. See if you can come up with excuses to visit other, larger departments over the course of a few days, snag coins from them where it won't be noticed."

Mr. Weasley leaned back in his chair a little, like he was impressed by how quickly I'd come up with a plan. "Where can I meet you to pass them along?"

"you won't," I replied. "We're trying to stay indoors as much as we can and the fewer people who know where we are, the better." I licked my lips. "In three days I'll send Kreacher to you to collect what you've got, and I'll let you know if we're going to need more."

"I don't see why you can't tell us where you are," Mrs. Weasley said somewhat petulantly. "It's not as if _we'd_ turn you in…"

"But if you're given Veritaserum you can honestly say you don't know," I replied calmly. "And nobody will be able to compel the truth from you."

"Three days?" Mr. Weasley repeated before his wife could say more. "I'll try to get as many as I can and I'll talk to Tonks about grabbing a few coins from her department as well if she can."

"Good," I nodded in approval.

"I love you guys," Ron muttered, clearly sensing the conversation winding down, and again his ears went red.

"We love you too Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley replied somewhat tearfully. "Be safe, all of you."

"We will," Harry assured her, and I snapped the lid of my mirror shut with a sharp click that echoed around the kitchen. With a wave of my wand, the emptied breakfast dishes went sailing towards the edge of the room. I rose and Harry and Ron retreated from the back of my chair as I stepped away from the table and looked across the room to Kreacher, who was lingering nearby hopefully.

"It's time, Mistress?" he asked happily.

"It's time," I replied with a smile. "Kreacher, if you'd be so kind as to Apparate me?"

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded. I looked at him and smiled blandly.

"Me? Oh, I'm going to get Regulus."

Harry groaned and Ron rolled his eyed. Wincing, Hermione began, "Lorena, we talked about this."

"No, I think you more talked at me," I corrected her. "And the fact that you don't want to accompany me doesn't mean that I can't go and do what needs to be done on my own."

"Are you mad?" Harry demanded. "Going into that cave by yourself?" He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. "It's suicide, Rena!"

"It's really not," I retorted, shrugging his hands off. "We know the rules of the place now, we know how it works. Don't disturb the water and if you do, have fire ready. It's simple as that. I am going, and you can't stop me. All you can do, if you're so worried about my safety, is come along."

"You're manipulating us!" Ron accused, and I scoffed.

"Of course I am. According to you, that's all I do!"

"Maybe there's a better way to go about this," Hermione offered, but I shook my head.

"Kreacher, we will be leaving in five…" He hurried to my side and grabbed my hand, ready to Apparate me away to the lake. "Four…" Harry gave me an exasperated and annoyed look but took my other hand. "Three…" Hermione snatched Harry's shoulder. "Two…" All eyes lingered on Ron. "One." Ron's hand closed around Hermione's the same time as Kreacher spun in place and we were all sucked away.

It was a shock going from the warm, bright kitchen to the dark, cool interior of the cave. Kreacher gave a pained whine and stepped back from the edge of the water. I could see him trembling faintly. The last time he'd been here, he'd been forced to watch his beloved Master Regulus be dragged under the water. Ron and Hermione, having never seen the place before, looked around and, almost in tandem, pressed closer to Harry and I, oppressed by the aura of the place.

"Is that where the locket was?" Hermione asked, lighting her wand and raising it. Kreacher had settled us on the stone island in the middle of the lake, which was good and bad. It gave us room enough to spread out and stay out of each other's way, but it also meant that we were surrounded if the Inferi started coming. Still, I'd take the maneuverability over being jammed onto the thin ledge around the edge of the lake where a wrong step could send one of us pitching into the water.

The pedestal was the same as it had been. The crystal goblet that Dumbledore had conjured was gone, the spell broken when the man passed, more than likely. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to see that it was once more filled to the brim with the phosphorescently glowing potion that I had poured down Dumbledore's throat. Like a mirage, between one blink and the next, I could see Dumbledore withering against the stone while I stood over him and lied to his face, pouring the stuff into his mouth. Then it was gone and I pursed my lips tightly, resisting the urge to shudder.

"Spread out in a triangle around me," I ordered, my voice echoing slightly in the cavern. "Kreacher, you stay by me. Anything starts going wrong, everyone draws back to us and Kreacher takes us home."

Hermione nodded and Harry grimly took point, coming within a few small steps of the edge of the lake. Ron and Hermione took points behind me and raised their wands.

"Everyone's responsible for one side of the triangle," I explained.

"Smaller area to cover makes the spell easier to maintain," Hermione reasoned, and I nodded.

"Everybody ready?"

"No," Ron replied snarkily, but he gripped his wand a little tighter in readiness.

Three voices called out the same spell and dragged their wands through the air. A somewhat lopsided triangle of fire appeared around all of us, hot and blazing low to the ground for now. At the first sign of trouble, they could urge the flames into an inferno.

I raised my own wand and pointed at the lake, praying Voldemort wasn't quite as paranoid back when he made this place's defenses as he was now. Part of me hesitated. Whatever state Regulus was in, it probably wasn't going to be pretty. By now he'd be nothing but a skeleton, but I had no way of knowing if the lake would have scattered him or not. It was going to be wretched to watch no matter what, so it was best to just get it over with.

" _Accio Regulus Black,"_ I pronounced. For a moment nothing happened, and my heart sank. There was no way I'd be able to keep my promise to Kreacher, because I'd die before I went back in that water.

"I'm glad we came all this way for nothing," Ron grunted, and started to lower his wand.

The water several yards out from the island, off to Harry's right, exploded and a trail of bones, some still with tattered bits of cloth clinging on and dripping, shot out of the water. But that wasn't all. The water in the lake was roiling as the trail of bones began to coalesce into a pile in front of me. The Inferi was coming, and as soon as the last bone fell to the ground by my feet the first ones began to shamble free of the lake.

"Hold them, just for a second!" I yelled, and knelt down, flicking my wand and muttered. Fire so hot it burned blue and white streamed from the tip of my wand and the bones began to crack and turn to ash. The steps of the Inferi made horrible, squelching slaps against the stone and Ron shouted in surprise as the first of them appeared.

"Stay focused!" Hermione warned him, raising her wand higher and urging her fire hotter.

"M-Master Regulus," Kreacher croaked, tears in his bulbous eyes and snot dripping from his long nose as Regulus's body was consumed by the flames.

"Hurry up, Rena!" Harry barked from his point, brandishing his wand at the Inferi. They were gathering a few feet from the edge of the triangle, groaning and dripping, some of them dropping clumps of hair or bits of flesh as they came, eyes white and sightless. Some of them pressed at the barrier and drew their limbs back with unearthly howls when they were scorched. Those who tried fled back to the safe coolness and darkness of the water.

"Start drawing back!" I ordered as the body dissolved into a neat pile of ash. The center became hotter, the crackling of the fire closer, as the other three drew tighter. I fumbled in the pocket of my robe and drew out the urn I'd transfigured from a metal fixture in the house. The ash was guided into the mouth of the urn. The fire was blazing only a couple yards away and I could see Harry looming over me out of the corner of my eye as I worked. The last of the ash trickled in and I slammed the lid on it.

"Kreacher, get us out of here!"

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all reached back and laid hands on my shoulders, keeping their wands high. I tucked the urn to my chest in one hand and reached out with the other to Kreacher, who grabbed my wrist firmly. A second later we were twisting and crushed in a too-small pipe and then we were back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, all of us kneeling and panting.

"That… was awful," Harry grunted.

"Please tell me you got him?" Ron demanded, straightening up and settling back on his heels, his wand abandoned on the ground by his knees. I held up the urn and gave a weak, shaky laugh, nodding. "Thank Merlin."

"What a terrible place," Hermione wheezed, the heat having frizzed her hair badly. She twisted around to sit on her rear and began to pat her curls, trying to calm it down.

"Mistress is a good mistress," Kreacher sobbed, dropping onto his hands and knees and my side and lowering his forehead to the ground so that his over-long nose was crushed against the stone. "Mistress returned Master Regulus safely, gave Master Regulus a proper rest! Kreacher will serve Mistress faithfully until she cuts off his head and mounts it on the wall!"

I blinked incredulously. "Let's… assume I'm not going to do that."

* * *

Regulus's urn was settled on the nightstand in his room and the door shut for now, with Kreacher promising to dust it every day. Lorena was up in her room, likely planning something, and Ron had passed out early that particular night. Hermione and Harry were sitting up in the parlor with a fire crackling.

Hermione glanced over at Harry hesitantly. There was something she'd been wanting to bring up for a few days now but with the close quarters of the house and the tempers already flaring between them she'd been wary and unable to find a good time. Now was the first opportunity she'd had, and she had no idea how Harry as going to take what she had to say.

"She's getting worse," Hermione murmured gently, looking to Harry, who was staring into the flames. They reflected in his glasses. She squared her shoulders and lifted her jaw, ready for Harry to lash out like he had at Ron the last time he'd bad-mouthed Rena, but Harry didn't.

He sighed and replied wearily, "I know."

"You know?" Hermione replied, surprised. Harry glanced at her, emerald eyes becoming visible, and smiled wryly.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed just because she's my sister?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not that, it's just… well you've been harsh on Ron lately."

"Because he keeps pulling out the same arguments," Harry said firmly. "My sister… she killed Dumbledore, and no matter what I told the press or the Aurors… I don't think it was planned between them." Harry dragged his hands through his hair, making the back even messier than usual. "She wanted to kill those Death Eaters, too. And the ones out in the square."

"Ron suggested killing the ones in the diner," Hermione reminded him, though privately she was also shocked at that, though she shouldn't have been. Lorena was right, Ron was a strategist, and taking the Death Eaters off the board permanently was their best play.

"That's not what worries me, though," Harry admitted. "I've always known that Rena was a little… a little more vindictive, a little cleverer and meaner than me. She's always been like that, she used to try and get back at the Dursleys any way she could, it used to eat her up for days if she had to let a punishment pass. But lately she's been more… commanding. Angrier." He looked up at her. "You're right. She's getting worse."

"I remember all those stories that used to run in the _Prophet_ during the tournament, about how Rena was some Dark Lady in the making," Hermione recalled. "I never believed them though. Not then."

"And now?" Harry asked, and Hermione could hear the nervousness in his voice as he asked for her opinion. There was no denying that all of them had changed and grown over the last few years. They'd had no choice but to mature. The question was whether they'd changed for good or bad.

Hermione began, "Back then I was certain she wouldn't do anything Dark because of you."

Harry blinked. "Because of me?"

"Even when you were on the outs, she always took into account how you would react to her actions," Hermione mused, thinking back to all the times she'd seen Lorena glance Harry's way. It was just a cursory sweep, never ever lingering, but she did it so often in Harry's direction that Hermione knew it had to be on purpose. "You're her brother, how could she not? But now… it's like she stopped caring how you see her. She'd fighting you more on moral things, she's started taking command when you're the _de facto_ leader here-"

Hermione wasn't at all surprised when Harry cut her off and began, "I'm not-"

"Boy Who Lived, remember?" Hermione ribbed lightly. "It's a change but I don't know if I'd say – for certain – that it was a bad thing."

"Why not?" Harry asked somewhat desperately. "Every time I look out at the square I'm wondering if I'll see the Death Eaters there or if Rena's snuck off and killed them! I can't control her!"

"And you shouldn't," Hermione scolded gently. "But I don't know if it's that she's running off down a darker path… or that she's scared."

"Scared?" Harry repeated incredulously. "She's never scared. Rena's been tortured and abused and fought against but I don't think I've ever seen her scared except… except maybe in the graveyard," he finished softly. "In front of Vol – in front of _him."_

Hermione shook her head helplessly. For all Harry was her brother, he missed a lot of the walls she put up, though he caught a fair few of them. "So much of her personality is faked," she corrected him. "Or at least exaggerated. I think she's doing this to protect you. And us," she added as an afterthought, and Harry stared at her blankly.

"Protect us?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think she's stopped caring what you or any of us think of her… so long as we all come through alive. And if making us hate her is the cost of that, I think she's willing to pay it."


	122. Ministry and Strategy

**I want to say a couple of things before we get into this. Some light housekeeping stuff. Okay, so, there's a new chapter of Severity up, so anyone interested in SnapeXAmity should go check that out. They're going shopping for Lorena's birthday present. Second order of business, is that we have so much going on at Hogwarts between the Basilisks, the DA, and Snape's there as well. Would you guys want me to do in a week or two a chapter devoted to what's going on at Hogwarts? Maybe one or two spread out through the year? It's an idea I'd been toying with, so let me know if anyone's interested. Next week we'll be raiding the Ministry, so be prepared for that!**

* * *

I sat at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, which was covered in random papers and books of mine and Hermione's, along with today's newspaper and a pouch containing the coins that Mr. Weasley had gotten for us, a hefty sack of them that would cover almost twenty trips in and out of the Ministry.

"Polyjuice potion," Hermione said as she shuffled through the maps and notes that we'd been working with Ron to build up over the past few days. He was the only one of us with any real inside knowledge of how the Ministry worked, and he and Mr. Weasley had been our resources for safety measures, maps of the different floors, details of relationships between departments, and who in particular we needed to watch out for.

"That will be the best way in, if we look like someone they know," she reasoned. I shook my head.

"But if we're playing at being someone else there's the problem of learning mannerisms well enough to pull it off, learning personal details, possibly getting pulled into random Ministry activity. Then there's the matter of getting the other person out of the way and keeping them out of the way," I countered.

"What's the alternative?" Ron asked, moving a couple of papers out of the way to prop his elbow on the table.

"Go in as interns," I explained. "We alter our features enough to not be recognized and then we go in as interns that don't exist. We can go in multiple times as different people and poke around inside. Don't you remember how Percy used to whine about never being seen as an intern?"

"He did say that no one took notice of him unless they needed coffee," Ron recalled.

"And that would grant us access to almost every department," Hermione agreed. "But what if someone mentions that they haven't seen us before?"

"Depends on where you are. Just say you're from a different department and you're looking for some memo and get out of there."

"That could work," Hermione agreed thoughtfully. "But they'd have to be good disguises."

"We're decent enough at Transfiguration to manage it," I replied dismissively.

"How would we communicate inside the Ministry though?" Hermione asked. "If I'm three levels up from Ron and someone catches me, what happens?"

I frowned. "I don't think we should go in as pairs. Only one at a time."

"That's asking to get caught!" Ron protested, but I shook my head.

"They're expecting a group. One nervous new intern isn't going to raise any red flags. We set up times. Either we're back by a certain time or we know the person inside has been captured. A half hour grace period for any incidentals, but after that, we assume they've been found out."

"That sounds risky," Hermione winced. "I don't like the idea of going in alone."

"She's right, though," Ron admitted reluctantly. "They'll be expecting three or four of us. One new intern isn't going to raise any red flags."

"We never send in Harry though," I said firmly, and looked around the table. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," Hermione replied instantly. "It's too dangerous. Not until we know for sure that Umbridge is wearing the necklace."

"That's really all we need to know, right?" Ron asked. "If she wears it all the time or if it's at her house."

"And if she wears it all the time, then we go in en masse, relieve her of it, and bolt," I finished. "If she doesn't, then it's a matter of getting to the right paperwork to find out what sort of defenses are around her house and if any of them would stop us from Flooing in."

"We wouldn't even need to spend that much time in the Ministry in that case," Hermione mused. "Just get close enough to Umbridge to see if she's wearing it and get out."

"Exactly," I nodded approvingly. "A few minutes, an hour maximum, and then get out. As little time as possible means as little risk as possible."

"It would be ideal if one of us could get a copy of her schedule," Ron noted. "Then we'd know where to find her."

I agreed. "That would make it even easier to get a hold of her instead of wandering around checking all the places she might be."

"She's an important Ministry official, she much keep an appointment book or something like that."

We all paused as the upstairs door opened the closed. Now it was far less jarring, without that awful troll leg umbrella stand to trip over or Mrs. Black to scream and shriek. It was Harry returning from scoping out the Ministry entrance, the closest I was willing to let him come until it was time to retrieve Umbridge's necklace, when invariably something would go wrong and we'd need as much backup as we could get.

"Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner," croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

"What's happened?" Ron asked apprehensively. Harry walked over and tossed down a newspaper in front of me. A familiar hook-nosed face stared up at me, looking deeply disapproving, and I knew what the article was about before I had even looked at the headline. I picked the paper up and unfolded it with a shake, scanning the article.

"So it happened then," I said baldly. "They made Snape headmaster of Hogwarts."

"What?" Ron demanded loudly.

"And the Carrows will be teaching… Defense and Muggle Studies," I continued reading, wrinkling my nose. "Somehow I expect those subjects will be getting a bit of an overhaul."

"Wait, you're not surprised?" Harry asked, staring at me. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

I nodded. "Greengrass told me. It's good though. I can get in contact with Snape to find out what's going on with the school on a management level and not a student level. Also, he'll hopefully be able to direct the Carrows away from anything too violent."

"Will he, though?" Ron challenged belligerently. "It's Snape. Why would he care if the Carrows laid into, say, Neville? Or Luna? Or _Ginny!_ "

"I've got Ginny and Daphne working together to coordinate the DA and my Basilisks as much as possible," I informed him coolly. "Don't worry, Ginny will be taken care of. I made it clear that I want her safe. And as for Snape, regardless of what Gryffindor prejudice you hold against him, he does actually care about the survival of the students he's teaching. The Order may have all but shut him out," something I was still mad about, a charge that had been led by Moody and Kingsley, "but that doesn't mean that he's not still on our side."

"The Carrows," Harry said bitterly. "They were there the night Dumbledore died."

"And I have no doubt that Muggle Studies will be more like Propaganda 101," I agreed grimly. "I'll get in contact with Daphne over the next few days and see what's changed and help coordinate efforts between the two groups to keep most people safe. Ginny already has plans to reach out to the younger years in the other houses and Daphne and Nott are going to make a play to bring the new Slytherins into the Basilisks as soon as possible."

"Why?" Ron grumbled. "The snakes will be safe."

"Because we'd like to prevent indoctrination as much as we can," I informed him shortly, tossing the paper aside and dragging the book linked to the Basilisks towards me. I flipped through until I saw pages with fresh ink on them and smiled proudly. "Looks like some of my boys managed to get together quite a stock of healing potions." I trailed my finger down the impressive inventory they'd managed to cook up over the summer and smuggle into the school. "Nott is already planning meetings and Daphne has a list of people that are under our protection from other houses."

"You got all of that planned out before we left?" Harry asked incredulously, and I scoffed.

"No, don't be silly. Most of this they did on their own, I just made our goals known and they followed," I replied. "Simple as that."

* * *

I wasn't surprised when that night as I lay in bed I felt the mirror heat up in my palm under my pillow. I reached out and flicked on the lamp with a wave of my hand before pulling out the mirror and opening it up, smiling when Draco's face greeted me surrounded by the familiar green drapery of the Slytherin dorm beds. It said a lot that I didn't even think to ask if he'd silenced the area around him, I just knew that he had.

"It's good to see you," I greeted softly, squirming up in bed to press my back against the headboard, adjusting my pillow into the small of my back.

"It's good to see you too," he replied, and Draco seemed oddly happy. After a moment though I realized why.

"Are you glad to be away from the Manor?" I asked him knowingly, and he chuckled. His voice was a little husky with tiredness, but there was a small spark of freedom in his eyes that made me smile wider.

"Is it wrong that I am? I know my parents are still there with him but I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time," he admitted, taking a deep, chest-expanding breath to illustrate. "There's no one looking over my shoulder and no mission hanging over my head. It's just another year. Well," he faltered, "almost."

"Almost," I agreed. "The Carrows."

Draco shuddered. "There was a celebration last night. You should have heard the way those two were talking about treating half-blood students, all the things they'd be able to get away with doing to them. They were going on and on about 'toughening up the next generation' by teaching them Dark magic and 'showing them the barbarism of Muggles.'"

"As I expected, then," I said dully, before shaking my head. "No, we're not going to talk about them, we're going to keep the mood light."

"For once," Draco replied with a quirk of his lips, and I chuckled.

"For once," I repeated. "For example, the amount of Death Eaters sitting outside Grimmauld Place right now is hilarious. It's like they think we're about to march out with our trunks and owls and try to head for King's Cross."

"I like to think you're a little smarter than that," Draco commented. I feigned offense.

"A little?"

"Alright, you're bloody brilliant," he laughed, and it was so genuine and expression after seeing so much darkness on his face his last few calls that it made my heart hurt. "Tell me how you're doing."

"I'm doing…" Habitually I started to say fine, but fine didn't seem like something that was even remotely appropriate to apply when the plans to break into the Ministry were still scattered over the kitchen table one floor down. I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my palm, scrunching my eyes shut for a moment as I fought for a word. Normally I was so good with them, but I didn't have a word for when you were so used to being on edge that it was starting to feel normal for your nerves to hum constantly.

"That well?" Draco asked wryly. I shook my head.

"I'm not… I'm not hurt, neither is Harry or the others, I'm alive, I'm eating, I'm sleeping. I'm as well as can be expected," I replied. I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little embarrassed and trying to fight my blush as I admitted, "I miss you."

Draco's face softened minutely, but the change was startling. The affection in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips, it was one of my favorite looks on him and it sent a stream of warmth trickling lazily through my veins, filling me up.

"I miss you too," he replied throatily. "We can talk like this through the mirrors, and with me at school it's not as hard to find a quiet moment, but it's still…"

"It's not the same," I agreed sadly. Draco nodded.

"Merlin, it's been months since I've held you," he said, and seemed saddened and a little surprised as he realized this. "It always surprised me, you know, once we started this. I never really expected you would be a cuddler." He smirked teasingly.

I raised an eyebrow. "I can stop if it bothers you so much."

"No," he replied a little too quickly, and now I was smirking and his cheeks were starting to pink.

"That's what I thought," I said smugly. I sighed and slid down so that I was laying back on the bed again, mirror held up over my face. "I love you," I murmured, and the words came so easily now it was like breathing, I didn't even have to think.

"I love you too, phoenix, I-"

"Rena? Are you still up?" I looked around sharply as my door cracked open. Harry was poking his head through the door, squinting a little. "I saw your light on and heard voices. Who called?" he asked, nodding to the mirror in my hand. I blinked and looked back at the reflection somewhat edgily. The look on Draco's face showed that he recognized my brother's voice and was as uncertain as I was.

"Erm, it's Draco," I said slowly, sitting back up. Harry's eyes widened slightly and I saw him fidget a little. "Do you… want to say hello?"

"I, uh… suppose?"

I squirmed over on the bed and Harry sat down, hauling his legs over the side to stretch out on the mattress next to me. I moved the mirror slightly so that Harry could see the reflection properly and he nodded a greeting.

"Malfoy."

"Potter. How, er, how are you?" Draco asked awkwardly.

"I'm… alright?" Harry replied. "You?"

"Alright."

"Ah. That's… good."

"Yeah. Good."

It was painfully clear that the two had no idea how to talk to each other when there were no insults to be thrown and no one else to react to them. I couldn't help but be a little amused even as I wondered if they would ever get better. I tried to imagine Christmases in the future, with stilted conversations between Harry and Draco over the dinner table, and despaired a little.

But Draco, bless him, lifted his head a little and narrowed his eyes. His voice grew in strength as he ordered my brother, "You take care of her for me, Potter. You keep her safe."

The look on Harry's face made me think that Draco had just earned himself a few points as my brother nodded seriously.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I will."

"Good," Draco said with satisfaction.

"I was on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Want anything?" Harry asked, and I shook my head.

"No thanks, I'm fine. Sleep well," I muttered, and kissed his cheek. Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed before getting up and heading out the door, pulling it firmly behind him. I heard Draco let out a heavy sigh and turned back to the mirror.

"Was that as awkward as I felt like it was?" he asked wryly, and I nodded, chuckling a little.

"You two seem to be doing better though," I encouraged. "Now that you're not actively trying to hate each other."

"Yeah, well, that does help," he grumbled, reaching up and dragging his fingers through his platinum hair. I sucked in a deep breath and admitted, "I don't want to say goodnight."

"I don't either," he replied. "There's a simple solution though."

"Which is?"

"We don't say goodnight." I blinked and Draco elaborated, "So maybe I can't hold you, but this is as close as we can come."

I considered the idea for a moment before nodding in agreement. Draco moved for his wand as I gestured to my lamp. Both of us doused our lamps, leaving Draco in darkness and me only vaguely lit by the streetlights outside on the square. I set the mirror on the nightstand with it angled so that Draco could still see me in the dimness even if I couldn't see him. After a little bit of shifting I was nestled under the covers and drew the blankets up to my shoulders. I could hear the soft sound of Draco breathing and after so long of having someone else in the room with me as I slept, if not even in the same bed, it was more relaxing than it had any reason to be.

"This is nice," I whispered into the darkness, and I heard Draco's quiet hum of agreement.

"It is. I think I could really get used to this."

"Don't."

"Huh?"

"I'd prefer you to get used to being in the bed with me, not a mirror away."

Draco didn't reply, but I swore I could _feel_ him smirking.

* * *

"I don't like this," Harry said firmly as he watched me stand before the bathroom mirror, wand moving in all directions as I Transfigured myself into someone else, someone completely unremarkable, someone nondescript enough to pass without notice.

"I didn't expect you would," I replied as I lengthened my nose a little. My hair had already turned a drab ash blonde and pulled back to a short bob framing my now-rounder face. My scars were covered in patches, my eyes turned a flat mud brown. My eyebrows were a little thicker and I had a thicker helping of freckles across my nose and cheeks. I could have been any random girl just out of Hogwarts.

"I should be going in with you!" Harry continued firmly. "I don't like the idea of you being in there alone!"

"I don't like the idea of you being anywhere near the Minstry when they're actively hunting you!" I replied sharply.

"They want you too!"

"Yes, but he wants me alive. You, he'll kill as soon as he has you. Even if I'm taken, I'd have a chance of staying alive, gathering information, escaping… Which is why," I added, reaching into my pocket and plucking out a silvery mirror copied from mine. Harry reached out a hand curiously and I smacked it into his palm. "I made you this. It's only linked to mine," I warned him. "But we'd be able to keep in touch even if one of us was captured."

"But what if this was taken from you?" Harry countered, waving the mirror in my face before sliding it into his pocket.

"It wouldn't be," I replied calmly. "I'd be searched, my wand and any potion bottles taken off of me, but they wouldn't find the mirror."

"You can't know that!"

"I can't," I agreed. "But I have a fairly good guarantee." I gave him a pointed look before slipping my own mirror from my pocket and sliding it into the neckline of my robes, settling it firmly inside my bra, adjusting a little so that it didn't show. "Since when do you know of a wizard who thought to look for something other than a wand?" I reminded Harry. "And since when could you hide a wand there? It's actually good that we're dealing with people who wouldn't think to follow Muggle methods of concealment." I rolled my eyes. "Do you know how many times I hid my salary from Amity's here when I came home so the Dursleys wouldn't see it?"

Harry hesitated, but I could see that I'd made my point, at least about us being able to keep in contact.

"Look, if I get captured I'll end up either in Azkaban, which I can escape from no problem, or in some Death Eater's place, in which case I can tell you where so you can come get me. I'll be fine," I insisted as I stepped away from the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my robes. They were the plain, cheap kind Ron recalled most of the interns fresh out of school wearing from his trips to the Ministry with Mr. Weasley.

"I still don't like it," Harry grumbled.

"But you trust me to be a better actor than Hermione?" I asked drily. "Remember Borgin and Burkes last summer?"

Harry chuckled at the memory of Hermione's wretched acting, the shopkeeper not fooled even for a moment. "Just be careful?" he urged, and I nodded, patting his cheek and sweeping from the bathroom. Harry followed me down the stairs and I reached the entrance where Hermione was waiting with the bag of coins for the entrance into the Ministry. I took them from her and tucked them into my pocket. My own ever-present pouch was tucked away in the pocket on my other side, full of little bits and bobs that might help if there were an incident.

"I know the logic, but I still don't like the idea of you going in alone, or any of us," Hermione said nervously, biting her lip. I shook my head.

"It's safer this way. Better we lose one than all of us," I reminded her before turning for the door and stepping out onto the front stoop. There were a few Death Eaters still lingering there with exhausted posture and hangdog expressions. My lips thinned. I still wanted to do something about them but I had promised Harry that I wouldn't.

Instead I turned on the spot, vanishing from the front stoop and reappearing in an alleyway not too far from the bathrooms in Whitehall that led into the Ministry of Magic. I wondered if the Muggles who had business in the area had wondered about the sudden massive influx of people making their way to the toilets in full work attire and never coming out, but decided that the Ministry had probably thought to put up Notice-Me-Not spells. Or, more likely, they were relying on Muggle insistence on not seeing anything out of the ordinary to keep their secret.

I joined the queue outside the ladies, which was thankfully moving along at a rather quick pace. I ended up behind a small, motherly woman with wispy gray hair wearing a pinstriped suit. She was fidgeting with one of the Ministry coins, rolling it between her fingers anxiously. I decided that this particular intern, Miss Jenny Greentree, was a kindly Hufflepuff who would of course ask if she was alright.

With a whispered spell I produced from my wand a wrapped peppermint candy and tapped the woman in front of my on the shoulder. She flinched a little in surprise and turned to look at me questioningly.

"P-Pardon?"

I offered her the peppermint with a sweet smile and soft eyes. "You look like you could use a treat to relax you. If I'm not overstepping," I added quickly. "Something wrong?"

The witch's face relaxed slightly into something like gratitude as she took the candy. "Thank you. It's just… well, you see I'm in the Improper Use of Magic Office," she explained, "but I keep being sent to take notes for the Muggle-born Registration Commission. Not that I have a problem with it!" she hastened to say, with a fear that made me think speaking out against the new regime was not done. "But I'd… I'd be happier doing what I was hired to do."

"And you're worried you'll be sent back down today?" I asked her curiously. Mafalda nodded.

"Yes, I am." She paused, her expression going a little sharper as she looked me up and down. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize you. Which department are you with?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jenny Greentree," I introduced myself, offering her a hand. She took it and shook. "I've just landed an internship in the Beast, Being, and Spirit Division."

"Well, good luck with that," Mafalda said as she stepped through the door into the bathroom, where the almost constant sound of flushing made it difficult to hold a conversation. "I do hope you stay on, the Ministry could use more good people." She patted my hand and hustled off to a stall, sliding her coin into a slot on the door and shutting herself inside. I noticed the lock on one stall pop back into the open position in time with a roaring flush and stepped up, inserting my own coin and stepping inside. I wrinkled my nose as I regarded the toilet. Frankly, it was grimy enough that I'd have been wary enough using it for its original purpose, the idea of climbing inside didn't hold any appeal. Thankfully, when I climbed awkwardly in the toilet bowl – and act I'd definitely never thought I'd do – my shoes and socks stayed pleasantly dry. I reached up and gripping the handle, instinctively holding my breath before tugging the handle.

It was a sensation not unlike Apparation, of being squeezed down a tube that one was entirely too small for. I appeared in one of the fireplaces that lined the Atrium and my eyes instinctively sought out the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren, a lie, but a pretty one and one I'd been present for the destruction of during our foray in the Department of Mysteries. I looked to see if it had been rebuilt.

It hadn't. It was outright gone. The admittedly over-optimistically-named fountain had been replaced by a massive monument made out of black stone. A well-dressed witch and wizard sat on what I took at first to be elaborately-carved thrones. Between one blink and the next, however, I saw the faces in the carvings. The seats were made of the bodies of Muggles, twisted and bent and broken, depicted nude with stupid expressions on their faces. Engraved in foot-high letters were the words Magic is Might.

I wanted to stop and gape in disbelief at the massive and disturbing monument of pure propaganda but if I was truly an intern then I wouldn't be surprised by its appearance. I averted my eyes and made my way to the lifts at the opposite end of the Atrium like I'd been doing it for months and crammed in with several other Ministry employees. I had already decided to get off at level 2, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as they would be the likeliest place to find something going to level 1, my excuse for getting near Umbridge.

I squeezed off the elevator with a few other witches and wizards and made my way down the hallway, head high, back straight, of course I belonged there, why would you even ask such a silly thing? I noticed another young-looking employee, harried, wearing cheap robes, holding a stack of paperwork, and adjusting my course subtly, heading for them. The man's head was tilted down, trying to make sure his pile didn't topple, and he didn't notice when my foot hooked out until it caught his ankle. He went down in a flurry of paper and I barely caught him before he himself hit the ground. A few people glanced over, but rolled their eyes and muttered something about kids and not looking where they were going before getting on with their days.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I cried, steadying the wizard and brushing his robes back into place. "I swear, I trip over air sometimes, that was completely my fault. Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine," he said, looking at the papers scattered across the floor in exasperation. He glanced at me hopefully. "Could you…?"

"Oh, of course!" I replied and dropped to my knees to help him gather up the papers. I was careful to glance at each one and see what it was before adding it to the pile. I passed them all back except for one form with glowing magical tabs on it asking for signatures. It was from someone in the Auror department, urgent attention Muggle-born Registration Commission, requesting the recruitment of additional forces to keep up with the orders to track and detain any Muggle-borns fleeing from their summons'. That was subtly tucked into my robes.

I said my goodbyes to the wizard and, for the sake of not ending up on the same lift as him, made a circuit around several desks, pretending to be absorbed in the paperwork I'd stolen to avoid conversation. I dodged a couple of Aurors in a heated debate and listened in.

"I'm saying it's overstepping!" one heavily-muscled wizard was insisting. The face that he was missing his pinky finger and his companion had a long scar across his jaw that his stubble didn't quite hide made me think that they were Aurors. "Supposedly these 'Snatchers' are some sort of subdivision of the watchwizards, but the Aurors have always been the ones who track down rogue witches and wizards. Now it's being handed off to mercenaries?"

"You want to hunt down Muggle-borns running for their lives?" his companion replied in a low rumble. "I wouldn't touch those cases with a ten-foot pole, myself."

The wizard missing the pinky rolled his eyes. "Of course I don't want them either, Ebenezer, but all I'm saying is that you start inviting people like that into the Ministry and people are going to start getting hurt!"

Ebenezer shook his head grimly. "You say that like it isn't the point…" The two moved off, and I was glad to see that while many in the Ministry were apparently keeping their heads down in fear of retribution, they were at least aware of the situation. I couldn't help but wonder if Ebenezer's friend shooting his mouth off would survive this or if he'd take his opinions to someone he shouldn't.

I l decided that was enough lingering and looped back around, hopping on the lift again and taking it one floor up to the Minister of Magic and support staff. I got off and was immediately surrounded by people in a much nicer quality of robes, obviously high on the ministerial ladder and making ridiculous amounts of money. More surprising, the open area surrounded by office doors which had likely originally been a sort of common area had been taken over my rows of desks which put me in mind of formal exams back at Hogwarts. The seats were filled with dead-eyed folks moving their wands rhythmically in front of them. It was actually quite lovely choreography until I snatched one of the completed pamphlets and realized that, once again, it was propaganda. What else should I have expected from the level with the Registration Commission?

I rolled my eyes but stowed the pamphlet for later reading – it would be interesting to see what sort of lies the Ministry was spewing about Muggles – and began to pace around the edge of the room, reading the nameplates on the doors.

I knew I'd reached it before I even processed the name on the plate. Where a peephole might have been there was a vividly blue eye, frozen in place staring upwards. To anyone else it might have seemed like a macabre decoration, but I'd met Alastor Moody. Even though Moody had loathed me and the feeling was entirely mutual, I couldn't help but feel a roiling anger in my gut. Distrusting bastard or not, Moody was a famously successful Auror ad he deserved better than this, considering it was probably that his magical eye was the last thing remaining of his body.

I fought to calm my expression into one of respectful awe as I reached up and knocked on the door. Umbridge's sickening simper called through the shiny mahogany, "Come in!"

I opened the door, struggling to ignore the eye and the apparent spying device affixed behind it – so she was spying on her employees, was she? – and stepped inside. It was like I'd stepped back in time to the year she taught. This office was a slightly more sumptuous mirror of the one she'd had at Hogwarts, from the massive amounts of pink to the cat plates on the wall. I swore I even recognized some of the doilies.

The toad herself sat behind the desk and I felt a surge of savage glee when I saw the white scars across the back of her hand, the word gleaming faintly and as easily visible as the day I had put it there.

"Yes?" Umbridge cooed to me. "How can I help you?"

"I was told to bring this to you personally from Law Enforcement," I explained, approaching the desk and offering the stolen paperwork. "I was told it was important?"

Umbridge took the paperwork and scanned it carelessly before her eyes lit with sadistic glee as she realized what it was. "Ah yes, Yaxley's request for support for hiring more employees to deal with this Mudblood infestation. Very important indeed." She seemed almost giddy as she set it in front of her and picked up her quill, beginning to scrawl her signature across the first of the lines.

She was wearing it, the locket. I'd known from the moment I stepped into the room. The feeling of Voldemort's magic was very familiar to me by this point, the thick, weighty darkness of it, and I wondered how Umbridge didn't feel it. But maybe she did, maybe that was why she was heading up such an appalling committee. Or maybe she was just that twisted already. I suspected the latter.

I saw it easily. It was hanging proudly around her neck, the heavy pendant standing out against her luridly pink cardigan. The emeralds set into the front winked and glinted mysteriously. I tried to imagine the locket around the neck of the founder of my house, whose face I was very familiar with thanks to the time I'd spent in his Chamber. I doubted he would be very fond of the idea of this toad displaying his legacy like she had any right to it.

"Tell him I'll have it back to him before the day is out!" Umbridge leaned over and scribbled a note in a – pink, leather-bound – day planner and looked up at me pointedly. "You can get out, now." She smiled saccharinely.

I turned on my heel and hustled for the room, making sure to keep my shoulders slightly hunched and my eyes low, the picture of a loyal and fearful employee. I hustled from the office and resisted the urge to sprint for the exit. I forced myself to walk towards the lifts and got on, heading back to the Atrium. With the workday in full swing it wasn't nearly as full as it had been only moments ago when I arrived.

Unfortunately that meant that I was more visible and one of the watchwizards, easily identifiable by his strict uniform and the red band around his upper arm approached me with a belligerent expression on his face. He stepped firmly in front of me, stopping my path.

"And where are you going?" he demanded sternly. "Shouldn't you be fetching coffee or delivering memos?" He smirked, clearly very fond of the power his uniform gave him.

I winced and pressed a hand to my stomach. "I know, sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling so well all of a sudden. It came out of nowhere. I cleared it with my supervisor, he said it was alright."

The watchwizard narrowed his eyes. "You don't look sick. Who's your supervisor, I want to check you're not skiving off!"

I subtly shifted my hand a little bit lower and tried to think of things that would draw a lurid blush to my face. Harry finding Draco and I curled up in the Hospital Wing last year, watching Amity flirt with Snape, Draco wet and naked… The last one didn't and I felt my face burn as I cringed away from the watchwizard.

"It's not… technically illness. It's more a… lady thing?"

The watchwizard immediately recoiled, his face as red as mine as he waved me on quickly, blabbering as he did, "Go on, go on, no one wants to hear about that…"

I followed his orders and hustled on to the fireplaces, abandoning them in favor of simply turning on the spot. I appeared on the front step of Grimmauld Place with a faint smirk on my face and glanced over my shoulder towards the Death Eaters still lingering in the square. There were only two there now, a pock-marked fellow and a podgy man who had been there since the beginning. They never seemed to leave. I wondered if they even reported in unless something happened. If that were the case they would be easy to get rid of. I made a note to start watching those to more carefully to see if perhaps something could be done about them, Harry or no. After seeing the inside of the Ministry and how it was being run, I was feeling particularly vengeful against the Death Eaters.

I stepped into the house and called, "I'm home!" Kreacher hustled from the kitchen where he was probably busy getting lunch ready and took my robes, sending them up to hang on a hook by the door with a wave of his hands.

"Mistress's friends are in the parlor," Kreacher explained. "They are anxiously waiting Mistress's return."

"Thank you Kreacher," I said, and swept past him, heading for the parlor, drawing my wand to end the spells altering my appearance as I went. I stepped into the room and sat down on one of the couches next to Harry. Hermione perked up, straightening from her spot and lowering the book she'd been absorbed in.

"How'd it go?" Harry asked. I slid sideways and ended up on my back, my head in his lap. Harry smiled faintly, reaching down to drag his fingers through my hair. "That well, huh?"

And so I began to explain, starting from the beginning, leaving out no details. That the Registration Commission was pulling stenographers from other departments, that Yaxley was in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and petitioning for more people to use to hunt down Muggleborns, because apparently these Snatchers weren't enough. There were disgusted looks as I explained about the Magic is Might monument and produced the pamphlet I'd stolen. Hermione in particular looked physically ill. Ron had stood up and yelled in outraged when I explained what Moody's eye was being used for, pacing and ranting for several minutes about the injustice of it all.

"But she was wearing it?" Hermione asked, choosing to ignore Ron's spiel.

"She was," I confirmed.

"That's good," Harry mused. "If she wears it regularly then we can just go and get it."

"There's the matter of how to get it off her without starting a fight," Hermione reminded him. "We need to be as subtle as possible about this."

"We could Confund her," Ron offered. "Knock her silly so she won't notice when we take it and then leave."

"I'd prefer Imperius," I commented. "Less chance for error, and we can tell her to go about her day as if she hadn't seen us. If she's Confunded, someone might notice her trying to, I dunno, go in the men's loo or something and realize she's been spelled."

"You just want to Imperius her!" Ron accused, and I shrugged shamelessly as Harry gently worked a knot out of my hair.

"You're not wrong."

* * *

 _Souls are almost entirely theoretical, given that after death they move almost immediately on to the Other Side. There is no way of studying them after their owner is deceased, and experimenting on a living person's soul is utterly immoral and therefore illegal and inadvisable for any but a true scholar of the subject to even attempt. There are many things that are mistakenly attributed to the soul._

 _Ghosts are perhaps the most obvious. They are not, as many suspect, the souls of the dearly departed remaining behind on this world. The soul has indeed moved on. What remains is naught but an echo left behind by the power of the soul, it is not the soul itself. It is a similar situation as the moving, speaking portraits created through the use of magic and potions. The person's image is used to channel the echoed of a person's soul and leaves the picture animated with much of the subject's personality and temperament._

 _There are very few situations in which a soul survives outside of the body. The first, as has previously been mentioned, is the creation of a horcrux. This is done by the tattering of a soul and the concealment of it within an object outside of the body. This is primarily used to preserve the life of a Dark witch or wizard and, given the obvious importance of the objects to their owners, the souls they contain have never been studied._

 _Another example is extremum spiritum. This concept is recognized even by Muggles, many cultures of which hold the belief that a person's last breath is of great significance and bears a part of them from their body. This is true, and this fragment of soul can be captured. Many grieving spouses and families have reported 'feeling' the deceased with them. To an extent, this is true, as it is possible to inhale the extremum spiritum of another person if one is present in the same room as the deceased at the time of passing. Such a phenomenon is usually confirmed by dreams and the sensation of a 'guiding light' or 'guardian angel' in times of trouble. This is entirely benign, but usually brushed off as natural feelings of grief, and therefore hard to substantiate._

 _The difficulty in studying the soul continues, as it is-_

The mirror, lost somewhere in the sheets of my bed among pages and pages of notes, began to burn against my calf. I rooted through the linens and pulled it up, opening the lid and peering inside.

"Greengrass," I greeted. "You have something to report?"

"Like you asked," she began, "I spoke to the first years who don't have any familial ties to the Death Eaters. All of them have been brought into the fold. I've also reached out to Ginny Weasley. She's coordinated with older students from the DA in each house and they're preparing the children in their own houses."

I smiled proudly. "Good. So the first years should be protected when everything inevitably goes sideways?"

Daphne nodded. "They will have protection."

"And the Carrows?" I asked grimly. "You told me when you last called a few weeks ago that they were showing signs of cruelty towards students."

Daphne grimaced, and it was surprising to see her normally composed expression twist in such a way. "They were testing the waters at first to see hwat they'd be able to get away with, but Snape never reined them in."

"Not that he could."

"Not that he could," she agreed. "And they've progressed rapidly. A few smacks or hits for punishment have turned into full-blown torture for some of the more openly-resistant students. In Defense, we are being taught how to use Dark magic and encouraged to practice on each other. Muggle Studies, from what I hear, is a hour of racist rants from Professor Carrow about how violent and stupid Muggles are with very little to back up her claims."

"As we expected," I commented dully, and Daphne rolled her eyes.

"They really are horribly predictable."

"Sherburne and Fairclough were making medical potions. Have you worked out a way to distribute them to the students in need yet?" I pressed. "And are they still making them?"

Daphne nodded. "We've set up space in the Chamber for them to brew and they're spending all their spare time down there. Both of them have futures as Healers, that's for certain." She seemed proud, but her nose wrinkled as she continued, "We've tried distributing supplies to our contacts in other houses, but that's been risky, moving that many potions at once. And smuggle two or three vials a time isn't worth it."

"The house elves," I said immediately.

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"The house elves can do it," I explained. "That's how I moved potions to those who needed them during Umbridge's reign. If you can tell the house elves where to pick the potions up, they can distribute them to those in need. They're tied to the service of the school and the students, they'll know who's hurt and where they'll be."

"How would we convince them to help us?" Daphne demanded. "I've never even seen them!"

I huffed. "They serve the school. Trust me, they'll help. If you go to the hallway leading to the Hufflepuff Common Room and tickle the pear in the painting of the bowl of fruit, it will turn into a doorknob. That will take you to the kitchens."

Daphne stared at me incredulously before rolling her eyes. "I wish I could say I'm surprised by the ridiculousness of it all, but I'm really not."

I smirked faintly and continued, "That's where the house elves will be. You go to them and you ask for Dobby, Tippy, or Hilly. All of the house elves are fond of me, but those three in particular are loyal. Explain the situation, frame the students as their duty and the Carrows as invaders, and they'll distribute the potions for you, no problem."

Daphne smiled slyly. "And no one will ever think of the house elves because no one ever does."

I nodded approvingly. "Exactly."

"Fairclough and Sherburne have made several copies of some of the more basic healing potions with your additions to them. They've given them to me. I intend to pass them along to Weasley. She'll distribute the parchment among some of the better brewers in the other houses. They have the Room of Requirement as a base, they can brew some of their own stock in secret."

"Good." I nodded approvingly. "I'd sent along the recipes for Veritaserum antidote as well as a precaution. Tell them to set up a schedule to tend to the potions among the different students and houses so that no one is caught in the area too much or has to miss class to deal with a potion. We don't want to give the Carrows an excuse to go after someone. Ginny should be able to do that for you."

Daphne bit her lip. "I can have someone pass it along. Mail is being read, so we'll have to pass it along physically. I'll give it to Zabini, who sits near Longbottom on class. We can get it to her through him."

"How are Zabini and Nott?" I asked curiously, feeling a little bit of guilt for having not asked sooner. If they were dead, Daphne could have mentioned, and if they weren't, then we had bigger things to discuss. Still, I wanted them kept safe more than I cared about most people in Hogwarts. Draco I knew was safe because we had spoken several more times since the first day of term.

"Zabini is grimmer than usual," Daphne replied with a faint sigh. "Which isn't surprising, but that doesn't make it any less jarring. Nott is… struggling." Her face crumpled slightly, eyes showing concern.

"How so?"  
"His father is inner circle. The Carrows expect Nott to be as willing to hurt as his father is and he's having trouble faking it. And the guilt," Daphne added softly. "He feels horribly guilty for the things they're making him to do other students. But…"

"But if he refused it would invite scrutiny we don't need." I nodded in understanding and gave a sympathetic noise. "Take care of him, Greengrass."

A steely glint entered her eye and Daphne looked rather like a mother lioness getting ready to defend her cub. "Oh, don't worry. He'll survive this war or I'll kill him myself."


	123. Courtroom Raid

A group of four made their way towards the public bathrooms on Whitehall. One was a friendly Hufflepuff, Jenny Greentree, who had made friends in the Auror office. A red-haired Melody Marshall had been spotted for the past several weeks diving in and out of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Henry Parrish was the oldest of the four, and by far the tallest and broadest, with stern facial features. No one who had seen him was surprised that he was working with Kingsley in the Auror office. And finally, Jacob Nash, a blonde, bespectacled stenographer with wire-rimmed glasses.

"Ah, Melody!"

Mafalda Hopkirk waved cheerfully as Hermione and I joined the line and we pressed past a few people who only offered minimal protests at our line cutting.

"Good morning, Mafalda," Hermione greeted cheerfully.

"And good morning to you as well, Jenny, I wasn't aware you two knew each other!" Mafalda commented, looking between the two of us curiously.

"We met at Hogwarts, Melody was a year above me," I explained. "She actually spoke up on my behalf to get me my internship."

"That was sweet of you, dear," Mafalda said approvingly. I noticed that, as expected, her face was fairly stressed and knew that we'd timed it perfectly. As expected, Umbridge's court schedule had told us that today she was lacking someone to take notes. "It's always good to see young professional women helping each other out."

"Mafalda, forgive me, but you seem a little stressed this morning," I commented, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a peppermint. I offered it to her and she took it gratefully. "Something wrong?"

"Oh." She sighed sadly and rolled her peppermint in her mouth, clicking it against her teeth. "I've been called down to the courtroom to take notes again. I know it's supposed to be a reward to be chosen, but I have my own work to take care of," she murmured, looking around us warily. "I'm three days behind on my investigations, you know!"

"That's terrible," Hermione said sympathetically. "But we were just talking about the trials the other day, weren't we Jenny?"

"Yes," I replied, playing along. "See, I've been considering a career in the courts and I was wondering what it was actually like to be in the courtrooms. I've never been down there, you see, but I've heard all the horror stories about cages and chairs covered in chains. Is any of that true?"

"Some of it," Mafalda admitted. "But they only use those sorts of measures for the really dangerous criminals. Psychopaths," she confided. "These Muggleborns, they're not like that."

Hermione's eyes widened, like she'd just had a brilliant idea. "Mafalda, would it be possible for us to join you for the trial? We'd be quiet and stay out of the way, but I'm curious as well. Is there any way we could sit in?"

Mafalda blinked in surprise. "You'd really want to?" We both nodded eagerly and Mafalda bit her lip. "Well… I suppose I could speak to Madam Umbridge. If you can both clear it with your supervisors and she approves then I suppose it would be alright."

"Thank you, Mafalda, that would be wonderful!" I said gratefully. "We'll see you inside then, and we'll come down if we're allowed."

"Courtroom Five," Mafalda advised, before ducking into a stall. I gave Hermione a meaningful look – we'd wait a few minutes and pretend we'd clear it with our imaginary supervisors, and then head down to the courtrooms to join Mafalda. We'd discussed it and agreed that Umbridge was not the sort to pass up the chance for an audience to her sadism, particularly when she was in such a position of power as leading a trial where there was no winning.

After doing it multiple times over the past few weeks, flushing myself down the toilet hadn't gotten less ridiculous, but I had gotten over the internal urge to cringe as I stepped into the bowl and flushed myself down. I popped out in the Atrium and looked around for Hermione. As expected, she was a few grates down.

I walked to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her way towards the lifts. Hermione stayed put, staring ahead blankly. I followed her eyes and saw her staring at the Magic is Might monument in the middle of the room.

Hermione was subject to this hatred more than any of us. Ron was a pureblood, he had no real interactions with Muggles. Harry and I, we might have been raised by Muggles, but we had fully accepted the wizarding world. Aside from Amity, there was nothing in the Muggle world, either of us cared much for. But Hermione? When she looked at the twisted faces of the Muggles carved in stone, she saw the faces of parents she'd had to erase the memories of and send to another country staring back at her.

"we can't fix it until we do what we came here to do," I reminded her gently. Hermione nodded, still visibly upset, but allowed me to pull her towards the lifts. I dropped her wrist as we boarded and rode down towards the courtrooms.

The black door that led to the Department of Mysteries loomed ahead. I winced, remembering the last time I had been here, which had resulted in Sirius's death. There was a part of me that wanted to follow that same path again, to go to the veil and just watch it flutter. Surely if I waited there long enough Sirius could come back through? And even if he didn't, it would be nothing to step through and follow him into whatever afterlife there was. Just get away from this war, from all of it…

"Jenny?" Hermione muttered, resting a hand on my shoulder. I flinched slightly and blinked away those insidious thought. "Are you okay?"

"Not for a while," I replied swiftly before shrugging off her hand and gesturing to the staircase that led down to the courtrooms. "Come on, it's this way."

Hermione was giving me an odd look, I could feel it burning into my neck, but I ignored her as we made our way down the stairs to the courtrooms. It began slowly but was immediately oppressive, like walking into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step we took; a cold that reached right down into my bones. It was hopeless, I could feel the despair filling me up...

 _Dementors._

The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors' greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves over me like a curse.

 _I was back in Azkaban, and staring through the bars of the cells. The bundle of robes in the corner of one that was once a man but was now barely a memory. The man who looked into my eyes and declared that I wasn't real. Then it flipped and I was behind those bars, I was the prisoner. There was no window I could escape through, the broken remains of my beloved white wand at my feet, and I deserved to be here, because Ron was right, I was a murderer, and the rattling breaths of the dementors coming in to take my soul were the last thing I would ever hear…_

"Rena!" Hermione breathed in my ear, too soft for anyone else to hear, and I jerked badly, nearly elbowing her in the stomach.

"Azkaban," I whispered in reply. "I remember…"

Hermione took my hand tightly in hers, and it was she who guided me through the towering black figures. The eyeless faces hidden beneath their hoods turned as we passed, and I felt like they were going to follow me like they had at Azkaban, drawn to the flickering, polluted light of my soul.

And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.

"No, no, I'm half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he's a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you - get your hands off me, get your hands off-"

"This is your final warning," came Umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."

The man's screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.

"Take him away," ordered Umbridge.

Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight.

"Next - Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge.

A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless. As she passed the dementors, I saw her shudder. Hermione pressed close to me and we slipped into the courtroom behind her.

It was not the same room in which Harry and I had once been interrogated for improper use of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place. They stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high, raised platform. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Mafalda, quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bight-silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and Harry realized that it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.

"Ah, the interns Mafalda spoke of," Umbridge greeted us with a wide, toad-like smile. "Come and watch the trial. It shan't take long." Hermione and I slipped past Mary Cattermole and mounted the stairs, settling in next to Mafalda, who was clutching a scroll and quill, a bottle of ink open on the bench beside her.

"Hello, ladies," she greeted softly, looking fearfully in Umbridge's direction, but the old toad was in her element.

"Sit down," said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.

Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.

"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" asked Umbridge. Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod. "Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"

Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears. "I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"

Umbridge ignored her. "Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?"

Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever. "They're frightened, they think that I might not come home-"

"Spare us," spat Yaxley. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."

Hermione's hand slid into mine and squeezed tightly. I squeezed back, eyes fixed firmly on Umbridge and Yaxley. I couldn't decide which of them I hated more at the moment, and all I wanted was to hurt both of them.

"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole," Umbridge continued over Mrs. Cattermole's sobs. "Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize the description?" Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve. "Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?"

"T-took?" sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It - it - it - chose me." She cried harder than ever.

Umbridge laughed a soft, girlish laugh and leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket. Hermione had seen it to, her grip on my hand was painful, but we had to wait until Ron and Harry arrived. The element of surprise would give us an advantage and I had already proven I could handle Umbridge, but there was the matter of the dementors and Yaxley.

"No," said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here - Mafalda, pass them to me."

Umbridge held out a small hand. Mafalda's hands were shaking and she fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the bench near her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole's name on it.

"That's - that's pretty, Madam Umbridge," Hermione said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge's blouse.

"What?" snapped Umbridge, glancing down. "Oh yes - an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The S stands for Selwyn... I am related to the Selwyns... Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related. ...A pity," she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same cannot be said for you. 'Parents professions: greengrocers'."

Yaxley laughed jeeringly.

My eyes widened. I pictured my little boy, desperately searching for any family that might still be alive, that might tell him where he came from. The locket had been his greatest prize, his proof, his heritage, and this insignificant toad was using it to bolster her own blood status? She had no authority, she had _no right…_

"Wait," Hermione breathed. "Not yet."

Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and the dementors stood waiting in the corners. The door opened and in walked Harry and Ron, Harry pushing Ron along by the shoulder a little roughly, the better to endear himself to Umbridge. Ron stumbled a little, nearly dropping the pile of parchment he held, solidifying himself as a hapless pencil pusher.

"What is this?" Umbridge demanded.

It was just as we'd practiced. Harry opened his mouth and replied, "Travers needs Mafalda Hopkirk. Something's happened in Greenwich, I hear. He sent this one down to take her place."

Umbridge seemed disappointed and angry about having her head of steam interrupted, but nevertheless she waved her hand.

"Go on, Mafalda, go and see what Travers needs," she ordered. "And you, what's your name?" she barked at Ron.

"Jacob Nash," he replied as Mafalda scrambled to gather her materials and fled the room gratefully, casting a nervous look back at Hermione and I. We both offered her encouraging smiles as she headed for the door. Ron started forwards and Harry lingered by the door, holding it for Mafalda, who muttered a thanks as she left. Harry shut the door.

No one was looking at Hermione and I. Hermione cast a spell on Yaxley, Stunning him. Ron cast the same spell on Umbridge, who crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade. Mrs. Cattermole's papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind and vanished a moment later as Harry and I cast our Patronuses. Mrs. Cattermole screamed in shock as the commotion faded.

I jumped to my feet and darted to Umbridge, snatching the locket from her neck ruthlessly. I looped it over my own head – I was wary of I falling out of my pocket. It settled over my heart like ice and I glanced up nervously, feeling for a moment like the dementors had broken free, but my phoenix still flew and Harry's stag still pranced. There was that disturbing lump in my sternum, the sensation I'd always connected with Voldemort. I felt it rise higher until it rested just next to the locket. It seemed to pulse and my stomach knotted as I realized that the necklace pulsed faintly right along with it.

"Wh-What's going on?" wailed Mary Cattermole. "What's happening?"

"Look, this is a rescue," Harry explained gently. He took her arm and helped her to her feet. I picked up her wand from where it rested by Umbridge along with several others – presumably the wands of the Muggleborns who were waiting outside for their own trials so that they could have the instrument of their power waved in their faces. I pitched it down and Harry easily caught it, pressing it into Mary's hands.

"A-A rescue?" she repeated blankly, looking a few moments from passing out. "Wh-Why?"

"Because this is _wrong_ ," Hermione spat viciously as she hopped down from behind the balustrade. She took Mary Cattermole by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "Listen to me, please. You needed to go home and get your children. We'll send your husband along. You have to pack what you can and get out of the country, fast. Don't stay with family, they'll check there. Just disappear. Do you understand?" she asked firmly, but not unkindly.

Mary Cattermole nodded dizzily, her hand clenching around her wand tightly.

"Good," I said, and walked down the stairs with Ron to join them in the middle of the room. I tossed a pair of Incarcerus over my shoulder at Umbridge and Yaxley, binding and gagging them. "House elves," I said aloud, and Mary Cattermole gave me an incredulous look.

"House-?"

With a series of loud pops, four house elves appeared in front of us. Kreacher, Dobby, Tippy, and Hilly. They were the ones who agreed to come when Harry and I called on them, even though technically the latter three served Hogwarts and not us. Dobby was loyal to Harry though, and Tippy to him, Hilly to me.

"Hilly will take Miss home," Hilly explained kindly, reaching up and taking Mrs. Cattermole's hand.

"Tippy, you go and get her husband and get him home as well," I ordered, and Tippy nodded. The two female house elves vanished in sync and Ron moved to the doors, poking his head out to start bringing in the Muggleborns.

"You lot, in here!" he called. The Muggleborns looked up, staring at him in surprise and confusion, but it was either stay out there with the dementors or follow his orders. To them, he was a Ministry worker and therefor possibly a determiner of their fate. They did as he said and filed solemnly into the courtroom, the Patronuses keeping the dementors from the hallway at bay as well.

"What's going on?" demanded the first of the Muggleborns, an older gentleman who looked around and saw the empty chair where Mary Cattermole should have been, saw Yaxley and Umbridge bound and gagged, saw two house elves. He wasn't the only one, the others were mumbling and looking around fearfully, trying to work out what was happening.

"This is a rescue operation, mate," Ron informed him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Cheer up."

"Your wand, sir?" I asked, holding out the handful Umbridge had been hoarding. His eyes lit in delight and he selected a long, deep brown wand from the bundle, clutching it tightly. "If you would please take the hand of a house elf and tell them where to go, they'll be able to get you there. We recommend you either leave the country directly or stop at home to pack only for a moment. Please, don't go someplace obvious, like your family."

The Muggleborns looked like they had about a thousand questions, but they also knew that this was their only chance to make an escape and maybe their only chance to save their lives. I was all but mobbed as Tippy and Hill returned, people snatching for their wands. In seven seconds the dozen or more people were holding their own wands and heading for the house elves.

I took up a guard position by Umbridge and Yaxley, wary of them waking up or managing to sound the alarm. The dementors swirled beyond the Patronuses, agitated and eager to feed on all the hope newly blazing in the Muggleborns. I watched as they moved back and forth, like caged animals pacing, and tried to block memories of Azkaban. A short sojourn there had imprinted itself firmly in my mind, and I couldn't imagine how much damage spending a real sentence there would do.

Umbrigde stirred before Yaxley, which was mildly surprising. As Hermione and Ron marshalled the Muggleborns into lines to await the house elves, Umbridge thrashed against her bonds and screamed in protest, the sound muffled by her gag. I smirked, flipping her over with my foot so that she stared up at me. Umbridge's flabby face was red with rage and I couldn't resist. I reached up and prodded lightly at my cheek, peeling down the edge of one patch just enough to reveal the curve of the S etched on one cheek. Her eyes widened in recognition and then narrowed in hate. I crouched down next to her and murmured mockingly,

"I win again Delores. You really are quite pathetic. However did you get so high in the Ministry?"

It was so tempting. Umbridge was nothing but a bully who had been allowed too much power. She was the most pathetic form of scum who saw power not as a responsibility but as a toy to exercise over others for her own amusement. This sick cataloguing of Muggleborns was no doubt something she had lobbied hard for, what with her disgusting distaste for half-breeds. Voldemort's crusade had given her free range to spew whatever hatred she wanted without penalty.

The world would be so much better without her. I'd done it before, and ending Umbridge would be a public service, almost like doing my civic duty. Certainly she'd be replaced in the Ministry, but no one could be as bad as her. Killing her was just the best logical step and I was nothing if not logical…

The locket burned with cold where it rested under my shirt and I realized that the hatred in my mind was only partly my own. Recoiling, I flicked my wand and she was unconscious again. My hand lifted to jewelry and pressed against it gently. I grimaced, silently pleading with it to leave me alone. And, to my surprise, it did. I could have sworn I felt a small boy's hand slide into mine, but the sensation was gone and I was free.

"That's the last of them," Harry called from behind me as Tippy, Hilly, and Dobby left with the last group of Muggleborns. They would return to Hogwarts as soon as their jobs were done. Kreacher remained where he was, offering his hands. I took one and Harry took the other, Ron grabbing him and Hermione grabbing me. We turned with a crack, reappearing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"Kreacher, leave the room," Harry ordered as I reached under my robes and eagerly stripped the locket off, tossing it onto the stone floor. We'd agreed that the kitchen was the sturdiest room in Grimmauld Place, so this was where we should do it.

"Yes," Kreacher replied, and bowed, hustling from the room. He shut the kitchen door behind him and locked it as we'd ordered him to earlier. In the silence we all stared at the locket. It glittered on the ground in the firelight and looked unnervingly innocent, like it didn't contain a fragment of Voldemort's soul."

"It's a shame, almost," Hermione murmured. "It's a piece of history we've got to destroy."

"Take that up with You-Know-Who," Ron said crossly. He was giving the locket a wary side-eye and leaning slightly away from it, like he was ready to bolt when it inevitably attacked him.

I picked up the basilisk fang that we'd left sitting on the table, waiting to be used. It was smooth and cool in my hand. The skin of my hand faintly prickled, though whether that was psychosomatic or residual poison or something else I couldn't tell.

"Should I do it?" Harry asked uncertainly. "It's supposed to be me that defeats him…"

"I don't think it matters who does the horcruxes so long as you get him," I mused. "But if you want to do it, go ahead." I offered the fang to Harry. He looked at it, then the locket, and back to the fang again. Finally, his eyes slid up my arm to my face, resting on my cheeks.

"No," he said slowly. "I think you should do this one. You deserve to strike a blow."

I smiled faintly at that and nodded. I looked back down at the locket and my smile dropped. I fell onto my knees beside it and gripped the chain of the locket tightly to keep it from spinning away. I raised the fang over the casing and started to bring it down when Hermione interrupted.

"Wait?"

"What?" I demanded, looking up at her irritably. "I'd like to get this finished before supper if you don't mind!"

"It's only…" Hermione shifted and looked at the locket curiously. "Should you open it first?"

"We couldn't, though, we all tried," Ron reminded her. "When we found it here the first time."

I looked up at Harry and raised an eyebrow. He stared back at me blankly. I looked down at the green emeralds inlaid on the cover. They formed an S, but in the flickering firelight, they also looked like…

I stared back up at my brother, smiling faintly. "Is it that easy, you suppose?"

"That easy?" he repeated, clearly lost, and I shook my head, turning back to the necklace. I opened my mouth and let out a soft hiss.

" _Open."_

With a faint click the locket sprang open. Behind the glass blinked two eyes. They were dark and handsome, not red and slit-pupiled. They were my boys' eyes, not the monster's, not what I would have expected, and that alone as enough to stay my hand for just a second.

" _Don't do it, please. Don't hurt me."_

The voice was familiar and I recoiled in shock as the eyes behind the glass ballooned out, taking shape and twisting. My boy stared back at me, clutching that same book he always held, and next to him was his older counterpart, staring down at me. They were misty and indistinct below the waist, their arms stretched out like they were holding hands, but their wrists seemed to blend together through the fog.

" _You said you were my friend,"_ the younger one continued, looking at me with betrayal on his face.

Ron was shouting and swearing, Harry was yelling at me to do something, and Hermione had her wand raised but couldn't seem to come up with a spell to use. I ignored them all, staring transfixed at my boys in front of me. It may have been sick but even outside of the confines of my own head, even though they were the man who killed my parents and a hundred others, I loved them both.

" _I knew you were lying,"_ the older sneered. _"You're nothing but a spineless coward."_

" _And you're going to betray me!"_ the younger one agreed.

" _You are nothing compared to your brother."_

" _You are a chambermaid playing at being queen."_

" _There are more powerful people."_

" _More intelligent people."_

" _You're nothing."_

" _You're nobody."_

My expression hardened as I glared at the figures looming over me. The older one had been reluctant to accept me at first, for more reluctant than the younger, but they'd never spewed this kind of hatred before and that reminded me that it wasn't really them. This was Voldemort in the truest sense and I straightened my spine and spat at them.

"And you're not my boys."

The basilisk fang came down hard, tearing through metal, shattering glass, and there was a long-drawn out scream as I felt the fang connect with the stone floor beneath and skitter slightly. I drew my arm back and threw up my hands against the blast of magic the horcrux unleashed as it died, but a moment later the kitchen was silent and still, the only evidence of what had just occurred the broken locket, its stained-silk lining steaming.

"You did it," Harry breathed. "Rena, you did it."

"Well done!" Ron cheered, thrusting a fist into the air. "We got one!"

Hermione said nothing, but I could feel her eyes boring into me as I panted, the voices ringing in my head. I felt wrung out and that lump that had been so ever-present since I'd first touched the horcrux strained higher in my throat. I felt as though I might throw up, but I knew better. I swallowed hard. The lump fluttered a little bit and began to unknot, dissipating. I felt emotionally and physically drained, like I'd just swam the Channel and read an entire library.

Harry reached down and took my shoulder. I let him drag me to my feet, swaying slightly, the fang still clutched in my hand. The remains of the locket had stopped smoking, and now they just lay there, sad and broken beyond repair.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered in my ear. I shook my head. "Do you need-"

"You can't do anything," I murmured in replied as Ron turned to look at both of us quizzically. His eyes settled on me, suspiciously.

"Who were those blokes?" he asked. "The kid and that Slytherin guy?"

"Tom Riddle," I replied, swallowing again, this time gathering myself with the gesture. I shrugged Harry off lightly, straightening my back and tossing my hair back. I cleared my throat and asked loftily, "Who else?"

"Who-?" Ron's eyes bulged.

"Explain it to him, please," I bade Harry. "I need… I need to lay down."

Hermione moved to help me but I held a hand up to stay her as I staggered from the kitchen. I heard Harry explaining to Ron about my dreams – apparently that wasn't something Ron had ever earned about n depth, which I supposed was to Harry's credit for not telling him everything – and then the door shut behind me and cut them off.

"Is Mistress alright?" Kreacher asked.

"Mistress needs…" I sighed and rubbed my temples wearily. "Mistress needs a strong drink and a per group, but for now Mistress is going to pass out for about ten hours."

* * *

 _I wasn't all that surprised when I laid down on the bed in Grimmauld Place and opened my eyes a moment later standing in the halls of Hogwarts. My boys stood behind me and I couldn't help but look them over, ignoring the fact that they weren't real and therefore couldn't bleed or die._

" _Are you both alright?" I asked, striding towards them. I took the younger one's face between my hands. He smiled at me and I kissed his forehead fondly, leaving him be to turn to the older one. I placed a finger under his chin and guided his face up to look me in the eye. "You're not hurt?"_

 _The elder rolled his eyes and tugged his face away, looking exasperated but quietly pleased by my fussing. "We are more than memories but less than physical forms. We cannot be hurt."_

 _Somehow that didn't surprise me. But seeing them equated so closely reminded me of the fact that while Tom Riddle may not be Lord Voldemort, Lord Voldemort was once Tom Riddle. There was definitely something wrong with me, that I could look at the younger version of the man who had carved his mark into my face and feel nothing but an almost maternal affection without even a hint of venom or bitterness touching it._

 _I could add it to the list of things that were very wrong with me._

" _Good," I said in satisfaction, and went up on my toes, kissing the elder Riddle's cheek while patting the other fondly on the head. "I was worried, I know it was silly, but I was. Hearing you say those things…" I paused and shook my head._

" _I'd never say such mean things to you," the younger assured me, taking my hand and smiling. "You're my only friend."_

" _You're tolerable compared to most I've met," the elder concurred._

" _You're not our enemy."_

" _He, however, is."_

 _There were footsteps coming up the hall behind me. I turned and was surprised to see Elizabeth Rosings coming down the hallways. But she was older, sixteen probably, and not at all behaving like a prefect. Edmund was with her, her hand clasped tightly in his. They giggled like children as they scampered down the hallway, glancing back over their shoulders like they were wary of professors, even though they were perfectly within their right to be out late._

 _They ducked into a classroom, still giggling, and before the door shut, I saw Elizabeth's arms start to come up around his shoulders as she leaned in. I looked back and saw Tom Riddle, seventeen and gorgeous, with his eyes locked hungrily, damningly, on the door they pair had just vanished through._

" _He didn't deserve her," the younger pouted._

" _She was brilliant, a true marvel. And Edmund Gilmore, he might have been a Ravenclaw, but he possessed no real intelligence, no wisdom," the older concurred. The three of us stood and watched as the memory of Riddle paused in the middle of the hallway and glared at the door handle as if he wished to set it on fire. Red flashed in his eyes and I realized that if Elizabeth Rosings was dead, then Edmund Gilmore most definitely was. I could feel the boy's emotions washing over me. Jealousy, rage, possessiveness, greed, disgust, longing, all tangled up in an unpleasant ball with Elizabeth at the center._

 _From behind the door, audible in the night-time quiet, Elizabeth gave a coquettish giggle, followed by a soft breathy moan. I raised my eyebrows and reached down, covering the ears of the youngest version of Tom Riddle while the oldest seemed to swell in his rage, power all but rolling off of him as he stormed down the hallway. He all but ripped the door open, revealing the couple standing there. They leapt apart, a smudge of red lipstick on Edmund's neck and Elizabeth's hair a mess, her tie loose._

" _Oh my," Riddle drawled, eyes lingering disdainfully on Edmund. "Here I was thinking I'd just found a few Gryffindors out for a tryst._

" _Piss off, Riddle," Edmund grunted, grabbing Elizabeth's hand and tugging her close to him. She came willingly, glancing up at him before looking back at Riddle. Her eyes were soft and uncertain as she looked between the two boys._

" _I would," Riddle replied with faux apology. "But prefects or not, it's not your night to be patrolling and you really shouldn't be out doing... such things…"_

" _C'mon Lizzie," Edmund murmured, neck arching so that he could whisper in her ear. "Let's go."_

" _You go on," Elizabeth urged, reaching up and patting his chest. "I've got a quick question for Riddle about the potions homework and then I'll be along."_

 _Edmund looked at her pleadingly. "It can wait until tomorrow…"_

" _It'll only be a second, go on," Elizabeth pressed, and he gave her a surprised look, but nevertheless kissed her cheek and moved off. Riddle stepped aside and send Edmund off with an insincere smile, Edmund glaring in reply._

 _With obvious relish at having gotten rid of his competitor, Riddle turned his attention back to Elizabeth, stepping further into the room and shutting the door with a gesture that was almost unnoticeable, he did it so casually._

" _Struggling with potions?" he asked lightly. "As I recall, you usually speak with Lovegood on that subject, though I will of course help you in any way I can."_

 _Elizabeth frowned at him. "Don't be like that, Riddle. You're a Slytherin, you should recognize a line when you see one."_

 _Riddle made a show of arching his eyebrows in surprise, but again I could feel his emotions. Hope, and self-loathing based around that hope. He was torn between the desire to kiss her and the desire to watch her writhe at his feet. Violence and longing blended together into unhealthy obsession._

" _Are you implying you wanted me alone?" he asked, sidling closer to her. There was something unmistakably predatory in his gait, though his expression was still one of polite surprise. To her credit, Elizabeth didn't flinch, merely tilted her chin and have him a firm look._

" _You, but you want me alone," she said confidently, and Riddle froze. This time the shock on his face was genuine before it was quickly shuttered._

" _I beg your pardon?" he asked coolly, halting his advance._

 _Elizabeth nodded insistently. "You think I don't see you watching me, Riddle? Maybe you're too subtle for most people to notice, but once I did I couldn't avoid seeing it. If I'm around you look at me like you… Well." She smoothed her skirt and continued. "Which is odd, because to the best of my knowledge you're with Parkinson… this week." The faint wrinkling of her nose made it clear what she thought of his apparent playboy status._

" _Then you should have no reason to believe that any affections you_ think _I hold for you would be more than a passing fancy," Riddle replied slowly, taking another step forward._

" _And I wouldn't," Elizabeth agreed, and didn't seem to notice as Riddle stood another step closer. "Except that this has been going on for over a year. So either I'm insane, or you feel more for me than a passing fancy. Go on, Riddle," she challenged. "Tell me I'm insane. I know I'm not, and that's why we've got to set this straight now, because I'm with Edmund-"_

 _It was his name, his rival's name on the object of his obsession that set him off, that made him lunge the last few feet forwards and seized Elizabeth, crushing her to his chest. His mouth crashed onto hers with enough force to make her whimper. One hand lifted to her hair as he bore her back against the wall, kissing her furiously, kissing her to shut her up, kissing Gilmore's influence right out of her, replacing it with himself, branding himself onto her skin, onto her lips, into her hair…_

 _I could see Elizabeth's eyes. They were wide with shock and a little bit of fear. She hadn't expected him to snap like this, had expected a reasonable, if awkward conversation, but what she'd gotten was an all-out assault confirming her suspicions. I saw her falter, too, just for a moment, when her eyelids tried to close, when her mouth opened to accept him, when her hands, which had been thrust out blindly under his arms started to curve in as if to cling to Riddle. She started to give, but something stopped her, made her eyes snap wide and her sense return. She reached up, seized Riddle by the back of his hair, and yanked viciously._

 _With a yowl of pain, Riddle released her and staggered back, hand flying up to clutch the back of her head. Elizabeth stood there, panting heavily and staring at him blankly, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, hiding the badly-smudged red lipstick. Remnants of it streaked Riddle's own mouth, looking almost like smears of blood._

" _Y-You can't just do that," Elizabeth stammered. "You've got Parkinson and I-I've got Ed-" Riddle's twisted expression of rage made her falter and snap her jaw shut before her boyfriend's name could fully escape her mouth._

" _You deserve better than Gilmore," Riddle snarled. "He's nothing, but you? You have a brilliant mind, a beautiful face, a kind disposition. You are everything a man could ever want and yet you waste yourself on that filth?"_

 _Elizabeth was shaking but she scowled and came to Edmund's defense. "Don't you dare talk about him like that, at least he doesn't go around snogging other people's girlfriends! Don't you… Don't you dare touch me again, Tom Riddle! Don't you come near me!" She seemed to understand now, that what she'd interpreted as a crush was far deeper and more twisted and reality. She shook her head in denial and took a step back from him, but there was nowhere for her to go. She pressed back against the wall and eyed Riddle fearfully._

 _His face was stone. "I see," he said coldly, quietly. "That is what you wish, for me to leave you alone?"_

 _Elizabeth nodded wordlessly._

" _I see," he repeated. "This was… not how I should have proceeded. Perhaps I should not have done anything. You are, after all, a Mudblood." Elizabeth sucked in a breath to yell at him, but light flashed from the tip of his wand. "Obliviate!"_

 _The spell struck her and Elizabeth staggered slightly, shaking her head. As she gathered himself, the lipstick was vanished from Riddle's face. She looked up at him and smiled politely._

" _Oh, hello Riddle. Is it your night to patrol, then?"_

 _Riddle's face was impossibly smooth and placid. "It is indeed, Miss Rosings. Can I escort you back to your dorm?"_

 _"Oh, no thank you Tom. That's kind, but I can manage."_


	124. At Hogwarts

Finn Brady was not at all pleased. He'd grown up with a half-blood father and a Muggle mother in a tiny hamlet in Ireland that was only on a few maps. When he got his Hogwarts letter he was thrilled. Finally, he'd be able to learn magic like his da and meet other people his age who were like him. His parents had murmured back and forth when they thought he was asleep, but he'd just assumed that was typical parents, wary to let their child go off to boarding school.

He was so, so wrong.

Finn stepped back slowly from the Slytherins. They were third years and much older than him. He'd had no idea about blood purity and how much hatred it could cause before he stepped through the doors to Hogwarts and the minute he'd realized that being only halfblood, and a Hufflepuff at that, he'd wanted out, to hell with his magical education. It wasn't worth this.

"Aw, is the little baby badger going to cry?" mocked Willoughby, the largest of the boys who'd cornered him. "Little baby Mudblood is going to cry!"

"I'm not a Mudblood!" Finn protested, hands curling into fists at his sides. "My da's a wizard!"

"Barely," scoffed Gilliam. "Your family's so polluted-"

"What's going on here?"

Finn looked up and barely restrained himself from groaning aloud at the sight of more Slytherins coming down the hallway, and they were older. Seventh years. He knew them – Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott. Their families were involved with Voldemort. He could just see it now, the torture people whispered about but he had thus far escaped by hanging under the radar. Maybe, because he was younger, they wouldn't start straight in with Cruciatus…?

"Nott!" Willoughby greeted cheerfully. "We're hunting badgers, care to join?"

Nott raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Greengrass. She shook her head and gave the boys a stern look. "You boys are out past curfew. Go back to the dorms before you get in trouble."

Nott finally spoke, smirking slightly, and Finn paled as the older boy's dark eyes settled on him disdainfully. "We won't let your prey escape, don't worry."

Willoughby, Gilliam, and the two others laughed as they started off down the hallway towards the Slytherin dorms, hurling abuse over their shoulders that Finn was able to ignore, entirely focused as he was on the couple in front of him. They started forward and he shrank back against the wall fearfully.

"P-Please," he begged. "Please, I don't want any trouble… D-Don't hurt me."

Greengrass rolled her eyes. "Why on earth would we hurt you?" she demanded, before ordering sternly, "Come on, let's get you someplace safe."

"S-Someplace…?" Finn was dizzied, trying to figure out just what on earth was going on, but he knew better than to fight as Nott's hand clamped down on his shoulder and started shuttling him along down the hallway. He was sure this was a trap, it had to be, but then why would they say they were taking him somewhere safe? Unless it was some kind of nasty Slytherin trick, people said they all got off on turning people on their heads, the whole snake pit.

"We'll have to stop doing that as often or people will get suspicious," Greengrass commented as they walked, and Finn looked up at her blankly. But he wasn't the one being addressed, and his head whipped around to look up at Nott as the older man replied,

"Yes, but that little Ravenclaw was begging… Weasley said he needed help before her group clawed their ears off."

Greengrass sneered. "I'm sorry, but when did we become the rescue brigade?"

"Since we're relatively secure compared to the likes of Weasley and Longbottom, for example," Nott replied wearily, and Finn got the impression that this was a conversation they'd had more than once even though he could make heads of tails of it.

He got the nerve to pipe up as they hit the stairs and started ascending. "Erm… the Common Rooms are-"

"We know where the Common Rooms are," Nott cut him off.

"So do the Carrows," Greengrass finished, her mouth twisting into a distasteful sneer. "They're not quite to the point of hauling people from their beds, but I give them until Christmas before that's par for the course."

Finn started to fight, thrashing as they alighted on the seventh floor. "Where are you taking me?" he demanded. "Tell me?"

"Why tell you when we can leave that up to them?" Greengrass retorted, and Nott jerked Finn to a stop while she continued down the hall. With a focused expression on her face, she turned, seemingly randomly, and started back towards them. Finn paused in his thrashing to watch her, completely lost, as she turned on her heel just before reaching them and started down the hall again.

There was a faint pop and Finn's eyes widened. That door definitely hadn't been there before. Nott pushed him forward towards it and Finn started fighting again. A door that could come and go? He didn't like the sound of that. Maybe their plan was to toss him into some room that would vanish from the face of the earth as soon as they shut the door?

Greengrass opened the door and Nott shoved him inside.

"Help!" Finn yelled as he stumbled through the entryway, turning and trying to bolt. "Help, I'm being kidnapped by snakes?" Greengrass and Nott caught him and pitched him back into the room.

"No, you're not, mate, calm down."

Finn stopped his random thrashing and actually looked around. He was in what looked like a Common Room, only there was no real color scheme. Red, blue, and yellow blended with gold, bronze, and black. The only thing missing was the silver and green of Slytherin. Overstuffed couches, bookshelves that groaned under the weight of their volumes, a few cots crammed in one corner with curtains like the Hospital Wing. There were cauldrons along one wall where a couple of older Ravenclaws worked at a counter chopping ingredients, parchments with hand-written potions stuck to the wall in front of them with a charm.

"What-?" Finn said blankly. His eyes landed on the person who had spoken. It was Neville Longbottom, who was a known Potter-sympathizer and a friend to anyone who needed it. Some of the older students muttered about how Longbottom should have been one of them. He was standing next to one of the overstuffed couches and sitting on the couch itself were Ginny Weasley, sporting a scowl, and the Patil twins with matching black eyes.

"Who got a hold of you?" Nott commented, observing the twins. They narrowed their eyes.

"Carrow," Padma replied darkly.

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"She said that it would be a shame to have identical twins who weren't identical," Parvati muttered, looking at her sister apologetically.

"I'm sorry," Nott answered, and they sent him bitter looks.

"Are you really?" Padma challenged, and Greengrass stepped forward.

"It might surprise you, but not all of us torture kittens and puppies in our spare time," she said coldly. She pointed to Finn, who jumped. "In fact, sometimes we save them and bring them to the shelter." She gave a sugary smile.

"That's enough, you lot," Weasley barked as she stood up and strode over to the Slytherins. "We've got bigger problems. What's your name?" she asked Finn, who jumped again at being directly addressed, even though she was smiling at him kindly.

"F-Finn Brady?" he stammered out uncertainly. He looked between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, historically the worst of enemies. "What's going on?"

"What you need to know, Finn," Longbottom began, coming forwards and looking at him in amusement, "is that not all Slytherins are absolute bastards."

"We represent a group of Slytherins who are also Potter-sympathizers, called the Basilisks," Nott explained, sliding his hands into his pockets. "We were organized by Lorena Potter a few years ago when Umbridge was ruling the school."

Finn frowned. That didn't make sense, because Lorena Potter was a murderer. She'd killed Albus Dumbledore, he'd seen it in the papers. He remembered his da reading the article aloud over the breakfast table the morning the news broke while his ma sobbed quietly into her eggs over the headmaster's death. Finn's da hadn't believed it when he read that the girl got off and had started swearing up a storm until his ma reminded him that Finn was in the room.

"But she's a murderer!" he protested, echoing his da's words. "She should be locked up in Azkaban!"

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, the looks that Greengrass and Nott gave him were so cold.

"If you intend to see your next birthday," Greengrass's birthday was light and dangerous, tripping casually over her words, "then you will never insult Lorena Potter in front of us."

"Oh, put your fangs away, Greengrass!" Weasley scoffed, grabbing Finn by the back of his robes and pulling him away from the Slytherins. "You're not going to hurt him."

"What you've got to understand," Longbottom explained, "is that Lorena Potter operates in a sort of moral grey area. But her brother is close to the Weasleys, you know? And Ginny's talked to her about that night."

"What Lorena did was the best option, even if it wasn't a good one," Weasley insisted. "You understand?"

No, Finn most assuredly did not understand. He didn't understand why Slytherins were delivering him to the safety of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. He didn't understand what those students in the corner were brewing, he didn't know why there were hospital beds in the corner, he didn't understand why Potter-sympathizers like Longbottom and Weasley were siting with Lorena Potter. But then again, they were all known to be friends with her brother, so they'd know better than Finn of his da, so maybe he was thinking about this all wrong?

"We've got to go," Greengrass said suddenly. "Astoria needs my help with some Transfiguration work, and Nott just doesn't want to be here. I trust you can get him in the loop?"

Weasley tossed her hair. "I've only given the speech a hundred times since term started, I think I can manage. Show him the ring, so he knows."

Finn blinked as Greengrass shoved her hand in his face. His eyes focused on an oddly flat, iridescent stone set in gold etched with runes. He blinked at it blankly before offering up, "Er, pretty?" not sure what else to say."

Nott snorted and took Greengrass by the elbow, turning her towards the door. She settled her hand in the crook of his arm like they were going to a fancy party and in a swirl of robes, they were gone.

"Don't mind them," Longbottom assured Finn, no doubt seeing his befuddled expression. "Nott and Greengrass are good folks, even if they don't act like it. Come on over here and we'll give you the lay of the land." He headed back towards the group of couches by the fireplace.

"We're heading off," Parvati murmured as she and her sister stood up. "Curfew's soon and I don't want to give the Carrows another crack at us in one day."

Weasley nodded. "Tell Morgenthal that we got her friend."

"Morgenthal?" Finn perked up. "Abby Margenthal?" Abby Morgenthal was much like him, with a Muggle father and halfblood mother and she'd been subject to the same sort of harassment as he was. They'd met on the train and since they had several classes together, they'd become good friends.

"Yeah, that's her." Weasley shook her head. "She's been begging us to bring you in for the past month, but it takes us some time to vet people."

"Bring me in to what?" Finn asked warily, settling himself down on the very edge of the couch.

"It's sort of like a coalition," Longbottom began with a wince. "Or at least, that's the best way we've come up with to describe it."

"Starting with a little backstory," Ginny continued, "about two years ago the Minisry sent in Umbridge, who was basically the Carrows before the Carrows arrived. She wouldn't teach us defensive magic, which was dangerous with the Ministry still denying that Voldemort had returned. So Harry Potter got together some students he trusted from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw and formed a sort of study group that became… well, whatever the situation demanded."

"We're Dumbledore's Army." Longbottom grinned and thumped Finn on the back.

"About the same time, Lorena Potter was undercover and had Umbridge thinking that she was on her side," Ginny continued. "She was keeping Umbridge away from us as well as she could while also forming her own group, the Basilisks. They're made up of the Slytherins who are against You-Know-Who."

"That ring?" Longbottom reminded him. "They all have one. It's made of a basilisk scale. So if you see a Slytherin wearing that scale, take anything they say to you with a grain of salt – they don't mean it, they've just got a reputation to protect."

"And you can go to them for help," Ginny added. "Just be careful how friendly you are to them in public. We're all supposed to hate each other."

"This is mad!" Finn exclaimed. "I just came here to learn how to turn a… a matchstick into a needle! Not join some secret societies rebelling against the teachers!"

"Not all the teachers, just the Carrows and Snape," Longbottom corrected him.

"And I know it's scary," Ginny agreed. "Believe me, it's not what any of us waned. But the whole of the wizarding world is at war and that means Hogwarts too. We've got our parts to play to keep ourselves safe and the Potters set up their own groups to keep us safe. It's just… well, the Slytherins are expected to be one way, and if they're seen to sympathize with us it could be extremely bad for them and their families," Weasley finished with a wince.

"But how can you trust them?" Finn protested. "That other Potter, she murdered Dumbledore in cold blood! She's a killer and a terrible person, and you're just going to trust a bunch of Slytherins because she says to? How do you know they're not going to betray you?"

"It may surprise you to know," Weasley began slowly, "but those Slytherins on her side, Nott and Greengrass in particular, even Malfoy and Zabini, they've fought on our side before."

"Malfoy?" Now Finn was flat-out disbelieving. He's seen the Slytherin with the famous surname prowling the school like he owned the place, a lean and sickly look to him like a rabid dog. The platinum-haired pureblood was one of the worst. It was an open secret that he was a Death Eater, marked and everything, and who was surprised, given who his family was?

"Trust me, we thought the same," Longbottom admitted wryly. "And he doesn't really work with us anymore, it's not safe for him to risk being spotted with me or Ginny, but he's doing a lot on the Basilisk side of things."

"They focus on dueling and teach spells and brewing," Ginny explained, and took a deep breath. "Point of all of this is, you're not alone, and it's because of the Potters that we're as organized and prepared as we are right now under the Carrows and Snape. Lorena in particular saw it coming and prepared us for the worst. It's from her Basilisks that we got the idea to start stockpiling healing potions. They got us the recipes."

"And it's because of Harry and his group that we found this place - the Room of Requirement," Longbottom continued, gesturing to the place around them. "You walk in front of the door three times thinking about what you need and the room provides." There must have been a look on Finn's face, because he chuckled and added, "You can't form a new room if someone's already in it. It's still only one room. Best part is, so long as we leave one person here to make this place a safe harbor against the Carrows, they can't get in. It will let out all over the castle, too, so we don't ever have to spend too long in the halls."

"If you ever need a safe place to hide, if you need healing, or even if you need homework help, come here," Ginny explained. "Just don't go blabbering about it to everyone. This is a secret," she stressed, and the deadly look on her face was enough to convince Finn that blabbing about all of this was likely to be the last thing he ever did if Ginny Weasley found out. Added to that, he had no idea how he would go about explaining this to anyone. Secret societies in Hogwarts founded by the savior Harry Potter and his morally-ambiguous twin sister?

He still didn't fully trust the Slytherins. Ever since he'd showed up here they'd been after him when they had nothing better to do and he'd seen his other housemates - the ones with Muggle parents - take some seriously nasty hexes off of them. A boy from his dorm, Abner Walsh, had been in the Hospital Wing for two weeks regrowing some internal organs.

"Something's eating you," Longbottom noticed.

"The idea of good Slytherins," Finn replied bluntly. "I mean, Greengrass and Nott, their families are supposed to be really close to h-him, right? So why would they care?"

Longbottom and Weasley exchanged grim-faced looks before Longbottom leaned in a little closer to him and explained, "It was hard for us to understand at first too, but they aren't their parents. It's simple as that. Whatever beliefs their parents hold, those aren't automatically their beliefs."

"They're definitely not all sugar quills and chocolate frogs," Weasley agreed. "But they don't want you dead in a ditch somewhere either. You don't have to take our word for it though. Oi, Mayfair!" she bellowed.

Finn looked up as one of the Ravenclaws who'd been brewing this whole time looked up. She was pretty, blonde-haired and round-faced. She was also a seventh year, going by how old she looked. The girl waved her wand over the cauldron she was working on - Stasis charm, Finn thought smugly, proud he could identify it - and walked over to the couch, wiping her hands on a rag as she came.

"You bellowed?" Mayfair asked wryly.

"Brady here is having some trouble accepting that Lorena Potter might not be evil incarnate with all the rest of the Slytherins," Longbottom recounted. "You think you can convince him? Only I've still got to run down and speak to Professor Sprout about... something," he finished cagily, and Finn got the feeling that he was the reason the Gryffindor wasn't more specific.

"And I've got to help some first and second years with their Defense so Carrow doesn't start in on them," Weasley added, standing up and stretching her arms overhead, arching her back and giving a satisfied groan and the loud series of pops.

Mayfair smiled at Finn reassuringly. "Go ahead, I've got this."

"You're good to talk about it?" Weasley clarified, giving Mayfair a sympathetic yet stern look that Finn didn't quite understand. Mayfair winced slightly, but nodded.

"Yes, I'll be alright."

Finn shifted a little uncomfortably as Weasley and Longbottom took their leave and Mayfair sat down next to him. He at least knew off Weasley and Longbottom, they were fairly well-known throughout the school. Mayfair was a complete unknown.

"My name's Ella," she greeted him kindly as she settled herself onto the couch next to him. "What's yours?"

"Finn," he replied slowly.

Ella nodded. "Well, Finn, I used to believe just like you that Slytherins were all nasty and hateful. One night, two years ago, I was heading back to the Common Room after a night in the Library and two Slytherin boys attacked me, Wilkes and Lancaster." She shuddered. "They yanked me around and started saying all sorts of... of nasty things. I punched one of them in the nose to get away but they caught me one corridor over with a Trip Jinx. They started kicking me in the side and they were going to Imperio me." She took a deep breath as Finn's jaw dropped open in horror.

"What happened?" he breathed.

"I looked up and saw more Slytherin badges coming towards me," Ella continued vacantly. "I remember feeling so helpless, that it was all over for me. I was going to die, or at least a part of me was, in the place that was supposed to be safest."

"But... But you didn't?" Finn pressed gently, and Ella smiled in reply.

"No, I didn't. Because those badges belonged to Draco Malfoy and Lorena Potter. She attacked her housemates and got me away from them before they could do anything. Then she cursed them so... so they couldn't hurt anyone else like they were going to hurt me." Again, Finn felt like the facts were being edited some for him. "And she turned around and started healing me while Malfoy kept his wand on the two Slytherins. They saved me, and I thought when I first saw them that they would just pile on. I only saw their badges, I didn't see the person under them. Do you understand?"

Finn might not have been a Ravenclaw, but he did get where she and Weasley and Longbottom were going with this. Like Mayfair, he was looking at house ad not personal character, and that wasn't right. Actually, he felt slightly ashamed. He was a Hufflepuff, weren't they supposed to be the house that accepted everyone's individual talents and personalities? Greengrass and Nott hadn't been nice, certainly, but they'd gotten him away from Gilliam and Willoughby before he could really be hurt and they'd brought him into the safety of Dumbledore's Army. But even after that, he hadn't wanted to trust them just because their robes were green.

"I get it now, I think."

* * *

The four seventh-year Slytherins stood near the end of the chamber, by the massive statue of their founder. Draco watched with a critical eye as all around them the younger students practiced their dueling. Molly, Chastity, and Emilia had progressed in leaps and bounds and they were in a three-way duel. The spells were rather amateurish to the older students, but they were impressive for their ages and relative experience. Sherburne and Fairclough were standing off to the side directly under one of the lanterns that hung on the ceiling. It looked like they were just staring at each other intently with their wands raised, but Sherburne's red-faced expression of concentration showed that they were in a heated mental fight. Dominic was sitting with their three newest recruits, some first-years, on the Chamber floor in a circle. In the middle of their circle were Silas and Sasha and Dominic's copy of what had begun to be jokingly called the Basilisk's Bible, containing their Parseltongue syllabary and their own studies. He was teaching the first years their first lessons on the basic hisses and sounds. Off to the side, a couple of fifth-years were busily brewing in the newly-created lab area. A massive cabinet that one of them had conjured was already half filled with glittering vials of finished potions, all neatly-labelled and held in Stasis bottles so they wouldn't spoil.

"It's all progressing fairly well," Nott noted.

"We're doing better than I expected," Zabini admitted. "There's two more first-years I think we could get if we move soon, but I haven't finished vetting them yet."

"Don't be to hasty," Daphne cautioned. "We don't want to jump the gun and have this all come tumbling down when it's just getting off the ground.

"I know, I know," Zabini sighed. "Caution, caution, caution. You've only told me about a hundred times."

Draco couldn't help but feel immensely proud as he looked around the Chamber. For all her accomplishments - brewing, Animagus transformations, Occlumency - the Basilisks were hands-down her most impressive creations. He saw third-years dueling on a level two to three years above themselves, saw students brewing potions that would be split between their own stores and the DA, should they need the extra stock. He saw the house that was known for being self-serving and defensive turning its famed survival instincts towards the good of not just their own house but the entire school. He had no doubt that without Lorena, nothing even close to this would have been possible and they would have been far less prepared for the Carrows' reign of terror.

"I've been thinking about running a couple of lessons next week in Occlumency for the first and second years," Nott commented, by far the most advanced of them in the subject besides Draco himself. Nott's quiet and orderly disposition served him well in the discipline.

"Do you think they could handle it?" Blaise asked in surprise. "They're practically infants!"

"I think they need to understand at least the theory. It's highly unlikely they'll ever need to use it, but a general idea is better than nothing if the situation ever does arise."

"I agree, I think it's awfully young." Daphne bit her lip thoughtfully. "But I suppose they need to learn it just as much as the rest of them. Perhaps starting them younger they might pick it up more easily?" she posed.

If Draco focused, he could almost see his Phoenix gliding through the students breezily. He loved to watch her work as she gently corrected the grip on a wand or a hand movement, as she concisely explained the subtle difference between one hint and the next, as she patiently worked with a student to find the best way to them personally to defend their mind from attacks. She had always been an amazing force in terms of education, finding solutions to potential problems in the syllabus before they even became problems and continuing on undaunted, trying her damnedest to cram as much useful information as possible down everyone's throats while making sure they genuinely understood the material and could use it effectively.

"Their hissing is going well," Zabini noted. "I can actually understand it."

"Yes, this crop is picking it up faster than I think most of us did," Nott noted. "Perhaps its the presence of Silas and Sasha?"

"No, they're still not Parselmouths," Daphne disagreed. "They wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of actual snakes. I think it's Dominic, he's always been pretty good at it. I heard he's also trying to pick up French to impress some Ravenclaw." She smirked at the bit of gossip. "I think he's just talented with languages."

Merlin but Draco missed her! It was like a constant ache in his chest, knowing that he wouldn't find her in the Common Room, in the Chamber, at the dinner table, during classes. Calling her on the mirror was a plaster, a temporary patch. He hadn't realized how much he relied on her calm and logical reassurance when he was feeling weighed down. Coming to Hogwarts, away from his parents and the Dark Lord's influence had been a massive weight off his shoulders but he knew what awaited him when he returned for break, and he'd been informed that he _was_ going home on holidays. He'd gotten so spoiled, seeing her everyday even if they didn't steal time away for themselves. It was bad enough over the summer, but being at Hogwarts, where he kept expecting to see flame-red hair up ahead, was almost worse.

"That newest brew of bruise salve, we're going to need to send some up to the DA," Nott noted. "The Patil twins both have black eyes and I'm sure others have bruises they're not showing."

"We have enough of the stuff, we could send up about three-quarters of this batch," Zabini reasoned. "I don't think they're focusing on minor cuts and bruises to much as major wound-curing potions."

"I think we should set Sherburne and Fairclough on getting together some Skele-Gro in their free time," Daphne suggested. "They're getting good at it and I don't think it will be long before we progress from bruises to broken bones. You've been awfully quiet, what do you think, Malfoy?"

He worried about her. The past few times he'd called she'd seemed tired, which wasn't so unusual for her. She had lost weight as well. Not nearly to the point she had been when she came back from the summers sometimes, but it was obvious Lorena wasn't eating as well as she did when she was at Hogwarts. Somehow, he suspected it was her doing more than lack of food. And there was something in her eyes which made him nervous because he recognized it. He'd seen it fully matured in his Aunt Bella's eyes. Madness was starting to grow in Lorena, just a seed planted, but it scared him more than he thought possible. He worried what she would do during the war and if she'd be able to live with herself for it later.

"Malfoy?"

"Malfoy!"

"Mate!"

Zabini thumped him firmly on the shoulder and Draco flinched badly, hand jumping towards his wand before he relaxed. His jaw clenched in annoyance at the now-instinctive reaction as he clenched and unclenched his fingers.

"Sorry, what?" he asked sharply.

Daphne rolled her eyes and shook her head in irritation. "Nothing, Malfoy, never mind."

"You were thinking about her again," Zabini accused.

"Can you blame me?" he snapped back defensively. "We're all relatively safe in here but she'd out there in it!"

Zabini held up his hands innocently. "I didn't say it was a bad thing!" he protested.

"How is she?" Nott interrupted. "Have you spoken to her?"

Draco nodded. "Two days ago, I called her and we… talked for a while." He didn't mention that they'd taken to leaving their mirrors open when they laid down for the night. The volume of the enchantment wasn't enough to really hear each other breathing and it was too dark to see a reflection but something about knowing the other was there in spirit if not in body was… comforting.

"Is she okay?" Daphne asked, and she didn't quite manage to hide the concern in her voice behind her false carelessness.

Draco hesitated. Should he lie and tell them that she was doing well and striking a blow against Voldemort? Or should he tell them the truth, that he was concerned about her and wasn't sure if she was doing well, being trapped surrounded by Gryffindor morals?

"She's…"

"Doing as well as she normally does when she's obsessed with a project, which is to see not eating and sleeping as much as she could." Nott read his silence well. Draco sighed and nodded. He leaned back against a column, tilting his head back and rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Pretty much. She's been scrapping with the Weasel off and on since they left and it's putting a strain on her relationships with the others."

"He probably deserves whatever she's dishing out," Zabini scoffed.

"Probably," Malfoy agreed softly.

He wouldn't tell them that he was worried about the state Lorena's mind was in. He didn't know for certain he'd correctly interpreted what he'd seen, after all. And if he was right… there wasn't anything they could do anyway.


	125. Breakout

"The question is where to look next," Ron announced as we all sat in the parlor, Kreacher levitating the tea service in to sit on the table between us. With a snap of his fingers the cream and sugar hopped to, fixing each of us a cup to our preferences. Kreacher's magic sent the cups sailing into our hands and I took mine greedily, letting the warmth sink into my fingers with a sigh of relief.

This wasn't a new conversation. We'd had almost exactly the same one every day or so since leaving the Ministry, talking in circles and at this point I was sick of it and getting twitchy from lack of progress. The Ministry raid was at the beginning of September. It was now the beginning of October and I was really hating the lack of progress made. It buzzed in the back of my skull like a reminder that we hadn't accomplished anything in… I pondered the date. Officially over a month, as of two days ago.

The locket, the cup, the snake, the diary, the ring, something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's, and an unknown. The list of horcruxes ran on repeat in my head when I was lost in thought, like a snatch of a song I'd heard ages ago but couldn't place or get out of my brain. The problem was that we were running out of ideas. The snake would have to be last. Next to last, rather, considering the part of Voldemort's soul still actually inside of him. The diary, the ring, the locket were all taken care of. We had no idea on the other two. The only one we could solidly identify anymore was Hufflepuff's cup.

We had no idea where to look for it either, which made Ron's question all the more annoying. Harry and I were confident that one was in Hogwarts, given how much Voldemort had cared for the place. Ron and Hermione insisted that was mad, though, that Dumbledore would have known. Considering how much I'd gotten away with in the halls of the school I wasn't entirely confident on that count, but it was a fight that I frankly didn't want to have.

The orphanage had been suggested and I had quickly demolished that theory. Why in Merlin's name would he leave a fragment of soul in a place he'd sought so desperately to escape? On top of that, it was very likely that, given it was over forty years old, Wool's had either closed down or been completely demolished. I hadn't bothered to actually check what happened to the place, so confident was I that it didn't have what we needed.

The other alternative while Harry stubbornly clung to was Godric's Hollow, which Hermione kept insisting was too dangerous a place to check. Ron was on her side, though for a different reason. According to him, it made no sense for Voldemort to his part of his soul in a place where he'd almost died.

"That's gotta be a sore spot for him," Ron always insisted, "getting his arse kicked by a baby."

Harry had turned to me to back up his desire – nearly a need – to go to our birthplace, and I had disappointed him when I shrugged and agreed with the others. Harry's desire to see our hometown wasn't worth risking the probability that Voldemort had left someone there to watch the place. We'd proven we could handle Death Eaters before, but that didn't mean we should walk into a place that was obviously going to be monitored, and likely very heavily.

I found myself not caring a whole lot about what whatever circular discussions my companions had planned. It never went anywhere new and, if it ever did, I was sure I'd hear about it the moment they made actual progress. Instead I locked myself in my room with _Et Magicae ex Animo._ The progress was slow, but with more free time I'd managed to translate my way through the introduction and the first two chapters. The second covered the creation of horcruxes, something that, while fascinating and good to know given our situation, had made me physically ill to the point that I ended up locked in the bathroom for several minutes while my breakfast made a reappearance.

Truthfully, I was starving for company that wasn't my brother or his friends, even if it wasn't a person. Part of me wished for Artmeisia back. Stroking her feathers had always been deeply calming to me, but she was safer at Hogwarts. We'd already lost Hedwig, I didn't want to lose my owl as well. Even better would have been Silas or Sasha. There were few things more comforting to me than the weight of them over my shoulders and the smooth coolness of scales under my fingers. I even considered casting a _Serpensortia_ but that seemed like cheating; unfair to my dear friends to try and replace them and unfair to drag out another poor snake purely for my own amusement.

The unintended side-effect was that I'd taken to using my mirror far more than I should. Conversations with Amity when her somewhat stressed expression showed that she should be dealing with customers. Talking with Draco almost nightly, which ended with us falling asleep together. Snape had started to hang up on me after a set time limit to keep me from pressing him for information, any questions I could come up with to keep him talking. I was checking in more and more frequently with Daphne and Nott as well for progress on individual students, the state of the potions stock, their relationship with the DA. I'd even called up Ginny a time or two and spoken to some of her new recruits. The most recent was a young Hufflepuff names Finn Brady who seemed unnerved by me, but at least willing to try and get over that.

"We could try Albania," Harry suggested half-heartedly, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Right, shouldn't take us longer than an afternoon to search the whole country."

"There can't be anything there. He'd already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth," listed off Hermione. "We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol-"

"Didn't I ask you to stop say that?"

"Fine! The snake is usually with You-Know-Who - happy?"

"Not particularly."

"I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes," replied Harry, who had made this point many times before. "Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would've recognized a horcrux straightaway." Ron yawned pointedly as Harry plowed on, "I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed. "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!"

Harry repeated the argument he kept bringing out in favor of this theory. "Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwart's secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol-"

"Oi!"

 _"You-Know-Who_ , then!" Harry shouted, goaded past endurance. "If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on," scoffed Ron. "His school?"

"Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left-"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" inquired Ron.

"You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," said Hermione.

"That's right," agreed Harry.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"But he didn't get the job, did he?" said Hermione. "So he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school!"

"Okay, then," said Harry, defeated. "Forget Hogwarts."

I tuned out the conversation in favor of staring out the window down into the square. The supply of Death Eaters had picked up when school started, like they expected us to head for the train before petering off back to two or three most days. The Ministry attack had again brought a swarm of them out, but in the time since they'd lapsed off as well. Randomly there would be an increase in the amount of Death Eaters lingering in the square, but at this point I was fairly certain it either coincided with strikes elsewhere to prevent the Order summoning potential backup, or simply punishment work for someone who had failed – sit in a square all day and stare at nothing.

My eyes narrowed at them down there, waiting for something that would never come and I loathed the sight of them. According to Snape – before he cut me off – the Death Eaters had staged a few raids on suspected Order safe houses of Muggleborn shelters and some had been successful. One had taken out five Muggleborns, another had gotten some fringe Order supporters. I couldn't help but wonder if one or more of the men below had been involved in either or those attacks, or some of the ones that ended with frustrated Death Eaters burning down an empty house in childish retaliation.

The longer I thought about it, the more I wanted to do something, anything. The only real news we'd had since the Ministry came from one of Harry's visions. Gregorovitch had apparently been located and summarily killed when he failed to provide Voldemort with what he was looking for. Not, as we'd expected, a new wand but something that had apparently been stolen from the wandmaker years ago. According to Harry, he was seeing flashes of a young, blond-haired thief who had stolen whatever it was on a loop. Whatever this object was, Voldemort was fixated on it and the thief who might have it or know where it went.

It didn't relate to our horcrux hunt, however, and so it was largely dismissed. After all, as with many things, there was nothing we could do about it. I'd made the point when we first arrived that the Death Eaters in the square were easy pickings with four of us and an Invisibility Cloak, but no one had wanted to kill them and I was the only one who could make it into Azkaban. That fight had been dropped, like many others, for the sake of peace in Grimmauld Place as tensions grew higher the longer we went without any kind of success.

I wanted to start it again.

"Alright, we haven't tried the orphanage," Hermione sighed wearily, rubbing her eyes. "We'll look into it tomorrow. Even if there's nothing there, it's a place to tick off the list."

I rolled my eyes. In my opinion it should never have been on the list, but Ron had been insistent. He didn't understand that just because you grew up in a place, that didn't automatically make it 'home.' For people like Harry and I, like Tom Riddle, like Snape, even, home was the place where we found some kind of acceptance, even if it was the acceptance of servants or servitude. The Dursleys, the orphanage… those places weren't home. They were mandatory, limited circles of hell. Hogwarts was the salvation.

* * *

The next day was an abject failure. We traveled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, searching for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised. Hermione stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. We visited its site and found a tower block of offices.

"We could try digging in to foundations?" Hermione suggested halfheartedly.

I had just turned and walked away at that idiocy, and the others trailed behind me as we Apparated back dejectedly to the front stoop of Grimmauld Place, the four of us struggling to balance on the stoop and not fall out from under the Invisibility Cloak as the door was opened and we stepped inside.

I lingered in the doorway. There were four Death Eaters there today, none of whom I recognized, likely not marked members but lower-level grunts trying to make their way up the ranks. Still, by wearing those robes and following Voldemort's orders they had declared their side and they should be made to pay for it. Perhaps they were just peons, but even cannon fodder could cause damage if given a target to point themselves at, and I couldn't help but imagine my Basilisks, the DA, the Order as that target.

I had a habit of thinking things through – unless I was angry – before acting on any plans I'd made, even though plans tended to come to me fairly easily. But once I had decided to act, I acted quickly and with confidence. Like something clicked inside me, I had a plan and the determination to carry it through, and I knew what I was going to do.

"Rena?"

I flinched slightly, wand instinctively sliding from my sleeve into my hand, but it was only Harry, standing near the bottom of the stairs with a questioning look on his face. A quick flick of my wrist and my wand was once more safely stowed before he could notice it.

"Just enjoying being outside of this place for a bit," I lied with a sheepish smile, and Harry snorted, shaking his head.

"I know what you've mean. Not to say you haven't done great work, getting this place back into shape," he added, "but I'd _kill_ to go flying, just for a couple of minutes."

I nodded in agreement. "I'm going to go check the Bible," I commented, lips tugging up in the corner. Daphne had filled me in on the affectionate nickname our group grimoire had generated and we'd shared a good laugh over it. So had Harry, when I filled him in on the nickname.

I mounted the stairs and headed to my room, shutting the door behind me and locking it with a quick spell. I settled myself on the window seat overlooking the square and peered down at the Death Eaters. With more intensity than I had yet spent on them I observed their movements. Were they clumsy? Confident? Did they jump at the slightest sound or were they bored enough to have completely relaxed? What was the layout of the square? Where was the best place to find shelter if I needed it? What night get in my way, tangle my feet or block my line of sight? Were there any other Death Eaters arriving, popping in and out as if they were carrying reports back? Did one seem to be in charge?

All of these facts ran rampant in my mind as I plotted spells, tracked paths from the front door of Grimmauld Place to the square, considered the travel time and how to break down the opponents. I watched with a dim sort of acknowledgement as the sky began to darken and the streetlights came on. I smirked as I noticed that the Death Eaters had apparently doused all of the streetlights around where they usually stood. In theory, I supposed they thought it made them harder to see in their black robes. As if anyone in the house wouldn't already be aware that they were there. The large dark spot on an otherwise decently-kept street was more obvious that a group loitering by one of the lampposts would have been, I mused.

"Mistress?" Kreacher appeared in my room with a crack. "Dinner is prepared. Kreacher has made a hearty vegetable beef soup, with dinner rolls, garlic-roasted broccoli, and rosemary potatoes."

"That sounds wonderful," I replied, and honestly it did. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and the dinner, as most meals Kreacher prepared, sounded very nutritious and filling, which I would need if I was going to pull off what I intended to. I took the house elf's hand and, with a crack, we were downstairs. Harry and Hermione were already downstairs, digging into their soup bowls and Ron walked through the door just as I was settling down to my own meal.

"Brilliant, I'm starving," Ron groaned as he dropped into the seat.

"This is delicious Kreacher, thank you," I commented as I took several greedy spoonfuls of the soup. This was one of the recipes of his that I liked best and Kreacher had apparently noticed and he'd begun making it more as the temperature began to drop. I hadn't realized how cold I'd gotten, curled up next to the glass of my window for long hours.

"Mistress is very welcome," Kreacher replied, dropping into a deep bow. He waved his hand and the basket of rolls floated down the table towards me. "Would Mistress like some bread?"

I nodded and took a roll, biting into it before letting it rest on the edge of my bowl, slowly sopping up the broth.

"Are you alright, Lorena?" Hermione asked curiously, and I blinked up at her in surprise, spoon halfway to my mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just that you've been up in your room all day," Harry clarified for her. Apparently I'd been a topic of conversation between them sometime before I came in.

"Just thinking," I answered calmly, and pinched a bit of bread off of my roll to pop into my mouth. "I spoke with some of my Basilisks. They're sending some bruise salve up to the DA."

Ron perked up in interest. "Have you heard anything about Ginny?" he asked eagerly.

I nodded. "A favorite target of the Carrows, from what I understand, but she and Neville have taken over the DA and are liaising with Greengrass and Nott. She's gotten quite a few of the younger students under the DA's wing."

Ron fairly glowed with pride. "Good, that's good." He frowned. "But what d'you mean the Carrows are targeting her. What, they're failing her on purpose?"

I stared at him, incredulous. With the Carrows running two classes, a supposedly staunch Death Eater leading the school, and the Ministry in their pocket, the teachers on our side could do next to nothing to run the school how it should be. And he thought Ginny's _grade_ was the thing in most danger? She was a Weasley! Even had he not befriended my brother all those years ago, they would have been targets thanks to their parents ties to the DA.

"Ron," Hermione said softly, obviously smart enough to have worked out the state of the school on her own. "No."

"To give you a little context," I said slowly, lowering my spoon to my bowl. "Four days ago Alecto Carrow punched Parvati Patil in the face for an incorrect answer. She then punched Padma so 'they would still be twins.' Believe me, Ginny's Defense grade is the least of her problems."

Ron's face was slowly going red with rage. "They can't do that!"

"Yes, they can," I said wearily, and picked my spoon back up. Ron glared at me, his food abandoned. "Given that the Death Eaters have control of the Ministry, the Carrows _can_ and _will_ do whatever the hell they want, morals and ethics be damned. We're lucky they're just throwing a few punches."

"There has to be something we can do to help," Hermione insisted, and I assumed the expression on her face was very close to the one she'd worn when she started SPEW.

"I think we've got enough to be getting on with," Harry reminded her.

"The DA has taken the Room of Requirement as a safe house. So long as one person is there to keep the room sealed off, the Carrows can't get in," I explained. "And the Basilsks have the Chamber which no one knows about but them. They're as safe as they can be."

Dinner was finished with somewhat awkward conversation as Ron occasionally cast me more annoyed looks – I assumed for not being more verbally incensed about the treatment of the students at Hogwarts – and afterwards we spent a few hours in the parlor in quiet companionship before returning to our rooms for the night.

I lay in bed on top of the sheets, my clothes still on, my shoes waiting by the nightstand. The clock next to me ticked softly and I watched as the time slowly ticked by. An hour, then two, and I was confident that everyone was asleep by then. I sat up and picked up my shoes, slipping from my room and heading downstairs. It was a bit like playing hopscotch, dodging the creakiest and most worn spots on the landing and stairs, but I managed it, getting to the front door with only a couple of soft squeaks.

Standing on the rug before the door I crouched down and slid on my trainers, lacing them up and taking the time to brace myself. I straightened up and took a deep breath, casting a Disillusionment Charm on myself. I shuddered at the sensation as the spell covered me, silenced my footsteps, and reached for the door.

The crack of Apparation would give me away, at least at first. I relied on the darkness to conceal the faint outline of my body against the front of the buildings. I watched carefully, eyeing the Death Eaters in the square for any sort of movement like they'd spotted me. There was none. They remained relaxed and loose as I paced around the edge of the square, coming up behind them through the scrubby grass. All four of them were facing the house, which was good for me. I had the time to raise my wand and take careful aim.

Two flashes of red burst from my wand. They connected with the two broadest backs – one who seemed like a fighter and the one who seemed to be the closest thing to a leader in our merry band of stalkers. They dropped like stones and the other two whirled, raising their wands. The fact that they didn't move to press Marks proved that, as expected, they didn't have them.

"It's the Order!" yelled one of them, and I used his yelling to cover the sound of my Apparation as I appeared directly behind him. A prod of my wand to his spine and he dropped, unconscious. Another crack and I was down the road from the last one, who was turning frantically on the spot with his wand raised.

"It's you, isn't it Potter?" he panted, eyes wide and glowing under the streetlight. "You'll be taken to the master, boy, and he'll reward me beyond anything you could possibly-"

I strode the last few feet forwards so that I was right behind him.

"Doubt it," I whispered in his ear, and prodded him in the back. He dropped like a stone and I didn't make a move to catch him, even when his face smacked into the cement and his nose broke in a spray of blood.

Waving my wand, I doused the lights. I doubted anyone else was still awake at this hour – it was nearing midnight – but I still didn't want to risk the Muggles in the area. I hit each man with another Stunner to make sure they were down and tied them up with a quick Incercerus that included gags. Their wands I collected and stowed before hitting the remaining two with an Anti-Disapparation Jinx. If someone else did show up while I was gone, they wouldn't be able to take those two along to safety.

I grabbed the collars of the two I'd singled out as the biggest threats and put my wand between my teeth. I turned on the spot, screaming swear words and curses at myself in the confines of my mind.

The chilling depression hit me as soon as I landed on the stone of Azkaban island and I transformed fast. It wasn't quite as bad this time and with a jolt I realized why that was. Voldemort had turned some of the dementors loose on the countryside which meant less of them to guard Azkaban. But they _were_ there and my mind was busy likening to Death coming for my soul with their horrible death rattles and long, hooded cloaks. I took off for the front doors, again using the two men swinging under me to batter them open. They dragged against every stair as I flew up to the higher levels, searching for an empty cell.

I grew more and more horrified the higher I climbed because I wasn't finding any. There were so many more faces then there had been the last time I was there, wearing not the white and black striped inmate robes but whatever they'd been wearing when they were taken. This, I realized, was the result of the Muggleborn Registration Commission. Muggleborns, supposed 'thieves' of magic, were being locked away in this literally soul-sucking circle of hell by Umbridge, for the sake of her own petty, childish exercising of power. These were the victims of Voldemort's rule, the first to fall.

The dementors were a trail behind me and I hated it. It was as if everything I'd ever done wrong, every painful memory was behind me, breathing down my neck. Dumbledore hissed that I was a traitorous murderer, Parkinson laughed at the sound of my screams, Voldemort whispered that I was nothing but a pretty trophy. The voices of my Basilisks whispering that I was a failure, asking me why I didn't teach them enough to keep them safe, keep them alive _you killed us you did it it's your fault_

I came to a stop on a level close to the top and almost sobbed with relief as I found to empty cells. The dementors lingered with bated breath as I transformed, and they started to surge forward. One even reached for his hood and my cry of " _Expecto Patronum_ " was more of a scream than it was intended to be. They drew back at the sound of the spell, at the burst of light, and my phoenix flapped its wings, hovering in midair. Its wingspan blocked nearly the whole of the hallway.

I worked fast, ripping up the sleeves of the first one and checking for a Dark Mark, but as expected there was nothing. I stole the money from his pockets, but that and his wand were all he'd had on him. With a flick of my wand his Death Eater robes were gone, transfigured into the uniform, and he could have been any one of a dozen other prisoners in here. With a mighty shove he rolled into the cell and I slammed the door shut behind him with a clang. The process was repeated with the second man, his pockets searched, valuables taken, and his clothing Transfigured. He was locked away and I turned towards the patronus lingering in the hallway, the dementors, four of them, pressing up against the very edge of its silvery glow, coming as close as they dared.

I wondered once more just what dementors actually were. Where they came from. Were they people originally. Did they know how monstrous they were. There was no way of knowing. To the best of my knowledge, they couldn't speak, and I wasn't keen on trying to carry on a conversation with one anyway. It was bad enough with the voices whispering my sins in the back of my head, and they had quite a flurry to choose from.

I turned and started down the hallway, my patronus following sedately. I wished for a moment to see Draco's frolicking there with it, the peacock's trailing feathers mixing with the phoenix's, but it was a silly thought and I quickly dismissed it as I climbed higher. Patronuses I'd seen flashed in my mind as I climbed, Maeve and Quinlan's foxes, Blaise's coyote. The faintly shimmering banks of fog that served the younger students last I aw. Had they progressed to fully-corporeal patronuses yet? I'd have to ask...

I reached the top floor and with only a moment to brace myself I flung myself through the window into the night air. The dementors were coming, swooping up at me from the ground, and for a moment I wondered what I was doing. Wouldn't it be much simpler just to smash against the rocky ground below? It would be a quick, painless death, there was no way I'd survive. A messy stain on the stone, no more me to bother Ron, to put Harry in the tense position of mediator. No more trophy for Voldemort, and that was an appealing thought in itself. It would be so simple...

I became conscious of how close the ground was and it terrified me. My scream choked and turned into a warble as I transformed with only seconds to spare. My talons scraped the stone as I pulled out of my fall and soared towards the Apparation point, heart hammering. Were I human I would have been doubled over panting. All these years of avoiding death and that was how I almost went out? A messy smear on Azkaban's rocks that no one would find for days? No, I was far, far better than that. Though I did like the idea of going out with a bang, leaving a nice, stained smear behind to prove indelibly that I was here.

With a transformation and a crack I was back on the square in Grimmauld Place. The sky was still pitch black. I checked my watch and realized with a start that it was coming up on one in the morning already I wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight, not a chance. I would be useless tomorrow, but honestly I didn't want to sleep after my most recent encounter with the dementors. I knew the sort of dreams that would come and I didn't need that in my head right now.

I was back on Azkaban island with the last two prisoners, and this was about three more trips than I had ever wanted to make to the prison. At least this time I knew where I was going. Transformed, I shot through the doors and started up the stairs. It was so late that most of the prisoners were asleep, shuddering in tiny balls, covered in whatever ratty blanket or cloak they had. I noticed that, to a man, they all slept with their backs to the cell doors. I didn't blame them. Waking up to the image of the dementors looming at the door would have put me off sleeping for a week.

 _They were right behind me, Merlin, they were right behind me, why couldn't they just go away..._

"What?"

I paused, the soft murmur enough to stop me from flying on. I was wrong. One of the prisoners wasn't asleep. It was a girl, only a couple of years older than me. She was beautiful, even though the dirt, with shockingly light blue eyes and black hair. Her hair was greasy though, her jeans and jumper stained and smelly. She was obviously Muggleborn and still had a round youthfulness to her face that made her look younger than I suspected she was. She stood at the door of her cell, her hands curled around the bars, ragged and dirty nails still bearing the chipped remains of bright red nail polish, like she'd once been well turned out. She looked vaguely familiar, like I'd seen her randomly in the halls of Hogwarts, but I couldn't have guessed her name or her house.

She was smiling at me.

"They said this place drives you mad," she whispered. "But if this is madness it's not so bad, eh pretty bird?"

I let the men fall into a slump from my feet and flew towards her door. She drew back a little at the spread of my wings, but all I did was alight on the bars, angling my legs somewhat awkwardly to fold myself close to her. Looking awed, she reached out and stroked my wing with a finger. I shivered under the attention, dipped my head, and warbled softly. She bolstered a little, smile returning, and pet me a little more surely. I let her, it seemed to bring her some comfort.

"The dementors stay back from you," she noticed, and there was a clever glint in her eyes that mad me think she might have been a Ravenclaw. "That's interesting... Even my hallucinations are factually accurate. But you seem fairly real. But you can't be... A phoenix dropping off prisoners in a place like this? You're mad Libby, off your rocker... I'm Libby Pritchard, pretty bird," she cooed to me. "It's nice to meet you even if you are a hallucination."

It was heartbreaking to see the state she'd been reduced to in only a few short months. I remembered the man from my last visit, who had stared at me and declared me not real. I wondered if he had been like this before, trying to calmly figure out what was actually happening and what was his mind playing tricks under the influence of the dementors. I thought of Libby Pritchard and all the other Muggleborns trapped here. They were helpless, at any moment the Ministry might decide that they needed more cells or simply to wipe out the entirety of the place. They had magic, rightfully gotten no matter what the current party line was, but they were helpless without wands, they'd never learned the way I did. If they had, they might have been able to get out of here themselves.

It always came down to wands, didn't it? My wand, Harry's wand, Voldemort's wand, a messy tangle of greatness and blood and death and beauty. If all the Muggleborns had wands...

Merlin help me. This was going to be wretched. I wasn't going to get any sleep. But it was going to be _so worth it._

I peeled myself from the bars and seized the men again, pulling them up into a half-slump. Libby cried out in protest as I took off down the hall and it killed me to hear her plead weakly, "No please, please don't go, please..."

She silenced and sank back from the door as the dementors drifted past on my tail. Up the stairs to the higher levels, to the empty cells. A quick rifling through their pockets for money or anything else, transfiguring their clothes, and slapping them into cells. I moved now with the frenetic energy of someone with a plan, the dementors at my back only motivating me to get a move on now as I outright ran for the windows and leaped out. This time there was no hesitated, no _l'appel du vide_ , and I was flying through the night air feeling almost triumphant. I couldn't tell which cell was Libby's, but I made a lap of the whole structure, singing a phoenix song as I went, in some sort of hope that she and Muggleborns would hear and find some peace in it. Then it was to the Apparation point, a twist and a pop, and I was not on the square in front of Grimmauld Place, but in the alleyway down the street from the Leaky Cauldron.

I worked quickly, pulling patches from my pouch and slapping them on my cheeks, turning my hair black, shifting my facial features. After Animagus transformation, transfiguring my features was a snap. I gave myself blue eyes and sharper, almost feline features. My clothes I turned black as well and pulled from my pouch the nicest black cloak I owned, draping it over my shoulders. Some basic cosmetic spells gave me heavy eye makeup. This look channeled something of Bellatrix Lestrange, a comparison that made me cringe, but there was no denying that the woman gave off an aura that fairly screamed _don't mess with me_ and that was what I needed tonight, for people to be too terrified of me to look me in the eye.

The Leaky Cauldron was always open, and the bell at the desk had a note beside it telling anyone who came in late to ring for service. I wasn't looking to rent a room, however. I was looking to get into Diagon Alley. Without sparing a glance for the drunk in the corner who looked like he might wet himself at the sight of me I swept through the tavern and into the alley behind it. I drew my wand and tapped on the bricks. With grinding clicks, they folded back into themselves and opened up the way to Diagon Alley. I stepped inside and shuddered.

This late at night the street was dark except for the gaslights. The shops were all closed up for the evening and there were only a few scattered people who darted about like they were up to no good, and they almost certainly were. It was nearly... I checked my watch: two in the morning. They weren't likely to give me any trouble so long as I didn't give them any, but all the same I donned the hood of my cloak and made my way swiftly down the street, eager to get this done. I walked past the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which actually seemed busier than the main street.

I ducked into the alleyway by Ollivanders, pausing and waiting for several minutes to make sure no one was following me. A quick magical scan showed that I was alone in the alley. Sighing in relief, I started to open the side door, but paused. I meant no harm - the opposite - but there was no telling if, with the Death Eaters in control of the Ministry more charms had been added to keep people out. Or they might have raided the place and taken every wand in there. I drew back and tossed as many detection spells as I could at the door, but I could find nothing that wasn't in line with my last visit. My confidence grew as I recalled that, Voldemort pulling the strings or not, this was still the _Ministry_ we were talking about, and they were famously thoughtless.

I seized the door handle, cast an unlocking spell, and stepped inside. I crossed the threshold with no problem and smiled smugly. There wasn't any time for patting myself on the back though. I started for the closest aisle and began working quickly, pulling wands from boxes indiscriminately, not paying any attention to the details of them on the boxes. I stuffed wand after wand into my pouch, as many as I thought I would need, and then turned towards the counter.

The letter I'd left the last time was visible to me given that I had left it there and I took that as some reassurance that no one had been in here and moved it around. It wouldn't actually appear to anyone else until Ollivander himself returned to his shop. I winced and prayed he didn't make me pay for all of these, but given the fact that he was very likely dead by this point - the last time Harry had a vision of Voldemort interacting with the wandmaker the former had been furious, which didn't bode well - I doubted it.

I left another note anyway, detailing that it was me again and why I'd taken the wands, another plea that Ollivander would understand, and charmed it as I had the last one. With that done, I stepped from the store through the same door I'd entered and locked it tightly behind me. I moved to the mouth of the alleyway and peered up and down the street. No one was watching, so I stepped out onto the street and headed for the Leaky Cauldron again. The drunk was gone when I reached the bar, off to his own home or up to his room, I had no idea. I retreated back to the Apparation point in the alley by the bar and turned again.

I was on Azkaban island for the third time tonight and I was already far past my threshold for it, but the Muggleborns had probably passed that ages ago. I ended all the spells on my appearance and turned into a phoenix once more, this time only to get through the door before turning back into a human and casting my patronus. The dementors were restless now, like they were frustrated or confused or eager, I couldn't tell. Maybe they were sick of me popping in and out of what was their territory. Maybe they just wanted to know what the hell I was up to. Maybe they thought I was going to produce more prey for them. On this occasion, it was the exact opposite.

I walked up the stairs past the first few levels and then approached the first cell with a Muggleborn inside of it. This was an older man, probably in his seventies. The cold couldn't be doing him any good. He was curled up so tightly even my back ached and he shivered in his sleep.

I clapped my hand against the bar, producing a hollow ringing. It was a blessing that they hadn't thought to strip the Muggleborns of their clothes and put them in uniforms. It made it easy for me to distinguish them from the others. The man's worn travelling cloak twitched as he rolled over and looked fearfully towards the door. When he saw me there he paused, frowned, and brought his fists up to rub at his eyes. When he lowered his hands, I smirked faintly at his shock at seeing me still there.

"Fancy a prison break?" I asked with far more confidence than I actually felt.

"You're... Lorena Potter..." the old man said uncertainly as he climbed to his feet. "And you're... here?"

"I'm doing my good deed for the year," I informed him, and flicked my wand. The door to his cell creaked open and his eyes bulged. "Breaking out the Muggleborns."

The man looked at the door of his cell sadly. The faintest wry smile crossed his face. "I've read about you and your brother in the paper. You're both powerful children, but even you couldn't cast a patronus strong enough to get us all out of here. There's no time to take us one by one. This is your only shot, too. Once they realize what's happened, the security will be tightened. You won't be able to come back."

"This is true," I agreed. "Were you a Ravenclaw?"

He huffed. "Does it show?"

"Little bit. Can you cast a patronus?"

"Yes, not a corporeal one, but a reasonably strong basic shield form-"

I plucked a wand from my pouch randomly and tossed it to him. He watched it fly through the air and fumbled it for a moment before catching it greedily. "This... you..." he looked between the wand and me. "How is this possible?"

"Suffice it to say I'm going to owe Ollivander a ridiculous amount of money when and if he turns up again," I replied. "Are you coming, because I'm not keen on standing out here alone with these ring wraiths." I nodded to the dementors. The man laughed lightly and strode through the door of his cell.

"This might actually work."

"That's the spirit."

It was much easier to stand the presence of the dementors as I walked through the hallway with someone else at my side. My own patronus soared up and down the hallways while the man, Harold Watson, kept them from creeping up behind us with his shield form. It worked well as we made our way up the cells, freeing anyone we saw in civilian clothes and pressing wands into their hands. They reacted in many different ways. Suspicion, delight, relief, fear, hesitation, excitement. I had to stop one particularly hysterical blonde witch from taking off for the exit by herself and set Harold to making sure she didn't try to break for it on her own.

I reached the cell Libby was in and I wasn't quite surprised to see her still awake. I was concerned to see that she was curled up in the corner, face buried in her knees, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. I winced and crouched down by her cell door while some of the others I'd already cut loose filtered up the hallway as far from the protective patronuses as they dared to let others out of their cells and pass wands to them.

"Libby Pritchard?" I called softly, and she shook her head, keeping her face buried in her knees. "Libby, it's the pretty bird. I've come back."

Libby lifted her head uncertainly at first, then much higher when she saw me crouching there with Harold at my back, a cluster of Muggleborns milling about the hallway nervously glancing back at the dementors.

"What...?" Her mouth dropped open in awe and she slowly got to her feet. I rose as well as she moved closer to the door of her cell and stared at me blankly.

"But you're... you can... of course..." The confusion cleared from her face and was replaced with delight. "It wasn't a hallucination."

"Nope," I replied, and tapped the lock with my wand, opening it up. Libby stepped out and Harold offered her a wand. She took it eagerly and raised it, casting a patronus. To my surprise and delight, it was a fully-formed one, a little sparrow joining my phoenix, a massive bear, a foxhound, an unnervingly-large bat, and a lizard that had had appeared at some point.

"This is everyone," I said as we reached the end of the level just below my most recent prisoners. The hall in front of me was filled with grubby but excited Muggleborns looking at me for instruction. The dementors were almost invisible behind the thick wall of silvery fog and swooping animals. For once, Azkaban was actually quite tolerable. "Now, you have wands. We'll have to go outside to get to the Apparation point, which is where more dementors will come in. Be on your toes. It is currently..." I paused to glance at my watch. "It is currently four twenty-five in the morning. There's some time before the world gets going. Collect family members and run to the continent. Don't do anything stupid like try to go to Gringotts. You're all Muggleborns, use that. Take Muggle forms of transport. Last I heard, the Italians were offering asylum to refugees. Maybe go to them or the Greeks. Try for America, even. Just be careful. Don't do anything to put anyone on your scent. Are you all ready?"

Nods and a few shouts of support. I saw Harold looking very determined, Libby standing near him. She looked particularly wary, but ready to face the dementors. With the Muggleborns rallied, I pressed my way through the crowd to the front of the group and raised my wand. My phoenix threw back its head and called and, as one, we set off back down the halls and through the prison. All of the feet on stone had roused some of the prisoners. Many were staring at us blankly or pleading for us to take them with us. They were all clad in prison uniforms though and showed signs of having been here for far longer than the Muggleborn Registry had been operating. That wasn't to say that given the Ministry's judicial system they weren't innocent, but I had no way of knowing.

"Can't we help them?" asked the blonde who'd tried to break for the door, sliding through the mass to join me near the front. "I mean... we're just leaving them... to suffer." She winced at the sight of a skeletally thin wizard with only four yellowed teeth and scraggly bits of hair plastered to his scalp with grease standing by the door and staring at us with a face-stretching grin.

I opened my mouth to remind her, "Some of these people do deserve to be in-"

 _"You!"_

 _"Gah!"_

Hands closed over my hair, which had swished too close to one of the cells. Dirty fingers knotted in the red strands and my neck popped as it was yanked roughly. The side of my head smacked into the railing and a second hand closed around my throat, nails digging in painfully. I gasped and reached up instinctively to grasp the wrist of the hand on my neck. The Muggleborns shouted in protest behind me and hands grabbed my shoulders and arms to yank me free. It was Libby who leapt into action and cast a slicing charm that cut the last few inches of my hair off jaggedly. With my hair freed, the Muggleborns wrenched me out of the grasp of the man in the cell. his nails tore into my throat painfully and opened lines of blood, but the wounds were superficial. The others pulled me back to their chests protectively.

"Hello Dolohov," I spat at the man in the cell. His hair was longer, hanging in greasy strands, his eyes wild from the months spent incarcerated. His hands still stretched through the gaps in the bars. One had bits of red hair caught under the nails and tangled around the fingers. The sleeves of his robes were rolled up, exposing the scar where his Dark Mark used to be. It was scratched red and raw.

 _"Bitch!"_ Dolohov spat. "Let me out! you can't keep me here! He'll save me! My Lord, my Lord Voldemort, _please! Save me!_ Bitch!"

"Potter?" asked Harold warily, eyeing him.

"That's why I came here tonight, to drop off some of You-Know-Who's men in a place that would hold them, where no one would think to look. Dolohov and his friend Rowle were my first delivery," I explained hoarsely, rubbing my throat and wincing when my fingers touched the bloody lines. "He's a bit sore about it, it seems. But it doesn't matter." I looked at Rowle viciously and smirked. "He's pathetically helpless here. All he can do is yell, and no one's coming. _Especially_ not your precious Lord."

Dolohov howled some more and I gestured for the Muggleborns to continue on. They walked past his cell warily as he screamed and shook the bars. Rowle was sitting in his cell, but Azkaban seemed to have made him, not angry like Dolohov, but hopeless. He just sat in the middle of his cell with his legs crossed and stared at us blankly as we passed, almost like a child. Behind us, I heard one of the women who was pressed tightly to her husband's side mutter,

"Now I get why the papers called her Dark. She's bloody insane."

"Shh, Keira, she just saved us."

"Yeah, but she came to Azkaban willingly in the first place. That's not sane."

I couldn't fight her on that one as I reminded the Muggleborns once more to be careful as I pushed open the doors that led out onto the barren rock. The patronuses spread out around us, forming a ragged wall of mist on all sides and above us as the fully-formed patronuses ran and flew the perimeter, strengthening weaker spots. The dementors we'd pushed out of the prison before us were spreading out and more were coming from all directions, drawn to such a large crowd. In all, there were close to fifty-seven Muggleborns with me at a estimate. They pressed tighter together at the sight of the dementors and a few shields faltered, but I saw hands slipping into other hands for support, people who didn't even know each other but had perhaps been on the same hall and held conversations whispering encouragement before the shields bolstered. It was heartening to watch, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my phoenix blazed a little brighter.

We hit the Apapration point and people began to Disapparate in pairs and trios. Those who could handle a fully-formed patronus I held back as the mists vanished with their owners. Our spells kept us safe as I monitored the leaving clusters. They turned on the spot and did not look back. With any luck, most of them would make it to relative safety, provided they didn't do anything stupid. I watched as Keira and her husband left, a pair of sisters, a young man whose parents I didn't want to think about the status of. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, they left in tightly-knit knots and I wondered if any of them would end up together.

"You're last," I told Libby and Harold, who had lingered by my side until the end. Despite the fact that we hadn't even known each other a full three hours, they had stayed by my side, and I appreciated that more than words could say.

"Stay safe," Harold said sternly, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I nodded and smiled at him, but it was a little harder without all of the spells keeping the dementors back. They were pressing closer and closer.

"You too," I urged, before looking to Libby. "And you, you in particular watch yourself. You're the reason I came back for all of you in the first place."

Libby's eyes widened. "Me? What'd I do? Aside from..." She gestured to my hair vaguely. "Petting you. Sorry about the hair, by the way." She winced.

"That is the least of my worries." I waved off her concern. "You were still smiling in that place even when just a few quick trips have worn me down in a lot of ways. It was... impressive. I realized that the only thing keeping the Muggleborns down was the lack of wands. Despite what the Ministry says these days, you're wizards, same as me, and all you needed was a little magic." I punctuated this statement with a little wink. "You got a place to go, Libby?"

"She's coming with me," Harold said firmly, and Libby looked as surprised as I was.

"I am?"

"Unless you have parents to go back to," Harold hedged, and Libby's face fell. I guessed that her family had been eliminated about the time she had been arrested. Harold nodded to himself and placed a hand on her shoulder gently. "I don't like the idea of leaving a young girl alone in the world," he explained, and Libby frowned a little.

"I'm of age-"

"Barely," Harold countered swiftly. "Have you ever even left the country?"

Again Libby's face fell. "Thank you," she said softly, and it sounded simple, but what else did you really say to an offer like that from a complete stranger in a situation like this where simply existing was dangerous?

"Good." I nodded in satisfaction. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'd like to find a bed before sunrise, so off you go." I waved my hands at them and Harold took Libby's shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled thankfully before turning to me.

"I won't ever forget this, Potter," she said, eyes glowing with the freshness of her freedom, and I found myself beaming back despite the dementors.

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

With a pop, Harold and Libby were gone and I was left standing alone on the rock. For a moment I felt a great, soaring sense of accomplishment - I had just orchestrated the biggest prison break in Azkaban history - and then the dementors swarmed, reminding me I wasn't alone. My phoenix flew in tight circles above my head and the dementors stayed just outside of the glowing circle. I closed my eyes and vanished.


	126. Prophet's Poison

**I know I said we wouldn't be having an update this week, but a thing happened that freed up some time, and that thing is good for you, not so much for me. Saturday night I tripped and sprained my ankle at work, which meant that I couldn't stand for my shift at work and given that the property where I work is full of uneven ground and I'm not allowed to sit with people in the haunted house, that meant I missed my Sunday shift. So, voila! New chapter.**

* * *

Exhaustion was the keyword of the day as I dragged myself out of bed to the sound of the old alarm clock ringing on my bedside table. I slammed my hand down on it to stop the ringing and moaned aloud as I realized that I was operating on a lovely four hours of sleep. For a moment I sat on the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands, resisting the urge to crawl back under the sheets. That would raise the alarm that something was wrong, though, and I wasn't interested in that.

I dressed for the day and walked down to the kitchen to see that breakfast was surprisingly already underway. Kreacher was bustling around with a tray of artfully-arranged slices of sweet bread and Ron was already stuffing his face with sausage. Harry was the only one who was absent as I settled myself in at the table and caught the mug of text that Kreacher sent flying towards me. I sipped at it gingerly, wondering whether the caffeine would perk me up or the heat would make me even sleepier. At this point it could easily go either way.

Ron grunted a greeting, more concerned with his food, and I asked, "Where's Harry?" as I dragged a few pieces of bacon onto my plate along with a piece of banana bread.

"He went into town to try and find a paper," Hermione explained, not looking up from the book that she had open on the table beside her. It was _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and it was hardly the first time I'd seen her delving into it since she got it. I'd read them all once, when I found a copy that a first year left in the Common Room. They were about on par with Muggle stories in terms of the amount of violence in them. Most of them were fairly unpleasant, the one about the wizard who cut out his heart, a clear allegory for a horcrux, coming to mind. I winced.

The door to the kitchen banged open and Harry stood at the top of the stairs. We all looked at him as he came charging down the stairs. I blinked at him incredulously. Clearly it was me he was angry at, going by the way his eyes were locked on me. I flinched as he slammed a copy of this morning's _Prophet_ down in front of me.

For the first time, Hermione looked at me and her eyes widened. "Your neck…"

"Your hair," Ron added, and I scowled darkly, realizing that when I came stumbling back to Grimmauld Place I had forgotten about healing the aftermath of the mild scuffle with Dolohov.

 _Unprecedented Breakout From Azkaban_ blared across the front page. I stared at it blankly for a moment, and then smiled faintly.

"I see it didn't take them long to report it," I said softly.

"There are no Death Eaters out in the square," Harry said sharply. "And about fifty Muggleborns are missing from Azkaban. Lorena, _what did you do?"_

"Wait, you broke out the Muggleborns?" Hermione asked, looking at me in delight. "You mean you actually got them out of Azkaban?"

"Out of the country, if they followed my directions," I added, picking up a piece of bacon and bringing it to my mouth. Harry swatted it out of my hand. I looked at him incredulously and demanded,

"What is your problem?"

"You did this without us!" Harry exclaimed. "We didn't even know you were gone. This was insanely dangerous, Rena, what were you thinking trying to manage it alone? How long have you been planning this?"

"As of last night, about fifteen minutes," I replied somewhat coolly. "I have no trouble getting in and out of Azkaban and it's only the lack of wands that keeps them trapped. Simple fix."

"You can get into Ollivanders," Hermione realized.

"Technically anyone can so long as they don't plan to steal anything or cause any damage," I corrected.

"But you stole wands!" Ron protested. I shook my head.

"I bought them. I fully intend to pay Ollivander for them should he request it. Should he still be alive."

There was a long moment of silence as we all considered whether or not Ollivander was still alive. Gregorovitch certainly wasn't, which didn't bode well for the man. He was already old when he was taken, it was entirely possible that the stress of captivity and possible torture was enough to kill him. There was really no way of knowing whether or not the wandmaker was still alive, but the odds weren't good.

"That's not what the issue is," Harry said sharply, looking at me. "Lorena, I know you're powerful and I know you can do these things but you have to talk to us. You can't just run off and perform heroics by yourself!"

"I knew what I was doing, Harry!" I countered, standing up and planting my hands on either side of my plate, staring my brother down. "I've been in and out of Azkaban before."

"That… that's beyond the point!" Harry was struggling, his expression twisted with emotion. "I know you can get in and out of Azkaban on your own-"

"Then what's the problem?" I demanded. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"I'm not-"

"Well it certainly seems like you are!"

We were nose-to-nose leaning over the table at each other, Harry trying to make me understand something and me not entirely sure what he was on about. He hadn't protested my going to Azkaban to drop off Death Eaters before, why would he be mad now when I had freed fifty wrongly-imprisoned Muggleborns?

"You can't be upset that I freed the Muggleborns," I reasoned.

"Of course not-"

"Is it that I got rid of the ones in the square without telling you?"

"Well sort of, but-"

My eyes widened. "I didn't kill them, Harry, if that's what you're thinking. I promised I wouldn't-"

"That's not it!"

I was frustrated and confused, two of my least favorite feelings. _"Then what is?"_

" _I can't lose you too, Lorena, I can't!"_

The kitchen froze. Hermione was staring between the two of us warily, like she thought wands might be drawn. Ron's mouth was open as he stared at us like he was watching a tennis match. Even Kreacher was frozen, making himself as small as possible in the corner.

Harry stood in front of me, hands leaning on the table, head hanging.

"I can't lose you, Lorena," he repeated softly. "I couldn't take it."

"Ron, we need to… Let's… Ahem…"

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and tried to subtly drag him from the kitchen. Kreacher took her cue, surprisingly, and vanished with a pop. Or maybe he was conditioned to flee from fights in Grimmauld Place. I imagined this place had seen some legendary ones.

"Harry," I said softly, watching as his arms trembled. "Look at me."

Harry's head came up and to my surprise his eyes were glassy, like he was fighting tears. "Mum and dad… Sirius… Dumbledore. It's like… like anyone I care about ends up in danger or dead. And now Ron and Hermione are off with us and they have families to go back to. You… you're all I've got left. If you went off on your own and did something that got you killed… I wouldn't be able to do this anymore."

I stood frozen. It was horrible, wasn't it, that my first assumption when Harry came in yelling wasn't that he was worried about me? I had assumed he thought I broke a promise or did something stupid, not that he actually gave a damn. And yet that's what it was. In a way I felt simultaneously closer to my brother than we had been since before Hogwarts and yet somehow farther away.

"I…" I paused and licked my lips. I didn't know what to say. I _always_ knew what to say. "H-Harry, I… I know you worry about me but… but even if I don't make it through this you… you still have to carry on. Not for… not for me or for you but… there are other people at risk here. The whole wizarding world."

I couldn't face talking about our relationship as siblings so I focused on his statement that without me he wouldn't be able to carry on. Not Ron, who was his best friend and completely loyal, or Hermione, who had kept him alive for years with her quick-thinking. Not even Ginny, who he loved more than he'd ever loved anyone else. Me. Losing me was what would break him.

"I'm so tired," Harry said brokenly. "Can't I, just _once_ , be selfish? Can't I care about _me_ instead of the rest of the world?"

I smiled weakly. "Trust me, being self-involved really doesn't work well. I know, I've tried it. And Harry, I'm sorry to say, but… no. You can't be selfish. Not because of the prophecy or any of that, but because you're you and you're exactly what we need. You're always so selfless. Once this is over, then you can focus on yourself, but for now… you have a duty. And so do I. Are you prepared to die for the cause?"

I wasn't even close to surprised when Harry said immediately, "In a heartbeat." The words _neither can live while the other survives_ rang in my ears. Harry had years to get used to the idea that there was a fifty-fifty chance that he'd come out of this alive. The odds weren't great, but they could be worse, and he had a history of managing to one-up Voldemort with some help from others.

"So am I," I informed him, and Harry looked surprised. I managed a faint laugh. "Yes, I know, a Slytherin willing to die so that others can live. But that's what I do. The difference between you and I is that you would lay down your life for a stranger. Me? I have to care about the people I'm risking myself for."

"You were always willing to take a beating to save me," Harry remembered quietly. "I used to hate it, knowing you were suffering so that I wouldn't. I felt so guilty…"

"Don't," I cut him off. "I did it all knowing that I could handle it. I've always been good at knowing my limits and I've rarely tried something I knew was beyond me. I'm not going to… to run off and try to duel him tomorrow. But I will take risks and you need to be okay with that. You think I loved sitting behind while you went off to go after the Stone? When I was taken out and I couldn't join you against the Basilisk? I understand that you can do these things, though. It doesn't stop me from worrying, but it takes some of the edge off."

Harry nodded slowly, and he gave me a tremulous smile. "I'm just not used to having to worry about you. You've always been able to handle whatever you've come up against but this is… this is big. This is a bloody war and we're…"

"We're of age, but we're still kids." I knew what he meant. Harry nodded wryly.

"Though I think you were born about thirty."

"Shut it."

Harry and I were standing on opposite sides of the table, but we both wore the same expression. Exhaustion, affection, stress, amusement, fear, hope. It was actually a rather apt metaphor for how we lived our lives. Our values were the same in many ways, it was just how we went about them that made us different.

"I'm going to… go clean up, I guess," I said quietly. "Get the prison break off me."

Harry nodded slowly. "Could you just… if you're going to do something like that, could you tell me first? Maybe I can help."

"I'll try. Sometimes though, things just happen."

"Don't I know it."

I moved from behind the table, abandoning my breakfast, and picked up the paper, tucking it under my arm to read. I reached the door when Harry said, "Rena?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I just say that it's pretty amazing that you orchestrated a prison break?"

I smirked. "You may. You'd be completely correct."

I left the kitchen. I wasn't surprised to see Hermione and Ron lingering in the hall outside, trying to look like they hadn't been waiting to see if the shouting started back up again. I gave them a passing glance and they headed back up the stairs for one of the bathrooms and locked myself inside. I breathed a sigh of relief and let the exhaustion wash over me, drawing me to lean against the cool, aged wood. With the exhaustion came anger and I raised my hand, slapping my palm against the door as hard as I could. My skin tingled from the impact.

Why couldn't we just be normal?

It was the eternal plea of my life, my brother's life. Why couldn't we have grown up with a normal mum and dad who loved us? Why couldn't we have gone to Hogwarts and been sorted into the same house and been friends as well as siblings? Why couldn't we have had normal years with no psychopath out for our heads? No escaped convict for a godfather but just dad's mate Sirius. No questionable allegiances, just Potions Master Snape guiding me as a mentor. No potential for a Romeo and Juliet, just a normal boyfriend with a normal home life.

The newspaper slipped from under my arm and I looked down at it. On the front was a picture of Azkaban, waves crashing and dementors swooping around it. Printed in black and grey it was a forbidding picture all by itself, but the average person wouldn't know just how strong the aura of despair and helplessness around the prison was, how godawful the insides were, how sickening the condition of some of the prisoners was. I winced and reached down, snatching up the paper as images flashed through my mind. I quickly refolded it so that the picture was hidden and sat myself on the edge of the tub, reading the article.

 _The prison once thought to be inescapable has proven to be less secure than promised. Everyone recalls four years ago when the late Sirius Black escaped his confinement after murdering 13 Muggles in a vicious and unprovoked attacked. Following that was the escape of dangerous criminals such as the Lestranges. Now, no less that fifty convicted criminals have escaped the walls of Azkaban in an unprecedented prison break, the likes of which we have never seen before._

 _The fifty escapees were so-called 'Muggleborns' and convicted of the crime of stealing magic from the hands of deserving witches and wizards, the identities and fates of which are unknown. The Head of the Muggleborn Registration Commission, Delores Jane Umbridge, was available for comment on the break out._

" _Every one of these felons were blights upon the wizarding world as a whole," said Umbridge, who has had a long and impressive career serving in prestigious posts such as Undersecretary to the Minister and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. "That these criminals were able to escape from a prison such as Azkaban only proves what we have long known – that these Mudblood abominations are not to be trusted and are a danger to us and our children."_

 _The escape occurred between the end of court the day previous and the start of court in the morning. During that time, the island of Azkaban was without Aurors or Ministry officials. There is only one Apparation point on the rock, and everyone knows of the dementors who guard the cells even when no human guards are present. That the inmates were able to bypass these terrifying guards is an intimidating thought, as the only known counter is a Patronus charm. All prisoners are stripped of their wands, which begs the question as to how the spell was cast._

" _That these menaces were able to somehow procure wands even while in confinement speaks volumes to their malicious planning," stated the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, Corban Yaxley, who was personally picked for the job by Minister Thicknesse after the mysterious death of his predecessor. "In the whole history of Azkaban not one person has managed to get a hold of a wand and now fifty pulled it off at once? There's a reason we've been investigating these people and locking them away."_

 _This raises many questions about the security of Azkaban. Are we truly safe, with the worst of wizarding society locked up in a place which has recently experienced so many breakouts? The Minister, Pius Thicknesse, has cautioned, "Fear of every minute possibility will crush the sense of hope we must maintain in these troubled times. For those concerned I would simply say that you will be comforted to know that many experienced and qualified security experts are meeting to discuss security modifications to the prison."_

 _The names and pictures of the escaped convicts can be found on page 6. Anyone who spots one of these dangerous criminals is urged not to engage. They are to be considered armed and dangerous, possibly unstable pending their time in Azkaban with the dementors. Instead, they are to contact the Auror Office directly with details and leave recapture to trained professionals._

I let the paper fall into the porcelain tub and flicked my wrist at it. The paper lit on fire, edges curling and blackening before dissolving into ash. I let it burn for a moment before drawing my wand and Vanishing the whole mess of lies. I shouldn't have been surprised, the _Prophet_ was under Ministry control and therefore would hardly report the breakout as a strike against Voldemort's reign of terror. Instead they had decided to use it as a device with which to frame Muggleborns as possessing some sort of mysterious and dangerous ability while equating them with some of the worst criminals in living memory.

Sighing, I rose from the edge of the tub and approached the sink, drawn to the prospect of a splash of cold water on my face in an attempt to wake up and face the reality that no matter what Harry and the rest of us did, for now, it would be perceived as illegal and untrustworthy.

I gripped the edge of the sink and swayed slightly, staring at my reflection. I looked like hell. My skin had lost almost all color from days spent inside. There were dark circles under my eyes. Even when I slept, I didn't sleep well. Thanks to Kreacher's cooking we were all eating well, but my appetite was starting to disappear. I nibbled at my meals and those I ate proper portions of, I was unable to keep any weight from thanks to stress. I was not down to some of my worst summer weights yet, but I was noticeably skinnier than I should be.

Added to that was the damage from last night. Around the pale column of my throat were finger-shaped bruises. They stood out a fresh, livid purple against my skin. I reached up to touch them and winced as my hand came in contact with the sensitive skin. It was painful, but I had experienced far worse. Compared to Cruciatus, this was a cakewalk, and I found myself lowering my wand instead of casting a bruise-healing spell, the incantation fading from the tip of my tongue. Reasonably I knew that there was no reason I couldn't or shouldn't heal the injury, but I just… couldn't be bothered to. It seemed unimportant.

I tilted my head and pulled my hair around. For a long time it had been my one vanity as I sought to draw as much attention from my face as possible before I became comfortable with my scars. Long, shiny, and a lovely auburn color, it was always the feature I'd been most proud of, something I'd inherited from my mom that was wholly mine and mine alone. Now the last six inches were missing, leaving it hanging at an awkward spot around my shoulder blades. The ends were all different lengths.

But again, I didn't feel compelled to fix it even though I knew I should. The spells to clean up the ends and make it grow were basic, I had been capable of them since approximately third year. But staring at the jagged ends I again couldn't bring myself to raise my wand to fix it. I didn't want to cast my usual makeup spells either, which I had kept up as part of my normal morning routine even as we were in hiding, though usually less dramatic than what I wore in school. Again, they held no appeal to me.

Tending to my appearance, even if that umbrella included healing an actual injury, wasn't something I felt concerned about enough to bother with.

My expression was what alarmed me more than anything else. I looked… old. Harry had teased me about being born old, and I'd always looked a year or two older than my actual age, but this was different. It was in the downturn of my mouth and the slight squint around my eyes. Something in the way my jaw curved and the – sweet Merlin, they were faint but they were there – wrinkles on my brow spoke of age. My eyes were what really did it, I realized. They were just… blank. No life, no interest, no nothing.

 _Nothing behind the eyes… soulless… dementor's kiss… hood lowering… rotting, slimy hands reaching… rattling breaths so close behind me, always there, following, following, taking my soul… my soul… gone…Azkaban, dementors, dementors, crazed eyes and humans that passed for lumps of clothing… soulless, gone, everything gone gone gone gone… GONE!_

My fist snapped forwards and connected with the mirror. In the future I would condemn it as horribly melodramatic and something too cliched for me to even consider but the release that came from watching the mirror shatter and seeing the shards fall down into the basin of the sink was… wonderful. I smiled faintly, fully aware of the blood dripping from my hand and the shards of glass embedded in my knuckles but not quite ready to process it consciously yet. The few remaining bits of glass inside the frame showed a cracked and distorted image of myself staring back at me. I found myself laughing a little too loudly, a little too hysterically… A little too much like Bellatrix Lestrange.

The door came open with a spell – the shattering of glass must have drawn the attention of the three downstairs – and somehow I was both surprised and not to see that it was Hermione alone standing in the doorway. She was wide-eyed and concerned, looking between my placid smile, the broken mirror, and my hand dripping blood onto the floor.

"Something wrong, Hermione?" I asked calmly, and flicked my wand at the mirror. It repaired itself, shards yanking from my hand none too delicately to rejoin the whole hanging over the sink. My faint smile didn't falter despite the pain as I instinctively raised my hand to my chest, curled lightly into a ball. My wand disappeared up into my sleeve and I rubbed the wrist of my injured hand absently.

Hermione's face was tired and exasperated as she said, "Come with me."

For lack of a reason not to, I followed her up another level and into the room she'd taken for herself. Hermione sat down on the bed, kicking off her shoes and drawing her knees up to her chest as she rested against the pillows. I fell backwards onto the bed, legs hanging off. My hand ached and I thoughtlessly lifted it to my mouth, gently sucking the blood away from one of the wounds.

"Stop it, Rena, that's disgusting and you can heal it easily enough," Hermione scolded. I blinked in surprise and rolled my head to look at her. Pursing my lips, I drew my wand and waved it, muttering a spell. I'd always found it rather soothing to watch magic seal together torn skin and it pierced some of the fog of dispassionate carelessness that had settled over me.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked bluntly, and I gave another hysterical little giggle.

"What isn't?" I countered, and Hemione rolled her eyes.

"Don't be like that. You know what I'm asking. You… you haven't been right the last few weeks. You've been eating less and sending more time alone in your room. You don't even pick at Ron anymore. You're… you're cracking up, and I'm worried."

"Had to happen to one of us, statistically," I reasoned. "I didn't expect it would be me though. I would have put money on Ron, honestly."

" _What's going on with you?"_

"What's going on with me?" I repeated slowly, and sat up. "I'm trying to help you lot hunt for Horcruxes while also translating and ancient text and overseeing one resistance group while being involved in the fringes of two other rebellions. I haven't seen my… I haven't seen Draco as anything but a reflection in a mirror in months. I've made three trips to Azkaban lately and we all know how dementors get to Harry and I. Remus may or may not have abandoned his pregnant wife and I may or may not have had something to do with that. We haven't made progress in a month. _Have I left anything out?!_ "

"That blow up you and Harry just had in the kitchen," Hermione said, refusing to let me yell her into submission. "What happened?"

"None of your business. It's between us."

"Rena, I'm trying to help!" Hermione protested.

I sighed and slumped back against the mattress, reaching up to drag a corner of the sheets over my eyes and block out the light. "I know, Hermione, and I appreciate it. I'm just… so tired of it all."

"You think the rest of us aren't?" she demanded. "You're not the only one struggling here. Ron is worrying about his family and I don't have any idea how my parents are doing in Australia. But you can't break down on us, Lorena, you just can't!"

I smirked. This was the exact point I'd just been making to Harry down in the kitchen. This wasn't the time for us to be selfish. We didn't have that luxury. The reality was that we were the heroes the Wizarding World was relying on, not just Harry but all of us. After the war I could have all the mental breakdowns I wanted, but for now, I had to keep it together.

We all did.

()()()()()()()()()

The Blacks and the Malfoys were no strangers to being in the company of those they didn't like but had to pretend to for the sake of something. Money, a favor, reputation, connections. Whatever it might be, Lucius and Narcissa had grown up learning to grin and bear company they'd rather avoid for the sake of something of value. Neither of them were perhaps very fond of it, but they could mange it.

There was a level of disrespect and humiliation that came with having that company forced on them in their own home, though.

They sat in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, Lucius and Narcissa sitting on one side of the coffee table in an elegant sofa, Bellatrix and Rodolphus sitting in the matching piece on the other side. Without a house elf, they were serving themselves these days. Lucius was even worse off without a wand and he leaned forwards to prepare and serve the tea by hand. Bellatrix watched him, a delighted gleam in her eye as she watched him work by hand.

Narcissa resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in the presence of her sister. It was hard to even equate the thing that had crawled free of Azkaban with the girl she grew up with. Kindness and gentleness had never come easily to Bella, but compared to the mad monster she was now she had been nearly angelic back then. Her sister's legendary beauty had been eroded by her time in prison, as had Rodolphus. Now he wore a blank stare most of the time, whether because of his own trauma or his wife's domination of him was unclear. Narcissa was willing to bet it was both.

Narcissa took her tea cup from her husband with a small smile and a murmured thanks. Bellatrix didn't bother to feign social niceties anymore. She simply snatched the cup and saucer and lifted the drink to her lips as Lucius handed the third cup to Rodolphus, who received it silently. Lucius was turning to prepare his own cup when Bellatrix made a great show of slurping her tea, screwing up her face, and then, as if the drink was so offensive she couldn't bear it, spraying it from her lips. The hot drink splattered Lucius across the face and hand and he winced, both in disgust and pain.

Rodolphus wordlessly passed his wife a napkin and Bellatrix patted at her lips. "I don't know how you survive, Cissy," she commented, eyes lingering maliciously on Lucius who was forced to use a napkin to dab the liquid away from his skin and clothes instead of vanishing it. "No house elf, a husband without a wand, and he can't even make proper tea!"

"We all have our talents, Bella," Lucius replied, and where before his tone would have been superior now it was merely weary. Narcissa ached for the days when Draco was here and he provided a safe harbor from the politics and the violence. Still, even with the school under the Dark Lord's control, he was safer there than he was in his own home. Bella's unannounced stop for tea with her husband was evidence of that.

"It's good that Draco went back to school," Bellatrix continued. "I know you considered keeping him home, but he does show promise and I would hate for that potential to be," her eyes lingered on Lucius mockingly, "dampened."

"Opportunities present themselves everywhere," Narcissa commented, and under the cover of the spread of her robes her hand found her husband's and she squeezed tightly. He did not respond. She withdrew her hand and wondered if he would soon end up in the same state as Rodolphus. She prayed not.

"Our Lord giveth and he taketh away," Bellatrix agreed.

What followed was one of the most horrific teas that Narcissa had ever been a part of. It was filled with awkward silent stares from Rodolphus and side-stepping Bella's comments without being rude. Bellatrix herself had no such compunctions. She'd never been overly fond of Lucius – perhaps because he had never worshipped at her alter like many of the boys in their class – and he had never been fond of her. With Lucius disgraced she had nothing to fear and let every nasty thing that popped into her head fly with no regard for the fact that it was her sister's husband she was calmly tearing to shreds between her claws.

When Rodolphus and Bellatrix took their leave, for a moment all was silent in the room. Then Lucius slid forwards and began to gather the tea things onto the tray, china clinking as his hands shook from restrained, helpless rage. Narcissa slowly drew her wand and flicked it. The tea service gathered itself and vanished to the kitchen. Lucius stayed still.

"Lucius," Narcissa said softly, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I know she is your sister, Narcissa." His voice shook. "But that bitch should be _put down_."

Narcissa couldn't disagree with him on that as she slid her hand along his jaw and turned his face back to hers. Stubble tickled her palm. She didn't like it, didn't like this new messy, trembling, helpless version of her husband, but she also had no idea how to fix it. Everything was being destroyed in this war, her family ripped to pieces.

"She doesn't matter," Narcissa said quietly. "Ignore her. Everything that comes out of her mouth is just… lies and filth."

Hurt, fear, shame, it showed in Lucius's eyes. "Not all of it."

Narcissa arched an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue. His hands curled into fists on his thighs. "I am… not the man I was. I know it and I… I wish I could be that man again, but I have no idea how to do so. Should you wish… That is to say, I would not – _cannot_ \- object if you… Papers can be drawn up and filed in secret…"

Extramarital affairs among the Death Eaters were an open secret, acknowledged as fact but not spoken of. Narcissa was not technically marked, but she was among the inner circle by way of her husband and many of the wives had partaken in relationships with other men. She never had. In her mind she already had the best of the bunch, so why should she desire anything less? It simply made no sense to her.

Cheating husbands were not uncommon in pureblood circles. While the women were expected to be chaste and loyal, the men were given more leeway, just as they might have been three hundred years ago. It was outdated and unfair but it did happen. That was why Narcissa had spoken to Lucius the night of their wedding. Standing before him wearing nothing but her rings and her dignity, she had coolly demanded that he take a good look and know that if he ever strayed, this was what he would be losing. He never had.

That he would now think himself fallen so far that she would no longer want him in any capacity – as a husband, as a partner, as a lover – hurt her in a way she hadn't anticipated. Narcissa frowned deeply. With no preamble, she slid from the couch and knelt before her husband, taking up perhaps the most subservient position she ever had in her life. She took his hands in hers, uncurled his fists, and kissed the ring on his finger.

"The night you took this ring and me," Narcissa reminded him quietly, "I made you swear an oath to me. I may never have said the words, but I made that same oath to myself. You are my husband, Lucius, and I will support and care for you no matter how dire your situation. I expect only the same loyalty from you."

Loyalty, Narcissa mused as she leaned up and matched Lucius in a desperate kiss. That was what all of this came down to. Who was loyal to who and for what reasons. Was that loyalty permanent or could it be broken? For what price could it be purchased? Who you had chosen to be loyal to now determined your fate. They had all made their beds and now, good or bad, they could have to lie in them.

* * *

 **So I know the scene between Lucius and Narcissa has kind of no context, but it's just something I've been wanting to include and this seemed like a good time to do it. I find their relationship very fascinating. Lucius got his wife into some serious crap but in spite of all of that she stood by his side through the whole war when the only alternatives were imprisonment or a life of servitude and that's some pretty insane loyalty. The way I figure it, Lucius must have done something to inspire that loyalty, because Narcissa is a Black by birth and they're pretty dang tough as a whole. She's not going to let someone drag her down unless she wants to be with them.**


	127. Godric's Hollow

**Doing a little time-jump here - not long, just about a month and a half off sitting around Grimmauld Place not accomplishing much. But I don't think you'll be mad, because we get to see them in Godric's Hollow today! Next week we'll be getting to Bathilda Bagshot. It was almost one long chapter but as I was going along it started crossed the 12 k mark on words so I chopped it down and saved the last half to finish up for next week.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone telling me to feel better and wishing me well, you made me feel all warm and fuzzy and I love it! I'm doing better - probably would be doing a lot better except I tripped on the stairs the other night. Anyway, I'm not even the worst injury from the haunt cast so I think I did okay.**

* * *

The dining room of Malfoy Manor used to be one of the jewels of the place, where dinner parties to rival a king's feast were held, women in sparkling jewels with lineages longer than their own. Men in dress robes cut from only the finest fabrics – vucana wool for their cloaks and under them, mulberry and spider silk. More courses than a person could reasonably consume and table settings worth more than some houses.

Now the room was dim and dark, lit only by the crackling fireplace and a few candles in the chandelier overhead. The table's dark wood was displayed instead of covered in white linen and there were no plates of steaming food set out. Everyone wore the same robes as they gathered around the table, and an aura of darkness and distrust hung heavy in the air.

It was just as Lord Voldemort wanted.

"The escape from Azkaban is deeply regrettable," he said softly, letting one hand slip from the arm of his chair at the head. Nagini slithered forth, twining around his chair, over his ankles, and raising her head so that his fingers stroked the cool, smooth scales. "Yaxley?"

The man near the opposite end of the table – those who had failed him once already – cringed. He should. This was his second major failure. The Potter boy and his insipid friends had broken into the deepest depths of the Ministry and rescued Muggleborns, not just from a few guards who could be summarily destroyed, but from under the nose of Yaxley himself. Changing the head of that department again in so little time would raise suspicion, so for now Yaxley would live. Perhaps not much longer though, if this pattern of gross incompetence continued.

"A full-scale investigation has been launched, My Lord," Yaxley explained, bowing his head. He raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

"I read that in the morning paper, Yaxley. I expected you to know more than the average wizard on the street. Was I wrong?"

Yaxley winced as the other Death Eaters tittered at his shame. Bellatrix, to his immediate left, cackled wildly; she was a sharp contrast to Severus at his right, who could not have looked sterner.

"N-No My Lord, of course," Yaxley murmured. "Preliminary investigations has found evidence that unlocking charms were used on the cell doors from many different wands. Either it was a large force, which seems unlikely, or a core few who brought wands with them which… also seems somewhat unlikely."

"There's no place you can find wands in bulk like that!" Nott huffed. "Ollivanders is sealed off, that's the only place you could find a stash of them."

"But the alternative is that a massive force breached Azkaban. While there's certainly safety in numbers, you'd have thought that would have also made it easier for the dementors to get a crack at _one_."

"Not if they could all cast Patronuses?"

"Can you cast one?"

"No, but-"

"Exactly, so that's not all that likely, is it?"

"Even if it was a large force, you require a wand to Apparate," Severus said, and his low baritone rolled over the table. "An equal amount of wands would be required for the Muggleborns to Apparate away. Unless this large force also acted as a ferry service?"

"Is it beyond the Order?" Amycus huffed. "Surely they wouldn't mind acting like pack mules for filth, those bleeding hearts!" There was a moment of silence. "That's what we're all thinking, isn't it? It was the bloody Order, has to be!"

"The Order does not have the manpower or skill to pull off something like this Snape."

"No offense, but it's been a second since you were in tight with them, hasn't it headmaster?" Amycus asked sarcastically. "Maybe they've been recruiting!"

"Now look," Nott said in frustration, "even if the Order has been recruiting it's not every witch or wizard who can cast a Patronus, and it would take several to protect a large force. Far more likely it was an exceptionally skilled few, which the Order definitely doesn't have. Dumbledore could have done it, but he's gone. After him I think we can say Alastor was their most capable, and he's gone as well."

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and spat crudely on the floor at the mention of the Auror who had brought her and her husband in the first time wither her brother-in-law and young Barty Crouch Jr.

Lord Voldemort sat at the head of the table, stroking Nagini calmly and letting his servants work through it. He imagined it was somewhat like a debate, and Merlin knew that his faithful needed more chances to exercise what small minds they had.

"It was the Order, alright?" Avery interrupted. "Something else happened last night."

Lord Voldemort's fingers stopped moving. If something had happened Avery should have immediately reported to him, not kept it to himself. He disliked not knowing where the conversation was going before it went there. It happened so very rarely. Information being kept from him… Avery would suffer for this.

"What happened last night, Avery?" he asked softly, silkily, leaning forwards. Nagini hissed and with a flicker of his will he sent her under the table, down the middle. It amused him to watch the uncomfortable faces of his followers as the gigantic snake passed them, those who tried to subtly shift and draw their feet away from her.

Avery paled, seeming to realize how thoroughly in trouble he was. "I… erm…"

"You? Have you done something you shouldn't have, Avery?"

"N-No!" the man scrambled. "You assigned me to keep an eye on Grimmauld Place, My Lord, and I have done so from the lower ranks. However, the same night the prison break happened… the men I set on the house didn't report in. There's no sign of them, nothing. Their families have no idea where they are. They're simply… gone. It… It would be a large coincidence for both to happen on the same night, wouldn't it?" Avery offered. "So it has to be the Order!"

"Nott is correct, the Order does not have the numbers or skill to breach Azkaban so badly," Voldemort commented, and Nott let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "It was not the Order. Severus? Is Grimmauld Place still serving the Order?"

"It belongs to Lorena Potter now, My Lord," his most faithful replied, eyes respectfully low. "She has allowed the Order to continue to use it but to the best of my knowledge they never took up residence again. When the offer was made, the Order was still very wary of her."

"And for good reason."

Lord Voldemort was pleased by his little trophy. Every time one of his reported back, he was impressed. She could withstand a mild Cruciatus, she was an Animagus, well-versed in brewing and the mind arts. He knew he made a good choice in leaving her alive all those years ago. She was the one who, ultimately, delivered to him the head of his greatest enemy. It would have been a shame to crush all of that potential. She was still annoyingly loyal to her brother, but that could be fixed once he was no longer in the picture. It was hard to be loyal to a corpse in the ground, and with the promise of more power, more skills… yes. She might even replace Bellatrix and Severus as his most faithful one day.

"And I suppose you still can't get us into Grimmauld Place, even though the old man is dead?" Bellatrix simpered across the table and Severus scowled.

"The situation hasn't changed, Bellatrix."

He was not in the mood to watch Bellatrix play with her food. He ordered firmly, "Enough," voice echoing in the room. "The loss of the Mudbloods is regrettable, but they are doubtlessly far beyond our reach now and not likely to return soon. They may be dealt with later. This has also allowed the _Prophet_ to spin some wonderful stories about the dangers of Mudbloods to the public – I expect they will be easier to find now. I will expect updates on the investigation into the escape," he added to Yaxley.

"Of course, My Lord."

"You are all dismissed."

He sat calmly, fingers steepled in front of him, as his minions rose and gathered themselves to leave. They moved towards the doors and as they went, he called, "Not you, Yaxley. Avery as well. You two will stay."

The blood drained from the men's faces. Bellatrix smiled wickedly as she passed them on her husband's arm. Lucius was the last out and he shut the doors behind him, giving both men pitying stares. He knew all too intimately the punishment for failure, and both men had undeniably failed. They made their way over and knelt on the cold stone beside his chair.

"Yaxley, under your watch, Azkaban has witnessed its largest breakout in its almost three hundred year history. And Avery, you lost several of our lower ranks and didn't think to inform me. I wonder what you would call that?" he asked lightly, his wand sliding into his hand. He and the yew wand had a long and loving history, filled with amazing magic, but he found himself growing more and more unsatisfied with it as time went on and the Elder Wand eluded him.

"My Lord, I hastened to find out what had happened to the men!" Avery was quick to defend himself. "I thought I could correct the problem before I bothered you with it!"

Lord Voldemort nodded slowly. Yaxley didn't even try to defend himself, as there was no defense. He just cowered against the floor.

"So not only did you lose men and fail to inform me, you also failed to correct the problem?" he asked calmly. "I see."

Avery's eyes widened. "My Lord, please-"

" _Crucio."_

* * *

"What did you do?"

I was surprised when I opened the mirror and saw not just Snape, but Amity as well. I recognized the scenery behind them. They were sitting in Amity's living room on her couch, squished together to keep them both in the frame.

"Be more specific," I countered, not at all amused by the tone of voice Snape was using. Amity's eyes were wide and worried and I knew that Snape had filled her in on what I'd been up to at Azkaban. "I've done a lot."

"Don't be smart."

"Can't help it."

"Lorena!" Amity said sharply, and she was glaring over the top of the mirror. "This is not funny! Did you or did you not stage a prison break?"

I closed my eyes. Of course Snape would have worked it out. He wasn't stupid. He knew where we were staying, and he would be able to make the connection between the guards in the square vanishing and the prison break. It was too much of a coincidence not to be related. On top of that I'd told him that I stuck Dolohov and Rowle in there. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine me taking people out as well.

"I did," I replied calmly.

"And you earned some new jewelry for your trouble," Snape said eyes lingering on my throat. I winced and reached up, touching the bruise.

"Dolohov caught me off guard, but he's still locked up."

"It was foolishly reckless of you!" Snape insisted. "Going in with only Potter and his friends as backup-"

"I was alone." It wouldn't make Snape any less furious, in fact it would have the opposite effect, but I wanted him to know the whole story, to know exactly what was going on and what the situation had been. "I went in to drop off the Death Eaters from the square and I… couldn't leave the Muggleborns behind. You should have seen them…"

Snape was white with rage, an ugly snarl painting his face. Amity seemed to sense his feelings even if she couldn't see them on his face. She reached around and laid a palm on his check calmingly.

"Go take a deep breath," she urged gently. "Get yourself together. If you two sit here and spit at each other nothing will get accomplished."

Even more surprising was that nape listened to her, rising to his feet and moving out of frame. Going from his direction he'd stepped into the kitchen to get some distance but still be within earshot. Amity waited until he was gone and then looked at me, a mildly pained expression on her face.

"You should have seen him when he showed up," she muttered. "Pacing the floor like a crazy person. He's worried for you, and then hearing that you've done something like this-"

"It was my choice," I was quick to say, "and I knew the risks going in. I was completely capable."

"Apparently so," Amity replied with a humorless smile. "But knowing that you're out pulling stunts like that… I think it gets to him. He's used to being around to take care of you, and he can't right now. His… His daughter's grown up and going off on her own adventures, and he can't follow."

I froze, feeling curiously like I'd just been clubbed over the head. I had told Snape that he was more my father than James Potter could ever be, but Snape had never reciprocated. I had no idea he felt the same. I knew he cared for me, that was impossible to miss, and I knew he considered it a priority to keep Harry and I safe, but I wasn't so arrogant to think that I could ever be a daughter to him. Snape had taken such good care of me, but all of the trouble I had caused him over the years, all of the hellish situations he'd seen me walk into and make the wrong decision in…

"He could do far better."

I clicked the mirror shut. I'd already gotten lecture by Hermione. I couldn't handle it from Snape and Amity. Not right now.

* * *

 _Extremum spiritum is a phenomenon that is possible even in Muggles, but they rarely recognize it for what it is. The appearance of a loved ones in times of trouble in the form of a spectre or 'guardian angel' is in reality the manifestation of the last threads of a soul leaving the body which has been taken in by another person. It is possible, while at the deathbed of a friend or family member, that if one is close at the exact moment of passing a piece of the soul can actually be inhaled. That piece of soul takes up benign residence inside the body of a host. There are no harmful side-effects, and many find it to be comforting, rather in the same way many keep a lock of hair or some of the ashes of a loved one._

 _Why the soul breaks in this way at death is of some debate. Some believe the soul is 2fracturing and dissipating into nothingness. Others believe those who are particularly fearful of death actually manage to break their own souls in the moment of death out of far of the unknown. Others think it is an act of protection, to leave a part of oneself with loved ones, or a desire similar to the reason why ghosts try and stay behind. Those who might know for certain are, by definition, dead, and therefore cannot be interviewed on the experience._

"Hermione?"

I looked up from _Et Magicae ex Anima._ The month of November had been staggeringly unproductive. We were halfway into December now, creeping up on Christmas, with little progress. We'd made several trips to Albania to check parts of the forest where strange things – things consistent with Voldemort's presence – were reported, but to no avail.

"Hmm?" Hermione was curled up in one of the armchairs with _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ Surprisingly, she also had _Spellman's Syllabary_ open on the arm of the chair.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Go on, mate," Ron encouraged.

"Hermione, I've been thinking, and-"

"Rena, could you help me with something?"

I set my book aside and reached out for whatever she wanted my help with, giving Harry an apologetic look. Hermione leaned forward and held out _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._

"Look at that symbol," she urged, pointing to the top of a page. Above the title of the story was a picture of what looked like a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.

"It's not a rune I recognize," I frowned, but I knew I knew it from somewhere, like a sign I'd seen on the side of the road time and time again but never paid any attention to. "But I've seen it somewhere before, I know I have."

"I know that; but it isn't a rune and it's not in the syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don't think it is! It's been inked in, look, somebody's drawn it there, it isn't really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?"

Harry leaned forwards curiously. I pointed out the symbol to him and he squinted at it curiously. "Isn't it the same symbol Luna's dad was wearing round his neck?"

"Well, that's what I thought too!"

"Then it's Grindelwald's mark."

Hermione stared at him, openmouthed, and Ron demanded, _"What?"_

"Krum told me..." He recounted the story that Viktor Krum had told him at the wedding. I blinked, remembering what Viktor had said at the wedding, about it being Grindelwald's mark. I'd brushed it off, not overly concerned about Xenophilius being a secret magical Nazi. He was entirely too… dreamy.

Ron looked astonished. " _Grindelwald's_ mark?"

Hermione looked from Harry to the weird symbol and back again. "I've never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There's no mention of it in anything I've ever read about him."

"Well, like I say, Krum reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang, and Grindelwald put it there."

Hermione fell back into the old armchair, frowning."That's very odd. If it's a symbol of Dark Magic, what's it doing in a book of children's stories?"

"Yeah, it is weird," agreed Harry. "And you'd think Scrimgeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been expert on Dark stuff."

"I know..." Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "Perhaps he thought it was an eye, just like I did. All the other stories have little pictures over the titles."

"Perhaps it started out like the swastika did, as a symbol of something benign," I offered. "And then a nutjob got a hold of it."

She did not speak, but continued to pore over the strange mark. Harry tried again, "Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking. I - I want to go to Godric's Hollow."

Ron rolled his eyes and sagged back into his armchair, looking exasperated. This was a conversation we'd had a hundred times, with Hermione and Ron always shooting it down. This time, though, for the sake of something to do, I was willing to back him up.

Hermione looked up at him, but her eyes were unfocused. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."

Harry's eyes widened. "Did you hear me right?" he asked.

"Of course I did." Hermione huffed. "You want to go to Godric's Hollow. I agree. I think we should."

"Whoa, wait," Ron interrupted. "Why now all of a sudden are you considering this?"

"Well it's probably there, isn't it?" Hermione insisted.

"I'm sorry, what's there?" I asked blankly. "A horcrux? I actually agree with Ron on this one, it's highly unlikely that he would leave a piece of his soul there."

"Well, the sword, Harry!" I closed my eyes in understanding. "Dumbledore must have known you'd want to go back there, and I mean, Godric's Hollow is Godric Gryffindor's birthplace-"

"Really? Gryffindor came from Godric's Hollow?"

I toppled backwards back into my chair and slapped a palm over my eyes. "My twin's an idiot…"

Harry gave me an annoyed look as Hermione sighed. "Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?"

"Erm," he said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months. "I might've opened it, you know, when I bought it... just the once..."

"Well, as the village is named after him I'd have thought you might have made the connection," said Hermione. She sounded much more like her old self than she had done of late. I half expected her to announce that she was off to the library, but we were already sitting inside of one. "There's a bit about the village in A History of Magic, wait..."

Hermione opened the beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of our old school textbook, _A History of Magic by_ Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted and began to read,

"'Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworsh in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric's Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.'

"You and your parents aren't mentioned." Hermione finished, closing the book, "because Professor Bagshot doesn't cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric's Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor's sword… Don't you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?"

"Maybe not Harry," I said with a smirk, sticking out my tongue at Harry. "Probably me."

"Remember what Muriel said?" Ron asked eventually.

"Who?"

"You know, my great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles."

 _"Oh."_

Ron was wise enough to rush on and say, "She said Bathilda Bagshot still lived in Godric's Hollow."

"Bathilda Bagshot," murmured Hermione, running her index finger over Bathilda's embossed name on the front cover of _A History of Magic._ Meeting a famous author and historian probably had something to do with her _s_ tarting to really cave. "Well, I suppose-" She gasped loudly. "What if Bathilda's got the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?"

I doubted it. Dumbledore hadn't been the one to tell Harry that he was from Godric's Hollow and knew Bathilda Bagshot. That was a random aunt. Besides, Muriel had said that Bagshot was gaga. While Dumbledore had cultivated an eccentric personality, there was a difference between an eccentric and a woman who was outright senile.

"We'll have to think it through carefully," Hermione stressed. She was sitting up now, and I could tell that the prospect of having a plan again had lifted her mood as much as mine and it seemed to have lifted everyone else's as well. "We'll need to practice Disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak for a start, and perhaps Disillusionment Charms would be sensible too, unless you think we should go the whole hog and use Polyjuice Potion? In that case we'll need to collect hair from somebody. I actually think we'd better do that, Harry, the thicker our disguises the better..."

* * *

We Apparated to the village two days later under cover of darkness after swallowing Polyjuice Potion, Harry transforming into a balding, middle-aged Muggle man, me into his small and rather mousy wife. Ron was a man with a similar hair color to me, seemingly our son, and Hermione was our daughter. The beaded bag was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione's buttoned-up coat and I shrunk my pouch down, tucked it inside the moke-skin pouch from Hagrid, and tucked it into my bra. Harry lowered the Invisibility Cloak over the other two – groups of three or four were more likely to draw attention - I took his arm, and then we turned and started down a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of us, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.

"All this snow!" Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave prints! We'll just have to get rid of them - you go in front, Ron, I'll do it-"

"Let's take off the Cloak," said Ron in exasperation, and Hermione must have made a face, because he continued, "Oh, come on, we don't look like us and there's no one around!"

Harry stowed the Cloak under his jacket and we made our way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging our faces as they passed more cottages. Any one of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now.

I gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, and decided that I had never seen a more adorable or idyllic setting. It looked like a Christmas card and I felt tears prick my eyes. This could have been my childhood, coming home from Hogwarts to a fire in one of these cozy homes, with James asking to a blow-by-blow of the Quidditch season while Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head in fond exasperation. Harry and I might have learned to ride bikes down this very lane, or played with the child who grew up in that house.

The little lane along which we were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to us. Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.

The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. I heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed, then a carol started up inside the little church.

"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" hissed Hermione.

"Is it?"

"It is," I replied softly. I had a tradition for the holidays. It wasn't much and it only meant something to me, but I made cookies and sweets for friends and family and sent them out on Christmas Eve. I wanted desperately to be baking the past few days, because if I could do that then it meant that things weren't so dire, but there was no one I could safely send them to. I _missed it_ , and I never thought I would until I couldn't do it.

My eyes landed on the church. Hermione followed my gaze and asked, "They... they'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it."

I didn't know how to feel. I was supposed feel something like grief or sadness, but I didn't. Or rather I did, but it wasn't anything more than the normal sadness that hovered around cemeteries. They were my parents, James and Lily Potter, these people who were so beloved by everyone, even their son that had never met them, but their daughter? I couldn't figure out how I was supposed to feel and I felt guilty for not knowing, my gut twisting into knots.

"Bloody hell, look!"

Ron was pointing at the war memorial. As we had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of four people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby sitting in her mother's arms, another swaddled close to his father's chest. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.

I drew closer, gazing up into my parents' faces, stunned beyond belief. I had never imagined that there would be a statue... How strange it was to see myself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar... the loss of my parents had always seemed like a personal tragedy but it was the end of Voldemort, so of course the rest of the community would care. They looked so peaceful, so dignified and loving, my stone parents and I felt tears prick again, this time stronger. I swiped at my eyes angrily and turned away.

"C'mon," said Harry hoarsely when he had looked his fill, and we turned again toward the church. As we crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder. The statue had turned back into the war memorial.

The singing grew louder as we approached the church. There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. I pushed it open as quietly as possible and we edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. We moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Harry dropped my hand and moved toward the nearest grave.

"Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!"

"Keep your voice down," Hermione begged him.

"Why bother?" I replied. "Visiting dead family on Christmas can't be that strange, and this is a wizarding community."

I waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind us, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that we were unaccompanied.

"Here!"

Hermione was two rows of tombstones away. I had to wade back to her. I saw Harry making his way over as well, a scared and excited expression on his face.

"Is it-?"

"No, but look!"

"Did you find them?" Ron asked as he arrived from a distance away. She pointed to the dark stone. Written upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words _Kendra Dumbledore_ and, a short way down her dates of birth and death, _and Her Daughter Ariana_. There was also a quotation:

" _Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."_

The Dumbledore family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here. Harry looked like he couldn't decide whether to be angry and betrayed or resigned and solemn.

"Are you sure he never mentioned-?" Hermione began.

"No," said Harry curtly, then, "let's keep looking," and he turned away firmly.

I started in a random direction, scanning tombstones as I went. Every stone I passed that wasn't the Potters made me both relieved and scared. I had this strange feeling like they weren't actually here, like it was all some sick joke and I would never meet my parents.

"Here!" cried Hermione again a few moments later from out of the darkness. "Oh no, sorry! I thought it said Potter." She was rubbing at a crumbling, mossy stone, gazing down at it, a little frown on her face. "Hold on, come back a moment."

Harry went back, I didn't. I couldn't be bothered to see whatever Hermione had found again. I saw them a short distance away, the three of them clustered over some other headstone. I kept moving, reading stone after stone. Many surnames repeated or were familiar to me. I began to be able to track families through the stones as I walked and wondered at how long some of them had been here.

"Harry."

The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana's. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore's tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark.

 _JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER_

 _BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960_

 _DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981_

 _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

I stared at the names silently and, without really realizing it, I dropped to my knees in the snow, bowing my head in front of my parents. I imagine the man and woman in the statue in the square, holding their babies closely, and saw them look down at me, and they weren't pleased. I felt so horribly guilty. Over the years Sirius and Snape and Remus had assured me that they would love me no matter what but… I had murdered Dumbledore. I loved a Death Eater. Family could cover a multitude of sins, but some things were unforgiveable. Would Lily and James have been able to forgive me for my actions?

"'The last enemy that shall be defeated is death'..." Harry and the others were there next to me and he asked in a panic, "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means... you know... living beyond death. Living after death."

Lily and James were closer to me than they had ever been. Their bodies were here, six feet under snow and dirt. It was alarming. I owned something of my father's, I had pictures of my mother, I had lived with her sister. I had spoken with their friends and even seen them in memory but they had never felt like real people before now. It struck me like a bolt from the blue that these people had actually existed outside of intangible word and memory and _they were my parents._

Tears came hot and fast and I didn't try to wipe them away because I could hear Harry sobbing openly behind me while Hermione hummed to him soothingly and Ron clapped him on the shoulder. I remained in the snow, staring silently at the stone, with tears rolling down my cheeks. They burned my scars. I wondered who had picked the quote, the lot, the gravestone. I wondered how James and Lily had been dressed for the funeral. I wondered how many people had asked about their children. I wondered what they would have wanted for us. Would they have sent us to the Dursleys or would we have grown up in Sirius's care? A thousand thousand questions ran through my head without answers.

How terrible was I, that I had come before the parents that I had denied more than once over the years with nothing to leave? I had done so many things that they wouldn't have approved of and now all I could do was fall into a puddle and cry. I felt humbled and also shamed kneeling before them and I wished that I could have five minutes, just five minutes, to ask them questions and find out what they thought of me, that they thought of a number of things. I didn't know my father's favorite color or my mother's favorite food. Did he hate horror movies like I did? Did she like classical music like me? What would they have thought, that first night I dressed up for the Yule Ball wearing Potter jewels?

It was like a release, and the snow on top of the stone rose into the air in tiny, glimmering flakes that took the light from the church and glowed. They swirled in a gentle spiral before coming together and coalescing into something solid. A bundle of white lilies, perfect and pure, with a shining white ribbon wrapped around the stems. Dew shone on the petals like diamonds on silk. It was the most beautiful and mournful sight I'd ever seen as I watched the bouquet lower itself to rest at the base of the stone.

Harry was on his knees next to me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I couldn't bring myself to care that I had come apart in front of Ron and Hermione as I turned my head into his shoulder and remembered night after night of curling against him for warmth in Number 4. I wanted that closeness back but I had no idea how to achieve it. Harry's fingers combed through my hair and I wondered if I already had, or at least as much as I would ever be able to.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked softly, and I nodded, subtly wiping away the tears on his shoulder. He took me by the arm and guided me to my feet. I cast one last look at the stone and the flowers resting before it and then Harry was guiding me back to the gate.

"Wait, stop," Hermione said suddenly.

"What's wrong?" We had only just reached the grave of the unknown Abbott.

"There's someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes."

We stood quite still, clustered close, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"I saw something move. I could have sworn I did..." Hermione reached for her wand slowly.

"We look like Muggles," Harry pointed out.

"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave? Harry, I'm sure there's someone over there!"

I drew my wand to cast a revealing spell but stopped when I heard a rustle and saw a little eddy of dislodged snow in the bush to which Hermione had pointed.

"It's a cat," said Ron, after a second or two, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on."

We glanced back repeatedly as we made their way out of the graveyard. I was almost relieved to slide from confused grief into wary alertness. We pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over Harry and I this time. The pub was fuller than before. Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that we had heard as we approached the church.

Hermione murmured, "Let's go this way," and pulled us down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which we had entered. I could see the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. We walked as quickly as we dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.

"How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Hermione, who was shivering a little and kept glancing back over her shoulder. "Harry? What do you think? Rena?"

She tugged at this arm, but Harry was not paying attention. He was looking toward the dark mass that stood at the very end of this row of houses. Next moment he sped up, dragging Hermione along with him, she slipped a little on the ice. I hustled after him to stay under the cloak and Ron scrambled after Hermione, caught in her other hand.

"Harry-"

"Look... Look at it, Hermione..."

"I don't... oh!"

The Fidelius Charm must have died with James and Lily. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry and I from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in the dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart: our nursery, where the curse had backfired. We stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" whispered Hermione.

"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" Harry replied. "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"

"Or maybe it's like the statue in the square?" Ron offered. "Like a monument?"

Harry reached out and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate. Hermione's eyes widened. "You're not going to go inside? It looks unsafe, it might - oh, look!"

A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up thorough the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

 _On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. Their daughter, Lorena, also survived the attack with only a scar. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family._

And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

 _Good luck, Potters, wherever you are._

 _If you read this, we're all behind you!_

 _Long live the Potter twins._

"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" exclaimed Hermione, indignant, but I was grinning broadly as I stared at it

"It's brilliant. I'm glad they did."

I turned and vanished into nothingness. A second later, perhaps the shortest Apparation I'd ever done, and I was standing in the ruined part of the house. Harry's attention was still on Hermione, they didn't seem to have quite realized I'd gone yet, but they would soon. I looked around the nursery for something I recognized even though I knew it was silly and I was far too young. The ivy had crept into the room and snow fell in heavy drifts, but some things were easy to make out.

I could almost see it happening in my mind's eye, the room whole and intact. The crib rising out of the snow in the corner with the ragged mobile hanging over it. Quidditch-themed, with brooms and Quaffles and snitches. Harry and I sitting inside and Lily standing over us. There were random objects by the door, toppled over or broken – she'd tried to barricade herself in. It was useless. There was a rug in front of the crib. That would be where she must have fallen, after she was gone.

I drifted towards the crib where it all happened. Where Lily Potter and Lord Voldemort died – his body would have been here too, I realized with a jolt, and wondered what had ever happened to it. The place where Harry survived the _avada_ and where I was…

I brushed aside the snow on the sheets and smiled. It was a baby blanket, a pale blue, the cloth tattered and damp, but that could be fixed with a spell and some work. Embroidered on the corner was _Harry_ in golden thread, accompanied by a wand spouting sparks. I lifted it up eagerly and raised my wand. Some simple restoration spells to repair the damages of time and exposure – why had a spell not been put up to keep out the elements? – and it was soft and fluffy once again.

I tucked the blanket up and stuffed it under my shirt, eagerly pawing through the snow for the other one. If Harry had one, certainly I did too, right? I found a bit of pink fabric, the same kind as Harry's blanket, and leaned down, sweeping snow away.

I gasped and recoiled. Blood, turned brown and dull with age, but still spotted across the sheets in random pools. More than that, tiny baby handprints made of the stuff where my younger self had floundered and tried to stop the pain. I repeated the same battery of spells I'd done on Harry's blanket to mine. It looked better, cleaner, newer, but the blood was still there and when I raised my wand to vanish the bloodstains but stopped. It seemed wrong to erase the evidence here when I couldn't do the same to my face. I reached out, mouth open and lower lip shaking, to touch the place on the sheets. My scar seared and I whipped my hand back, panting, a child's helpless fear racing through my veins.

"Rena?"

I turned around Harry was standing near the edge of the room, looking at me warily. I turned back to him and I didn't know what my expression looked like but it must have been something because Harry immediately crossed the room and embraced me tightly.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

I pulled back from him and pulled out his blanket, pressing it into his hands. Harry took it, startled, and turned it over in his hands. The embroidery gleamed and a watery smile spread across his face.

"D'you… d'you think mum did these?"

"Well I doubt it was dad," I said hoarsely, unable to muster quite the tone of nostalgia Harry had. He heard it and looked up from his blanket to the wad of pink in my hands.

"Has yours got a wand too?" he asked uncertainly after a brief hesitation, like he couldn't quite work out what to say. I paused. I hadn't actually looked. Feeling along the edges I found it with my fingertips and pulled the corner free from the wadded fabric. _Lorena_ was written there, the script a little curlier, and there was an identical wand there.

"What's on it?"

Harry reached out, plucking ta a fold in the fabric where the blood was visible. I let the blanket slide from my fingers. Harry caught it and spread it out, holding it up. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he stared at the streaks of blood across the blanket.

"Merlin…"

Clutching the original scar I stepped back several steps, not paying any attention. Instead of a place of childish innocence the crib now seemed horrible tainted in a way that could never be scrubbed clean.

"I never thought… there must have been blood," Harry said quietly. "In my head, it was always just… just a scar. There was never a cut. Like me."

I shook my head. "No, Harry. What happened to you was an accident. What happened to me was deliberate."

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Ron's voice called up from below, sounding nervous. "You guys might want to get down here." Harry's mouth snapped shut and he whirled nervously. Before he could Disapparate I snatched the blanket from his hands and tucked it away. Blood-stained or not, monstrous or not, it was mine and I wanted it. It was a solid reminder of the pain of the night, and for the first time in months I felt the old determination rise. I was with Harry, whose dumb luck combined with Hermione's brains and Ron's planning could conquer anything.


End file.
